Page 102 of Love to Defy You
Enzo clucks his tongue. “Oh, Willow. I’m so disappointed in you.”
My phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor.
When Enzo speaks again, his voice is muffled as if we’re underwater. “Looks like you’ve caught a bad case of the flu. I don’t think you’re well enough to fly.”
As my vision tunnels, the last thing I see is his cold face floating in pitch-black nothingness before I pass out.
Chapter 20
Alek
Time is suspended in the pitch-black darkness of my cell. There’s no difference between day and night to mark the passage of time, and the hours blur together in an endless black hole. I’m losing my grip on reality, and a part of me wonders if I’ve died and gone to hell. Perhaps my skull will join the others at the Altar of the Dead, fated to spend eternity surveying the other poor souls the Order brings through here.
The only way I can tell the difference between sleep and consciousness is when I meet Willow in my dreams. It’s the only time I can see a thing, except when the door opens to deliver food.
I don’t know if they’re bringing me two or three meals a day because there’s no way to mark the passage of time, but in either case, I’ve had fourteen meals total. That’s a lot of food for a two-night stay.
The same guy delivers my meal every time—Paul, I believe his name is. Enzo introduced him as the Vice President at theFeast of Apollo, but Paul was too busy getting sucked off by a prostitute, so I haven’t spoken much to him. He doesn’t stay long when he drops off my meals, but these brief exposures to light and sound are what’s keeping me from going blind—or completely off the deep end into psychosis.
The skin on my right forearm is hot to the touch and raised around the area of the tattoo. I can’t examine it in the dark, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were infected given the filthy conditions. The only bath I’ve had down here was the bucket of ice water dumped on my head during the Trial of Hubris, and who knows how much time has passed since?
But the pain is getting worse, and I already tried using my other hand to masturbate. It just isn’t as effective without the pain in my dominant arm. Without any other way to entertain myself, I’m going mad.
Eat slop. Jerk off. Sleep. Over and over and over.
The door to my cell opens, and I sit up on the bench, naked and shivering. The light from the torches streams in, and I have to shield my eyes from the onslaught.
Paul’s silhouette appears in the doorway. He doesn’t say a word as he sets the bowl of inedible paste on the floor, along with a wooden cup filled with water.
“Wait.” My voice is hoarse from lack of use. “Where’s Mikhail? I need to talk to him.”
“I already told you no.” Paul turns around and retreats into the corridor.
“What about Enzo?” I call after him. “Are you his errand boy? Is that why you’re the one stuck babysitting me?”
Paul slams the door shut, plunging me back into hell.
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”
I recite Shakespeare and poetry from memory while staring into the darkness. This particular performance of Macbeth is quite good, if I do say so myself, although the true tragedy is the lack of an audience.
