Oscarsteps into my cell and places the plate of food on the bed with a smirk. I look over the contents and, per usual, it’s enough to keep me alive, but weak with hunger in hopes to keep me from fighting back. Not a horrible torture method, but a little too clean for my liking.
Their hopes are a pathetic thing, the only way to keep me from fighting back is the moment I take my final breath. Something I suppose Elio is aware of since he doesn’t set foot in here, preferring to send his lackey instead. I look down at my nails again and decide it’s time to make them acceptable to ease this sudden obsession with the state they’re in.
Raising my chin, I observe the man in front of me. He’s not tall like a lot of the men who usually surround me, but I can tell he’s built enough from the way he fills out his slacks and button-up shirt. Oscar’s shoes remind me of my father’s, nearly pristine but—judging by the disheveled dark hair that flops in front of his face—I’m guessing the care he takes with his clothes has more to do with Elio than himself.
I blow out a breath and pop my hip out, crossing my arms tightly across my chest.
“You know a lot could be said about the way Elio is holding me captive.”
Oscar turns to walk towards the door, not rising to my bait.
“It could be said about you as well,” I add, uncrossing my arms to examine my nails once again.Disgusting. “Pygmy penis energies tend to flock together. Overcompensation comes in numbers… just not inches.”
“And would you like to see my cock,principessa?“ Oscar growls, whirling around with a predatory smirk on his face.
I bite back the urge to react to the moniker that Elio and his men insist on calling me.
“Do you keep a microscope in those tight slacks of yours? Cause I’m not seeing anything impressive here, Oswald,” I say in a bored tone.
He growls, moving toward me a few more steps, but not enough. He then stops and a smile cracks along his face. I pout obnoxiously knowing he caught onto my game.
“Nice try,principessa,“ he says, then stalks out of my cell, picking my food up on his way out and leaving me alone without food. Again.
Hunger and fatigue wreak havoc on my body as I dry heave in the corner of my cell. I was given a banana for breakfast, which might seem suitable for most people, if it wasn’t hours upon hours ago. Oswald coming in and taking my dinner when he figured out my intention of trying to get a rise out of him could’ve been yesterday for all I know at this point. And not knowing how long I’ve been here is really beginning to fuck me off.
Elio’s men feed me twice a day, small useless meals to keep me from starving to death down here but not enough of a caloric intake to give me energy or feel sustained. The vomiting and nausea are new within the last few days, coming and going at the most random times.
The door to the basement opens and I listen to the footsteps for recognition. Realizing it’s Tyjae, the woman Elio brought in tokeep me in linewhen I killed a few of his men, I place my hands on the wall to steady myself as a new wave of nausea assaults my stomach.
“You look like shit since the last time I saw you,” Tyjae purrs from the other side of the bars.
Swallowing down the stomach acid threatening to expel from my mouth, I turn around to face her, swaying on my feet as the movement causes dizziness. Once the room stops spinning, I glare at Tyjae, which earns me a smirk in return.
She tilts her head to the side, the long, dyed, bright-red hair falling over her shoulder to brush against her hip with the angle. Tyjae straightens when she’s satisfied with her assessment, then she reaches through the bars and tosses a pair of clean clothes on the bed beside me. Her caramel skin shines in the low lighting of the dingy cellar, reminding me how filthy I am.
I look at the clothes for a moment before turning my attention back to Tyjae and raising my eyebrow.
“I just had clean clothes brought to me yesterday,” I say.
I don’t even remember my last shower and clean clothes come about as often as bathing. Two days in a row is questionable and it makes me wonder if Elio is up to something.
“Your fiancé was throwing a fit about your stubbornness to comply with his demands.”
Tyjae steps closer to the bars and gives me another assessing look.
“I happened to mention if he treated you more like a bride than a captive, you’d be more likely to heel to his will.”
I snort, then give her a menacing smile.
“You know fuck-all about me if you think that something like common decency will have me taking that bastard’s last name.”
Tyjae smirks, her humor causing irritation to boil in my veins. I’ve played this card, I know what it’s like to be a woman in this world, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fuck me off when another tries to play coy with me. There are plenty of women in the underground, but there aren’t many that don’t bend at the knee to someone above them. I can see a lot of myself in Tyjae in the few interactions we’ve had.
Strength that doesn’t waiver is built through blood, disappointment, and pain.
She purses her lips.
“Now that you mention it, I don’t know you at all.”