His Prize

Chapter 15: Recovery

Sleep never comes. I'm warm under the blanket, and my body is exhausted, but my mind is racing. How will he exact his revenge?

He chained me up and beat me, and that was back when I'd done nothing to him. Now that I have tried to kill him, I can't imagine what he has planned. Is he just waiting until I fall asleep?

The sun is up, and he has finished sealing the window. He's making breakfast in the kitchen, though I don't dare look. I don't want to draw any attention to myself.

Maybe he'll use food for his revenge, like eating in front of me while I starve? My heart sinks at the thought.

He walks over to the couch. I keep my eyes facing forward, fixed on the coffee table.

"Breakfast." He places a bowl of chicken-pea soup on my lap. Thank goodness. At least he isn't going to starve me.

I missed out on dinner last night, so I waste no time. My fingers and thumbs are all wrapped together with bandages, giving me the dexterity of Captain Hook. I have to use both hands together to grip the spoon.

He watches me struggle.

"Let me do it," he sighs. My hands are pushed aside as he takes back the bowl. He kneels down and lifts a full spoon of soup, holding it steady in front of my face.

My eyes dart between him and the spoon. This seems unusually nice for him. Something is off. Why does he want me to eat this soup so badly? Has he poisoned it to make me sick? Or has he drugged it so he can take me back to that cell?

I pull away from the spoon and cover my mouth with the blanket. I can't take this anymore. I can't take not knowing what he's going to do to me. I have to ask. Even if it means it'll come sooner, at least I'll know. "What are you going to do?" I whisper.

"You clearly can't feed yourself, so I have to. Now stop messing around and open your mouth."

"I mean... what are you... how are you going to hurt me?"

"What? I'm just trying to give you soup."

"But, for revenge, what are you going to do to me? I want to know." My gaze drifts to his bandaged arm.

The spoon falls back into the bowl with a plop.

"Nina, look at me."

I meet his gaze. My hands are trembling under the blankets.

"I'm not at all pleased by your previous behaviour. And you should know, if you try pull a stunt like that again, there will be serious consequences."

He pauses. "That being said, I also recognise that last night's events were partially my fault. I led you to believe that your life was in danger. So, I'll let it slide, this time."

He's not going to take revenge? I find that hard to believe.

"If you're not going to do anything, then why do you want me to eat that soup?"

"I'm your owner. It's my job to look after you. And right now, you need to eat."

There's that wretched word again – owner. "I'm not some thing which you can own. I am a person."

"Having an owner doesn't mean that you're no longer a person."

"No, that's exactly what it means." I frown. "A person cannot own another person. If someone has an owner, it means they're just a thing, a toy, something which can be used up and thrown away. They can't think for themselves, and they can't make their own choices."

"You are mistaken. Someone can be owned and still be a person."

"Well then we'll just have to disagree."