The Devil In Disguise

CHAPTER 44: Murderous Lazarus

As the sun rose, I mentally noted it down.

Ten days.

Ten days I had been in this pit without food. A few times, it had rained pretty heavily, so I'd just sit with my mouth open, head upwards, to catch as much in my mouth as I could, my hands cupped in front of me.

Now, I couldn't even sit, forget stand. I just laid on my back, letting the rain soak me, letting the wind freeze me, letting the insects crawl over me.

I wasn't hungry anymore. My stomach didn't grumble or anything — it had stopped after the first three days. Now, I didn't want food, hated the thought of it.

That was how I knew my organs were shutting down.

If I even tried to speak, I thought my throat would get damaged. It was that dry. I had drunk water only yesterday; but only a few handfuls before the rain stopped. When it had started, I had been unconscious from lack of ... everything. Malnutrition or whatever, I figured. I knew I was dying.

I'd cursed myself; by the time I'd woken up, I was drenched to the bone with water I could have drunk. I had proceeded to wring out as much water from my clothes as I could, and drink it. It was disgusting and dirty but I didn't care at that point.

It was raining now, though it was early; six in the morning, I guessed. Only a slight drizzle but still I opened my mouth weakly, letting the few raindrops that came down the pit rain into my desperate, cracked, dry mouth.

I had lost a lot of weight. It was shocking how much ten days without food could do. I could feel each rib of mine with ease, and my cheekbones were prominent through my hollowed-out cheeks.

After a while, I fell asleep again. Or fainted. I didn't really know, anymore.

***

I felt a sharp pain on my cheek.

My eyelids flying open, I gasped — but only a raspy, painful sound left my throat. Squeezing my eyelids shut in pain, my hands wrapped around my throat, uselessly trying to massage it.

"Eat," a velvet voice ordered from beside me. My eyes reopened again and a thin wave of fear washed over me but I was too busy realising where I was to notice.

I was back inside. Sheltered, in the warmth, with new, clean clothes on.

Surprising myself, I started crying. From relief. I had never been so thankful to be in a cellar. I had even taken that for granted.

Struggling to sit up, and feeling lightheaded, I wiped the tears away in a futile attempt. My eyes met his, who were observing me with a coldly pleased look. He knew I was going to be obedient now.

"Eat this," he ordered again.

Looking down, I saw a plate of pasta. It was cold and the sauce was dry, as if the pasta was old.

I felt a wave of nausea. Scrambling away from the plate, I shook my head profusely at him.

His gaze hardened. He stood up off of the floor, from where he was examining me, and strode over to the corner I'd retreated to.

Grabbing the collar of my shirt in violent recklessness, he dragged me to the plate and threw me down, so that my head hit the ground right next to the plate. A groan caught on my dry throat.