Obsessed | Camila x Reader

nine

After allowing my eyes to adjust to the lack of light, I scan the room for anything that may aid my escape. The floor is made of concrete, the staircase of old, musty-smelling wood, and the walls of stone. Apart from the small window, there is a pile of blankets, it seems, in the corner. Had she prepared this room to keep me, or at least somebody, down here? The thought sends a chill down my spine as I make my way towards the pile, rummaging through for anything that might help me. Alas, I find nothing, so I move to the window empty-handed.

I begin by searching for a latch or any sort of opening, but I find none. Then I press and tug the corners and edges in case it may simply slip out of place, though it remains rooted in its frame. Finally, and as a last resort, I slam the hand of my uninjured arm against the glass in hopes it'll break. Except making a rather loud noise, it does nothing, so I go to try again- until I see her face on the other side.

Stumbling back, my heart rate rockets as I begin to panic. I doubt she won't be angry at me now. Hearing footsteps, I rush towards the pile of blankets and aimlessly look each one over as if I've been considering which to use this whole time. When the door opens, I flinch.

"I saw you near the window." She states coldly as she closes the door behind her, "Were you trying to escape?"

"N-no." I stammer, cursing myself silently, "I wasn't near the window."

"Yes, you were." She retorts, "I suggest you don't try to escape anymore, or I'll have to do things you won't like."

Gulping nervously, I finally look up from the blankets only to find her much closer than I expected. Her expression, or what I can see from it by the light of the window, is unreadable at first, but soon shifts to a confused one.

"Is your arm okay?" She asks, pointing out the way I'm holding it close to my torso.

"I landed on it weirdly." ... when you pushed me down the stairs. I explain, lowering it to my side and trying to ignore the way the pain returns full-force at the movement.

"I'll get the first aid kit." She announces turning around to leave after adding, "And some food. You'll get hungry fast down here in the cold."

Ignoring the urge to not take any aid from her whatsoever, I know that if I'm going to find a way out of her, I'm going to need to be performing at my highest, and for that to happen, I need medical attention and food.

"Okay," I whisper then instead.

"I'll bring your favourite." She winks, fingers trailing down my injured forearm before she leaves the room, locking the door behind her once more.

With a heavy sigh, I fold one of the blankets into a cushion and use another to cover me up as I sit against the wall furthest from the door, not noticing the thick metal hoops scattered among the stone.

What kind of person keeps a basement entirely empty, I question, but then what kind of person kidnaps their fan?

A fleeting thought of whether she was targeting me specifically or just any teenager who dare enter that cursed competition flashes through my mind, and I'm almost glad I could take their place. At least I'm not some sixteen year old who will be missed by her family. Or... maybe that's why she picked me: because I have no family to miss me. Did she know before she ever picked my name from the comments? Did she know before she ever sent me a message? Did she know even before she held the competition?

As these thoughts race through my mind, she brings them to a halt by entering the basement once more, a bowl of [your favourite food (f/f)] in her hands. Immediately, I feel hungry, as the scent dominates that of the stairs.

I stand, reaching out for the bowl once she's within range, only for her to tug it back out.

"Sit down." She instructs. Blinded by my need for food, I do as she says, watching as she places the bowl on the floor and pulls a white first aid box from under her arm. She pulls my arm to rest on her lap as she sits before me, making me hiss at the pain, before opening the box.

"You should've walked." She says lowly as she begins to clean the graze on the pad of my hand, purposely using a tad too much pressure to keep me groaning, it seems. "If you would have listened to me, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"I'm-" hiss, "I'm sorry."

She moves on to a bandage, wrapping it securely around my hand and wrist, up to about halfway up my forearm, covering the bruises that have already started to form.

"Listen next time and you won't get hurt again." Her tone remains cold as she pulls another thing from the box, a splint. She tightly secures it around my wrist, even as I frown at why she has one. Then, she closes the box and reaches over for the food. This time when I reach my hands out towards it, she swats them away.

Frowning, I pull them into my lap and watch as she takes a bite-size amount of [f/f] and pops it into her own mouth, winking as she slides the utensil out before beginning to chew her food. Even as she chews, she waits before getting some for me too.

"Open." She states, prompting me to open my mouth. When she feeds me, I can't help but relax my body at the taste. [F/f] has been my favourite for as long as I can remember, even before rehab... especially before rehab. The fact that she knows it, however, must mean she's done some intense research on me, for I sure haven't told her it.

She continues to feed me in this way, taking breaks for her own bites here and there to ensure I'm desperate before giving in to my pleading expression and letting me eat some more. Once done, she wipes the corners of my mouth with her thumb and smiles.

"Manners, Y/n." She says simply, making me frown for a moment before I realise what she wants.

"Thank you, Camila." I blurt quietly, "For, uh... It was really good. And for tending to my arm."

"You're welcome, baby." She grins, gathering her things and standing up. The brunette leans down and presses a kiss against my forehead before turning around.

"Wait!" I call out, "Can I get some water, please?"

"Sure." She agrees, "If you're good, I'll come back and bring you some."

"Okay." I agree, "Thanks."

"You're welcome, baby." She repeats as she climbs that last step.

A smile quickly appears on her lips before she leaves once more, and I force myself to stay here on the blankets so as not to provoke her any more, at least for a while. It seems I'll have to be a lot smarter about getting out of here alive.