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“Daddy owns every part of you,” he said with a smile before spitting into my mouth. “Even your memories.”
Blue eyes met blue. He wanted more than my death. He always had from the day he stepped into my bedroom. The constant search for a perfect fuck doll was his game. The only question was, for how long?
He tapped my nose before placing another pill on my tongue. His fingers moved beneath my chin, pushing it until my mouth was full of his spit and drugs.
“You're welcome,” he said, but we both knew the words were a mockery.
Chapter 17
Maeve
Time had lost its shape. The only constants were the three of them, Bear, Master, and Mother, each engraved themselves into my brain. Seven years of grey walls and a stain weakened me beyond repair.
Master, Mother, and Bear.
Bear, Master and Mother.
Round and round they went.
Bear had been my confessor. His matted fur had absorbed my tears, and his lopsided smile never wavered as I whispered my sins into his ragged ear.“I hate her,” I'd murmured, and his button eyes had gleamed in the dim light as if to say,“I know.”
He'd witnessed it all—the men, the punishments, the nights I'd clawed at my own skin just to feel something clean. His stitching had frayed a little more with every atrocity, his stuffing clumping where I'd clutched him too tight. A silent witness. My only comfort.
Master had been my sculptor.
“Open,” he'd commanded, slipping a pill between my lips. His fingers smelled of antiseptic and cigars, always precise and clinical as he'd reshaped me. He'd traced the scars on my ribs, laughing when I’d shivered.
“This one's my favourite.”
Mocking me. Always mocking me.
The worst part hadn't been the pain from the knife or razor blade. It had been the way he'd cradled my face afterwards, thumbing away blood like a doting father. “You're perfect likethis, doll,” he'd sighed, and I'd believed him for a heartbeat. I wanted to believe his every lie.
Then there had been her.
Mother.
She'd lived in the edges of my vision—a flash of her cheap floral perfume in the shower drain, the ghost of her laughter when Master had turned the screws too tight. I'd dreamed of her sometimes, her needle-thin fingers counting the pound notes as men came through my bedroom door.
“Worth every penny,” she'd chirped, her pupils swallowing her eyes.
Bear had seen those dreams, too.
“She's coming back for you,” Bear lied one night, his voice sweet as poison. “She'll save us.”
I'd screamed into his fur until I lost my voice, but Master had rewarded me with extra pills.
Mother's ghost had blown me a kiss from the corner. The same corner where the girl’s blood-stained mattress had been.
And Bear?
He just watched.
???
Footsteps echoed in the silence. I crawled to the door, my knees scraping against concrete, my body already trembling for what he’d give me—or take away.
The keys jangled. The door creaked open.