Page 139 of Sweet Venom

A VILLAIN MADE

Azariel

“He loved me like I was his religion.” — P

Most humans are afraid of the dark. But it’s not the dark they’re afraid of— it’s what hides in it.

I’ve never been afraid of the dark.

Because monsters don’t hide there.

Monsters find you in the light.

They smile at you in broad daylight. They sit next to you at school assemblies. They wave from across the street like they’re normal. Sometimes they live down the hall.

And sometimes… they’re the ones who are supposed to love you.

Mine were a cracked-out mother and the man she let hurt me for a little cash and a lot of drugs.

No, the dark never scared me. How could it? If I was born in it.

And I’ve been surrounded by it for years.

How long have I been down here? How long has it been since I’d last seen the sun? I’ve lost track. Time doesn’t exist in this hell. Days bleed into nights, and the only thing I can count on is the cold gnawing at my bones, the hunger that twists my insides. I’ve learned to survive here but it still hurts.

My fingers curled around the metal bars of the cage, while I waited for the fuckers to come get me. There was no noise outside the room and that meant they were close.

I should be afraid but I’m not. I should cry but I don’t. I used to cry the first year here but then I ran out of tears and learned quickly that crying didn’t do anything. It didn’t make them stop. It only made them smile. And I hated those smiles. I hated them all.

I heard footsteps before I saw him. I stiffened, pulling my legs closer to my chest, fingers digging into the cold metal. The man’s shadow stretched across the crack of light beneath the door, too big, too imposing. I knew who it was. I didn’t need to look to know he was coming for me.

I hated him the most.

Viktor.

The door opened and there he was.

“Number 1…”

The words were a sharp knife, cutting against my insides. I had no name. I was just a number to them. I’m not a person here. I’m an object. A thing to be molded, shaped, used for their evil deeds. They made me into a weapon for them to use against other kids.

I guess I should feel grateful that they never fucked me like they do the others. I never understood why they never touched me that way. The other kids with numbers for names are trained to please sick fucks who pay good money for them.

Not me.

They beat me into submission and then they made me hurt others to survive. I think they enjoy it too. It’s all a game to them. They make money from me in a different way.

One time I heard the fucker outside the door referred to me as the stolen Russian prince. He laughed and beat the shit out of me after but he never called me that again.

Viktor stepped forward, and the light from the cracks in the door cut through the darkness. His features came into view, shadows clinging to his ugly face like they belonged there. His eyes were cold, black, and hungry. He looked like a wolf sizing up his next meal. Me.

“She’s ready for you,” he said, his voice slow, like he’s savoring every word.

She…

I didn’t move and I didn’t speak. I didn’t have to. I could already feel the cage unlocking, the click sharp and final in the quiet. But I didn’t flinch. I never did. At least not anymore.

I was dead inside. They beat anything good out of me a long time ago.

---