Sparks

Chapter 8

"Sarcasm is not attractive on you," Sander murmured as he walked circles around her. She craved spitting at his feet. She wanted so badly to kick her ankle out and trip him. But her feet were tied expertly to the chair legs while her hands were twisted at her wrists behind the back of the chair. She was officially hating rope. And she now knew what he was doing when all those boys came over to his house on those Thursday nights. A boy scout leader, how freaking obvious. The perfect place to learn to tie a knot that a girl can't untie.

"Good," was the only response she offered him. He took this moment to slap her. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the damp shed. The place smelled of death and mold. She prayed that she was the first person to be tied up in this wicked place. She could only imagine Sander being obsessed over another person and the pain that that person had to endure.

Sander walked slow, steady steps around her, circling her as if he were a vulture and she was his next meal. He made laps around her. flicking her hair or running his fingers down her arm. She felt goosebumps rise in every spot he touched her. It wasn't that his hands were gross, even though they should have been with the way he behaved. His hands were smooth and soft, just like a rich boy's would be. Nonetheless, each stroke of his long fingers had her getting sicker and sicker. Her stomach rolled and bile raced up her throat, only for her to swallow it back down.

She had thrown up in front of Sander once before and he punished her for it. "It's unwomanly," he had said, right before hitting her. She had never done it again, forcing the bile back to where it belonged every time it appeared.

"You're neck is soft," Sander said, gripping the skin and tugging softly. She glanced at him, before looking away. Not only did she not want to see him touching her, but she hated seeing the wild and mad look that he always had in his gray eyes. Eyes that might have been cute, had he not been psychotic.

His fingers tightened on her skin and tugged, no longer being gentle. "Answer me when I talk to you," he growled in her ear, before kicking the chair. It would have fallen over had he not grasped her hair in the same moment. The pull caused her to cry out but she did nothing else.

"Fuck you," was the only response she felt he deserved. He laughed, letting go of her skin and hair and moving to stand in front of her. He had always admired her spunk even when she was begging him to leave her alone, she managed to carry the air of a girl who fought. And fight she did. But she very rarely used curse words, very rarely uttered anything other than pleas. So the fact that she used such a dirty word had him laughing in amusement.

"My, my, Pagatti, what a dirty mouth you have." He laughed again, watching as Pagatti glared back at him. She didn't curse ever because of Lacy. As if Lacy didn't have enough to not talk about in front of teachers and other adults, Pagatti wasn't about to get her saying bad words too. Although the pigs their mother brought home didn't seem to mind saying them.

Pagatti sighed, wondering about her sister, but Sander quickly drew her mind from the thoughts. "I've missed you, sweet girl. Your fire, your emotions that light up those pretty eyes, your cries for help. All so. . . arousing." Sander chuckled again.

"Just because you get off on your power play, doesn't mean I do," Pagatti glared at him. She had never been one talk back to him. Of course, she had also never ran away. He looked at her shocked, then amusement replaced it.

"No. I suppose not. Although, I do know what gets you, sweet girl." He winked.

She stared at him, trying to discern what he was talking about. He moved with ease. Standing in front of her, staring back, rocking on his heels. All of it was with grace that terrified her.

"Do I need to spell it out?" He asked, when he determined that she had no clue what he was referencing. "A certain tall, dark man who drags you out to the woods the first day you meet? Ring a bell, sweet girl? And all along, I thought you only put out for the pain. Silly me."

She gasped. How could he know?

He was always good at reading her expressions. "I've been following you, darling. You didn't think you could get away that easy, did you? I've been here the whole time. Granted, I could have snatched you when you grabbed the mail in that robe, that would have been exciting. But you felt safe, and I love to bring that crashing down," he laughed.

She trembled. She had felt safe. With Romelius just steps away, she had never considered that Sander could be just steps away from her. The thought made her sick and bitter. What had she been thinking? What could running away ever do for someone like her when someone like Sander was the problem? He would never give up.

"Are you done, my dear?" His pet names were getting old. He stared at her, watching her emotions swirl between anger, regret, and finally defeat. Oh, the sound of defeat. Or in this case, the scene of defeat. She visibly sagged in her chair, the restraints the only things keeping her from thumping onto the floor. He enjoyed every moment of it.

She pulled her head up and looked at him long and hard, trying to find anything that would make this situation okay. Anything that would show why he was so messed up. Something that would make her understand his abuse.

She found nothing. And deemed that the longer she kept him talking the more likely she was to live than to be murdered in this nasty shed, hidden deep in the woods. But she also knew that she didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to hear his sickening voice. So, they stared both waiting for the other to do something.

This wasn't like the other times where he just entered, took what he wanted, and then left. He couldn't do that this time. This time would be the last time for Miss Pagatti Aston. It saddened him, but he knew where a blooming young girl that would remind him of her was. And he looked forward to the years to come with the younger Aston girl. The thoughts caused him to laugh and Pagatti frowned at him.

He truly was crazy, but he always did things with a purpose and she figured his laughter had to come from somewhere. Somewhere she didn't like.

"Well, get on with it," she finally said, getting sick of just sitting there, waiting for something to happen.

"Get on with what, my dear?" He looked at her thoughtfully, but underneath the look she could detect an evil smirk.

"Whatever it is, that you are planning to do." Her mind screamed at her to shut up, but the words were already out. Yeah, good idea, Pagatti, tell him to just kill you; her mind shouted. She nearly winced at how real the words sounded.

"Maybe I don't have a plan." He began circling again, tracing his hands against any part of her he could reach. "Maybe I'm hoping you'll beg for it. Or give me some wonderful idea as to what I should do with you."

"Over my dead body," she growled back.

He came to a stop in front of her again, his eyes focusing on her. Then he laughed and laughed. But she no longer paid any attention to him.