“What did I say about causing problems, pet?” She asks as she paces the floor in front of me.
“You think I put myself up here,” I hiss back, not able to contain it. Her eyebrow rises, and she steps forward.
“No,” she replies after a moment, “I suppose you didn’t.”
She stares at me and I want to tell her to hurry up with the nonsense and do whatever she’s going to do, but the dark warning in her eyes keeps me silent. Sighing, she continues to pace the floor. When she begins muttering to herself, I turn my ear toward her but only catch, “...will always be her weakness…” before she trails off.
I watch her closely, this woman who has been mother, mentor, and captor to me. For so many years, all I wanted to do was please her until the time came when it was my very existence that displeased her.
All the things I learned about psychopaths, the reasons people hurt others, they all seem so fragile and weak when faced with true darkness.
“Why? What did I ever do?” I ask, my voice hoarser than I’d like. She stops moving but doesn’t look at me. Rage and fire rise in me unbidden. “Why do you fucking hate me so much!”
I feel my chest heave and realize I’ve never yelled at Jane before. Despite knowing I should be terrified, I feel empowered. Strong.
My eyes narrow at her, and though I know it will cost me, I summon up what last bit of energy I have and spit at her feet. A few barely-there drops land close, but it's a pathetic display. Before I realize what she’s doing, a shock runs through me, jarring me enough I bite the inside of my mouth. Blood fills it almost instantly and I lean my head to the right and spit the blood out. Taking a deep breath, I lift my head to look at her again.
Her eyes meet mine for a moment before she laughs. No, cackles. Loudly. And she doesn’t stop. I stand there and feel my anger give way to confusion and, slowly, fear as the torturist who raised me continues to laugh and screech.
After several minutes she stops abruptly, and my heart pounds even faster. She makes her way over to the mirror, adjusting her hair before coming back to the cross.
Standing in front of me she smiles, leaning forward just a touch.
“You think you’re so much better than us, don’t you? Well, let me make one thing very clear for you,” she says in barely more than a whisper, “I despise you. I will always despise you and I will never kill you, because it gives me too much pleasure to hurt you. But if you touch her, try to fucking turn her from me, I promise you anything you’ve endured so far during your miserable life will be pleasant compared to what I do.”
I don’t have time to react or speak before an increasingly familiar prick touches me and everything goes black.