Love In Therapy ✔️

Chapter 21

"Sometimes that's all life is... One desperate act after another." ~Terry Goodkind.

Freya's POV

I watched him eat—no, devour— the food in front of him like he was a wild animal feeding on the flesh of a carcass. Tiny bits escaped his mouth when he opened it to engage in random chit-chat, climbing down the imaginary ladder on the side of his chin and back into the plate where he wolfed it up with other gigantic bites.

I have about had enough dungeon experience at this point. The food was some sort of pity offering to pacify my growling stomach. The bed housed bugs that stung my body leaving red marks in their wake. Animals howled in the night, the sound so loud that it ignited fear within me and made me lose sleep. I wanted to leave, I just didn't know how to. But at this point, I was ready to do anything just to get out of this hell...

"Princesa, you're not eating?" he asked and I looked up to find him staring at me.

"Uhm... I'm kinda full from yesterday," my stomach wasn't quite pleased with my reply seeing as it chose to rumble at that moment.

"Ah!" he chuckled. "I guess your stomach doesn't seem to agree with that. I guess I could help you finish that up if you don't want it," he stretched his hand forward and I handed him the plate of food. He dug into it and my plate was as clean and clear as his in no time. I wonder how he does it, like eat anything and everything without a care of what it could do to his stomach. I guess prison does that to you.

"So how was life in prison?" I asked, trying to engage him in conversations that would gradually poke at his defense walls till he let his guard down.

His face lost all sense of emotion at my question and fear gripped my heart. I feared that I had triggered some sort of pain or anger. Then he smiled, a very wide smile that added more wrinkles to his cheeks and eyes.

"It wasn't the prettiest of places but I've been through worse when I was in the military. You see..." the story began.

"...there was this one guy I had an issue with when I was in there. The fucker just wouldn't get his foot off my neck. Always trying to cross paths with me so we could go at it like children. Word around jail said he was into men and he kinda wanted me to you know... yeah that... but I wasn't interested in that shit. Then one day, the fucker had me cornered during bath time and wanted to play dirty with me. I knocked the air outta his lungs and he wheezed to his own death. It was a funny sight I tell ya," he laughed so loud you'd think he just told a kid's joke but I didn't find it funny at all, the word 'horrid' could suffice. Who the fudge laughs about killing someone?

"Then there's this one lad. He was putty whenever his bullies come 'round. He could lick their feet if they asked him to and he would kneel with his hands and legs on the ground like a dog while Hugó used his back as a table to support his weak ass legs. I tried telling the boy to stand up for himself but he never listen until Hugo took him and left him bleeding out. The fucker!" Anger flashed across his face and he balled his fists. "I beat the shit out of the fucker and helped the boy get through the shit that asshole put him through. He got out long before I did and he went on to do something good for himself. He helped me when I got out. But he just couldn't offer me a place to stay so I had to look for you. He helped me find you though." he smiled, reliving memories he was obviously fond of.

"Uhm... interesting," I hummed. I didn't know how to feel about this boy. I bet he thought my father was his savior and he was repaying a favour. If only he knew he willingly helped a psychopath-on-the-loose find his way to his victim once again.

"So you... tell me about Mr Hotshot," he grinned and in as much as I didn't mind talking about Javi and surface information about our relationship, I didn't want the listening party to be him.