The x's of her desk calendar filled the whole week, now today is a start of the obvious new torture.
Both her ankles have red and purple scratches, her wrists bruised, her body forever ripped.
Every night, she felt as though the demons under her bed increases of number, then every raising of the sun, she's quite overwhelmed that she still woke up.
This time though, her foot is not cuffed, her wrist is not tied. Her limbs are free, but her body isn't.
It ached so much, her head cracking, vision spinning. She felt the buds of sweat running along her forehead, her skin bare underneath the white duvet.
A total of five days of overstimulation, seven days of permanent nightmares.
So I fainted again, she lightly scoffed, arching her back but then grunted at the striking pain.
It was like this for the last five days, her captive using her body for his merciless pleasure, forcing her to speak to him, her cheeks swollen for all the hard slaps.
At this point, she's already asking the pace of authorities. Not just in this time, but five years?
How can't one of them see him? Did they just looked him up for what? A year? Then slowly drop his case because he's nowhere to be seen?
If that's the case then, how did Lee Jeno even lived through it? He sure is crazy.
"You're awake"
Lia didn't answer– as if she can. Her neck is messed up. She won't be surprised if she'll get admitted with a problem in her throat. That is, if she can get out.
"I made you soup, you're burning awhile ago when you sleep."
At least his mind can still screw right
Yet she didn't budged, not looking back at him either.
Jeno sighed and placed the bowl on the bedside table, then sat on the space beside her, cupping her face to tilt towards him.
"Are you okay?"
That made her scoff. Then laugh. It was painful and her voice is even worse than yesterday.
Though her eyes are void of emotions, blank and grey, hooded, exhausted.
"What do you think?" it came out in a rasp whisper, "I don't wanna eat."
"You need to"
"No"
"Yes" he scowled and grabbed the bowl, taking a spoonful of soup, "Open"
"Just go, Jeno."
"I SAID EAT, LIA!"
Instead, she just glared. His raised voice didn't scare or startle her now, gotten used to it everyday.
Jeno's mood is like a ticking bomb, disagree with him and you're done. His words are the rules, his actions are the standard.
With every bit of hate, she knocked the bowl off his hold, not surprised what was to come.
That was it. His limit.
Now it's down to round after round, her body like of a rug doll, feeble, not an ounce of energy.
Round after round, he releases deep inside. Round after round, hit after hit, bruise after bruise.
Then her world turned black, again.
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