“Because it’s my home. I have nothing outside of this house, and I would
rather be here than stuck with some fat, old man with a worm dick. And you are ruining that!”
I blink. Interesting depiction, but not entirely wrong either.
“You get raped here, too, Sydney,” I point out.
She shrugs. “It’s not so bad. It’s what I’m used to and comfortable with.”
Another blink. How one could settle into the life of being raped and beaten is
beyond me, but she’s hinted at having nowhere else to go. This tells me a life outside of this house for Sydney is bleak. Nonexistent. Most likely filled with nights on the streets and random men.
And I suppose being in a house with the monsters you know is safer than a
man who paid money and believes they own her.
Men have this funny habit of thinking they're entitled to women, especially when they don't respect them. As if their respect is a determining factor on how women deserve to be treated.
At least the men in this house have rules and limitations on what they can do
to us. Mainly mutilating or causing permanent damage. Men on the streets or the
ones who buy us at an auction—they don't have rules.
“So that’s it,” I say. “You’re going to continue to terrorize me because you want to cheat the system when none of us will get that option. Maybe it's you who thinks they're special when you're not.”
She giggles a high-pitched sound that grinds my nerves to dust. And then she
turns and walks away without a word, casting an indecipherable look over her shoulder.
Who we’re fighting over would rather see us shipped off to the highest
bidder, and she’s not just causing me to fail a test, she’s actively inflicting trauma on me.
Abuse. Rape. Things that no human being should ever have to suffer through
—especially in the name of jealousy or pettiness.
“You sabotaged me, Sydney,” I call out, causing her to stop in her tracks. “I
won’t forget that.”
Keeping her back turned, she swivels her head to the side, and her hand drifts
up and down the doorjamb airily, as if she’s toying with the thought as her fingers are with the wood.
Finally, she glances over her shoulder at me, a grin on her thin lips.
“You’re going to be a lot of fun, diamond.” She winks at me and then leaves,
sashaying down the hall before she disappears into a room at the end.
I glare at her the entire way, and I know damn well she can feel the heat of it
burning into her back.
The cunt is probably getting off on it, and the vindictive side of me will be happy to fuck her in the worst of ways any chance I can get.
Raucous laughter booms from downstairs, nearly vibrating the floor beneath
my knees. Francesca and Rocco are the only two who actually live here, but he
likes to invite his rapist friends over every day to shoot copious amounts of drugs in their veins and have their way with the girls when permitted.
Though, I suppose Rio and Rick have been practically living here now that they can’t be seen in public. I've been praying Rick makes it easy on me and leaves the house anyway, but the bozo is too fucking lazy and high off his rocker now that he has an endless stream of drugs coming in. He's got the money to get
his junk hand-delivered.
Regardless, they’re all fucking obnoxious, incapable of keeping their mouths
shut and not making disgusting remarks anytime we’re in their vicinity.
Damn, what I wouldn’t give to fuck that tight ass.
Do you see the way it bounces? Imagine how it would look railing her from
behind.
Jesus, her tits are to fucking die for. I can’t wait to fuck them.
Each word twists my stomach further and further, wringing my insides like a
wet rag until it’s coiled into a knotted rope. Sydney’s words are the only thing keeping my teeth glued together.
Francesca has high hopes for me, and I need to do everything in my power to
stay in that light, even if it means cracking my molars from the force of keeping
my mouth shut.
Sleep still clings to my eyes while Francesca paces before us. Yesterday was
the Culling practice, and I spent the entire night waiting for our punishment, but
it never came. So, when she barged in my room at the ass crack of dawn, I hadn’t
even closed my eyes yet.
“Etiquette is important,” Francesca begins, walking back and forth down the
line, her five-inch heels matching the pounding of my heart.
She’s always ready to walk down a runway, and I wonder if she puts so much
effort into making the outside look pretty because her insides are a cemetery of
bones and decay. She should’ve looked into becoming a mortician with the way she’s so good at dressing up a corpse.
She stops before me, and I keep my eyes casted down at her feet. The tip of
her shoe is scuffed a little. Wonder how much that bothers her.
“Look at me.”
My eyes instantly find hers, with no hesitation.
“Kiss my foot,” she orders, tipping out her shoe with the mark. Part of me wonders if she could hear my thoughts and is punishing me for it. Nevertheless, I decide it’s probably the She-Devil above. Now S he just loves to punish me.
My immediate reaction is pure fire. My mouth works to gather saliva, ready
to spit on her shoe instead, but I manage to refrain. Barely.
Hesitation races down my spine, and it takes physical force to bend my spine
forward and do as she says, placing my lips gently on her dirty shoe.
"Now lick it."
My lips twitch, threatening to curl into a snarl, but I do as she says and quickly lick it, dirt and lord knows what else gathering on my tongue.
I imagine it tastes exactly how her soul looks.
I squeeze my eyes shut, working to regain control over the screaming in my
head, before I rise up again, keeping my eyes downcast. If I look at her, she’ll see death in my eyes.
As if sensing this, she bends at the waist and curls her finger beneath my chin,
the cold metal of her ring seeping into my skin as she lifts my head.
“I know it hurts but hesitate again and your teeth will be kissing the floor instead.”
Swallowing down vomit, I nod my head and whisper, “I’m sorry.”