★SLAVE★

~CHAPTER 10~

I stepped back until my back hit the wall. I was scared, feeling trapped, with no escape from his menacing gaze.

I didn't know what to do. He had a gun, and it was loaded. He already shot it near my ear and demonstrated his willingness to use it.

My mind was jumbled, torn between trying to appear pitiful or standing my ground. Would pleading for mercy appeal to whatever humanity was left in him, or would it only make him more ruthless?

On the other hand, showing braveness might provoke him further. One thing was certain: I had to convince him that I didn't know anything about Ivan.

That was the only answer that might spare my life. If I lie about knowing this Ivan's whereabouts, I risk being dragged deeper into this nightmare.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart and to come up with something that would save my life.

But my mind was blank.

"How did you shoot the gun?" I asked. It was a stupid question, but it was all I could come up with.

I didn't know what to say, so maybe distracting him would work. It was a weak plan, but it was all I had.

I silently cursed myself, "Damn, think of something better! Say something else!" But my mind was empty. I just stood there, staring at him.

I watched him as he slowly raised his other hand and tightly grabbed my chin.

He lifted it up, forcing me to look him straight in the eye.

I felt a shiver run down my spine as we held contact, his eyes seemed to strip me bare, like he was searching for something - maybe to see if I was going to lie.

"Where," he said low and slow, "is," he paused again, "Ivan?" He said each word clearly like he was trying to drill it into my brain.

I didn't fight the hand gripping my chin. I just shook my head slightly. "I don't know who Ivan is," I whispered, hoping he'd believe me.

But he didn't.

His hand snapped from my chin to my throat, choking me. The gun dug deeper into my head.

He wanted answers that I couldn't give him. I didn't know who this Ivan was, but how would he believe me? I thought of my dead father and the oath I could swear on his grave.

"I swear on my dead father's head, I don't know who Ivan is, and if you don't believe me, you can kill me." I meant every word. I'd rather die than give false information that would still lead to my death.

He looked at me with his dark gray eyes and pushed the gun harder into my head, painfully, trickle of blood oozing down my scalp.

I closed my eyes, some tears dropping on their own. My life had always been a mess, from one suffering to the next.

I just hoped that if he killed me, I'd get a better one next time. One that would be full of happiness and a new father.

But he didn't pull the trigger. Instead, he spoke in a menacing tone. "Death is too kind. Your father was lucky, but you, you aren't." I snapped my eyes open, meeting his gaze. What did he mean? Why was death too kind for me?

Can't I just die already? I thought. Come on, life, you've had your fun, now that I'm ready to die, you still want me stuck in this hellish world? It wasn't fair.

I looked up at him as he dropped the gun from my head, but his grip on my throat remained tight, choking me. I struggled to breathe.

"From this day on, you'll be my slave," he sneered, making my blood run cold "If I say bark, you'll bark. If I say crawl, you shall crawl."

Great, just great. I'd been a slave to my abusive father, and now I was doomed to be a slave again.

What kind of sick joke was this? I thought I'd escaped that life, but no, fate had other plans. It was as if the universe was conspiring against me, determined to keep me trapped in this never-ending cycle of suffering.

Fantastic...Just fan-fucking-tastic.

My face contorted into a scowl, my eyes blazing with defiance.

"I shall not," I rasped in rage. But he simply pressed his fingers harder into my throat, cutting off my air supply.

I snapped my hands to his, desperately trying to pry his fingers loose.

It was hell. I couldn't breathe. My eyes bulged, feeling like they were about to burst out of their sockets.

My lungs were burning, he was choking me hard, but he didn't care. He pressed harder, his fingers digging deeper into my throat.

I was on the brink of unconsciousness, my vision fading to black, but still, he didn't ease up.

His fingers remained clenched around my throat, cutting me off.

Just when it seemed like I was about to slip away, his fingers suddenly loosened, and I crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

I wheezed and coughed violently, my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen.

I tenderly smoothed my throat with my fingers, wincing at the pain. My throat was parched and sore, feeling like sandpaper.

I desperately needed water to soothe the dryness, but even swallowing felt like a Herculean task.

My throat was on fire, I couldn't even speak; it was a struggle to make a sound. My eyes were surely red and full of tears, and I could feel them welling up again.

Just then, I heard his voice, firm and commanding. "You would do whatever I say without a second thought. If I need you at night, day, or morning, you shall be available. No words." His shoes moved out of my vision, and I raised my head to see him walking towards the door.

Was he done? Was this the end of the torment? I watched him, my eyes fixed on his back, hoping that he would just leave me alone. But deep down, I knew that this was only the beginning.

He turned his head to me again, his eyes glinting with malice. "This shall be your room, White, like your dirty hair," he sneered, damn "but I don't mind painting it red with your blood." He said that before walking out the door, leaving me shaken and terrified.

The sound of the door closing behind him echoed through the room, making me feel trapped and helpless.

The loud thud reverberated through my entire body. I felt like I was suffocating.

I sat up slowly, leaning against the wall for support. My body ached all over. Every breath hurt, my sore throat and burning lungs protesting the effort. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, but it felt like inhaling fire.

The bruises were forming and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I thought about my life. It was a never-ending struggle. Every day, every moment, was a fight to survive.

I let out a painful sigh; my life is a mess.

†††

Happy birthday to me