41
Violet
I spend the morning throwing up, quaking and shivering with nausea as I hug the cold porcelain of the toilet. I must have eaten something bad, the chicken in the sandwiches he left me yesterday lunchtime tasted a little off, but it had looked and smelled fine so I ate it anyway.
“Ugh, disgusting,” I say, gagging at the smell and flushing the toilet.
I’ve completely lost count of how long I have been here now, but I would guess it is probably close to about two weeks.
“Two weeks, that must be right. My period will be due next week, so that’s why I’m feeling so rough. I guess I’ll have to ask him to get me some feminine products. That’s going to be a fun and embarrassingly awkward conversation to have.”
I've kind of given up thinking about the chances of getting out of here for the time being, and to be honest, as crazy as that may sound, a part of me doesn't want to leave here.
“Violet, you’ve officially left the building and gone to crazy town,” I laugh to myself.
When my stomach finally decides it’s going to cooperate and stop feeling like it's going to jump out of my mouth, I slowly stand up and rinse out the vile taste from my tongue and brush my teeth.
I estimate it to be close to early afternoon when I slowly make my way downstairs, because I want my things, and that's the last place I saw my suitcase. I'm pleased to see it sitting at the bottom of the stairs, and drag it back up.
I make slow progress because it's heavy, and I still haven't really recovered from being so ill this morning. When I am finally dressed, I feel a lot better and much more myself, so I go looking for something to eat.
Strangely, I don't bump into Z anywhere in the house, so either he is out or just not making his presence known. I shrug, and enter the kitchen, making my way over to the massive fridge and hunting through it to see if I can find something tasty to cook. Now that nausea has completely worn off I'm famished.
I hum quietly to myself as I grab the ingredients to make fajitas and set to work, making enough for him, as I know he likes them too. They're my favorite, which he must have remembered, as he brought me some a while ago.
“What are you doing?” Z says, coming up behind me.
The chicken is sizzling away nicely in the pan and I’m chopping onions and slicing peppers and nearly cut my hand off with the damn knife.
“Z! What the hell, did you have to scare the shit out of me like that? I nearly chopped my hand off.”
He chuckles, and it’s so human and strange coming from him that I pause to listen to the unfamiliar sound while staring at him in surprise.
I turn back to my task and let out a sigh. “I was hungry, so I’m making dinner. There will be enough for you as well.”
He removes the knife from my hand and puts it in the sink. My eyes narrow, wondering why he took it from me as I still need to use it.
Then it hits me. I could use that knife on him and get out of here. He can't stop me if he's dead.
My fingers twitch towards it, and I shudder. The thought of killing anyone, even someone like him, fills me with cold horror. He sits at the table and watches me silently as I bustle around the kitchen, looking through the cupboards for plates and bowls.
The feel of his eyes on me, never wavering, is a little strange. I squirm under his gaze, feeling like I'm in the spotlight. I glance over to where he is sitting, relaxed and at ease in the chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the heavy wooden table.
Thinking about that table sends a blush to my cheeks, remembering how he had practically fucked me into it. I'm almost surprised there isn't an imprint on the wood.
“What are you thinking about?” He asks, amusement coloring his tone.
The arrogant fucker knows exactly what I am thinking about. I mutter under my breath, “Smug prick.”
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nbsp; 42
Z
Smug prick, I don’t know why, but it really pisses me off. The smile leaves my face, and I continue to watch her, hoping she can feel the anger rolling off of me in waves.
She doesn’t want to piss me off right now. I’m feeling generous towards her, so I’ll try to hold it in, but she needs to tread damn carefully around me. Reawakening the demons inside my head is not in her best interests, or mine. I’m planning on keeping her, but if she doesn’t behave, I don’t know what I’ll do in the heat of the moment, or when wrath bleeds my vision red.