Page 5 of After Our Kiss

- Chapter Two -

Georgia Mary King

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Most of my fluid existence was spent in that room.

Facile kept the lights off at all times. I wasn't given much food, and water came only when it was absolutely necessary. It was frightening how he knew the exact edge to balance me on, keeping me weak but alive. I wouldn't starve to death, I wouldn't dehydrate; he'd always come at the last moment to hand-feed me some oatmeal or dribble water onto my parched lips.

After the first month, I wished hewouldkill me.

I only knew a month had passed because Conway told me. It could have been night or day, but as I was lying there in the sweat stained bed, reeking of my own staleness, a crack of light came through the door. It was brief—open, then shut.

Conway's voice whispered beside my ear. “I brought you something.”

Pathetically, I sobbed. “Let me go, please, just get me out of here.”

His hand cupped my cheek, his touch made warmer by my blind senses. The edge of something hard perched on my mouth. “Drink,” he told me. “You need calories. Dad hasn't fed you much in four weeks. He's acting more insane than usual.”

Carefully I swallowed; it wasn't just water, it was sugary lemonade. Gulping greedily, I took in too much. I struggled to sit up as I choked. Conway couldn't help me with the straps keeping me down; I sensed his panic, it rivaled my own as I worked to get oxygen into my fluid filled lungs.

For the first time since I'd awoke in this place, my wrists were freed.

Conway forced me into a sitting position. He rubbed my back as I hacked. Sucking in air, I listened to his calming voice, rocked into his kind touch. In the blackness I could pretend, for just a moment, that I wasn't a prisoner.

I rubbed the raw skin on my inner arms and hissed.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, tracing his hands down my naked shoulders until he touched my sore spots. I jerked in pain, and when I did, hegrowled. “I hate that asshole so much. I'll bring some antiseptic next time to make sure these don't get infected.”

“Wait,” I gasped, pushing at him, reaching for my ankles. “Untie me! You can get me out of here!”

“No, not yet. It's not safe yet.” He fumbled for my fingers. I knew he was going to tie me back up but when I yanked at him, my muscles were as useful as overcooked spaghetti. “Don't, Georgia, please.” He guided me down onto the mattress. “He'll know. I have to put the straps on again.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I tasted the salt, shaking as I began to cry. “Four weeks?” I asked softly. “That's how long it's been? I'm never getting out of here. You're letting me die in this bed.”Mom, I'm so sorry. I don't want to leave you alone. I don't know what to do.

He froze where he was clasping my wrists. His fingers drifted down my sensitive skin until they vanished. “I won't let you die here. It's okay if I don't tie you back up, for now. Dad won't check on you until morning. We have some hours.”

So it's the middle of the night.Knowing how long I'd been here, what time it was, it gave me something to grab at. The ground was under my feet again.I can live through this.Conway wasn't my enemy. He wanted to help me.

If I was stupid to believe in him... so be it.

What else did I have to grasp in the dark but naive hope?

His body rested beside mine. I could move my arms, but I was hesitant. Freedom was funny after such a long time without it. Warily, I pulled my hands down to my sides. As I moved, my elbow bumped something firm and hot—Conway's hip. “Sorry,” I said quickly, “I can't see at all.”

He tensed up. “It's okay. I... don't worry.”

I waited, but when he said no more, I brought my hands to my face. Exploring my skin, I traced the contour of my cheeks, the bridge of my nose. I wanted to make sure I was still here- all of me.

Down I moved, feeling my collarbone and my ribs. Those were more notable than they'd ever been. I'd lost a ton of weight. “Is there more lemonade?” I asked eagerly. Conway handed me the bottle. Sitting up again, I hunched over my knees and drank until I was sucking the drops from the rim. Fuck, it burned so good in my throat. The sugar gave my brain the energy it needed to function again. “Why is he starving me? Why torture me and not...”

I didn't want to say the word. It had been on my mind since day one—the harshly whispered fear that all parents warn their daughters against.

Why hadn't Facile raped me?

Conway was quiet. I knew he'd picked up my meaning. Cloth scraped; he'd shifted on the bed. Was he wearing jeans? I tried to picture it, resisting the urge to reach out and know for sure. “Dad wants you to be pliable. If you're weak, hungry, he can make you do what he wants. He can reward you.”

“Like I'm a hungry dog,” I scoffed. It was disgusting.

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