ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

15: Buried Alive

RITA

He exterminated my Existence from the World.

"Everyone thinks I am deceased... no one knows I am still breathing, creating with every breath of mine, carbon dioxide." I speak the truth aloud in an attempt to convince myself, because it still feels so unreal.

"You are," he confirms, taking the phone from me. "And guess what? When you fart, you create carbon dioxide and methane too..."

He lectures me as if I am incompetent.

"I am not incompetent; I know that. Our breed is detrimental to the environment in every aspect," I mutter, narrowing my eyes at him as my focus shifts toward his ecological footprint.

"But you are the ultimate disaster for our green planet. From driving vehicles and bombing homes to flying planes..." I shake my head. "Do you know how much carbon dioxide all of that creates? The next time you orchestrate mayhem, keep your footprint low."

"I tell you that you're dead to the world, and you want to confront me about my bad habits?" he asks, a hint of disbelief lacing his features.

His words drag me back to the shocking news of my death.

"My poor mother... she must think I am dead as well..." I mutter with a frown before looking at him with a pout.

"I have to call her... she must be devastated..."

"Yeah... you want me to put your face all over the internet too?" he asks me, his tone dripping with sardonicism as he heaves, shaking his head. "I should kill you and spare me this headache..."

"Will you?" I ask.

The question slips out before I can stop it.

Fear spreads through me at once, coursing through my system and leaving goosebumps in its wake. My stomach knots as I shift nervously in my place.

"No, I'm not going to kill you," he says, shaking his head. "Just don't push my buttons. Don't get on my nerves. And don't give me a headache. Can you do that?"

He arches a brow.

My head bobs up and down in submission. 

"Then, what are you going to do to me? You can't hide me forever, can you?"

"I'll let you go," he says. "You'll bolt out of my life when the time is right."

His fingers tangle in my damp hair, idly playing with the long and wet strands of my hair.

"But until then, you're going to be a good little flower for me. All right?"

Biting my lip, I nod.

I agree to remain rooted in his home until he allows me to leave.

Yet I cannot stop wondering why.

Why am I still breathing?

Why am I the exception?

Why am I alive when everyone else is dead?

"Why am I the loophole in your hitlist?"

"You will find out soon." An ominous smile curls across his lips, his words as mysterious as his reasons for hiding me instead of slaying me.

I don't press the matter any further, as another need demands my attention — the urge to go to the bathroom and tend to my drained plant.

"Can I use the bathroom?" I ask him, shifting in my place, pretending that I have to take a leak.

Sighing, he undoes my handcuff. His hand remains rooted at my waist, my legs still weak as he guides me toward the bathroom.

"Don't confuse my bathtub with your toilet again. You have to plant your ass on this pot when you need to potty, all right?" He nods toward the toilet, making my cheeks burn with embarrassment.