Page 86 of Caged

Sigma

“What are you doing?” I ask in horror as Kieren retrieves a chain from his closet. I’ve played the good girl all day. I’ve pretended not to hate him. I’ve stayed put, done everything he asked.

“What does it look like?”

“Stop, Kieren!”

“Hold still,” he growls, yanking my ankle forward.

“You literally lock us in here at night! You don’t need to chain me to the bed as well! What if I need to use the bathroom?”

“The chain is long enough. It’ll reach.”

I gawk at the hollow monster who now inhabits the deteriorating physique of the boy I foolishly fell back in love with at the beginning of the semester – the healthy-looking boy who convinced me he was in recovery andtryingto be better. And while the dark circles under his eyes and haunted expressionconjure memories of the addict he was one year ago, this is a different kind of evil. This is worse than addiction. This is madness. I’m convinced he’s suffered a psychotic break, unable to discern reality from the insanity whirling inside his mind.

“You’re sick, Kieren. You’re sick and you need help!”

“Fight me and I’ll remind you that there’s a bullet in this room with your name on it.”

“You’re disgusting, and I hate you!” I seethe, forgetting myself, forgetting the unstable psychopath who sleeps next to me in this bed.

The cuff around my ankle clicks as Kieren tightens it closed.

“As I’ve already told you, I don’t give a fuck, now lie down.”

“If you think I’m spreading my legs for you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Kieren’s huffed laugh mocks my defiance. “I don’t want your pussy, Monroe. I’ll get it soon enough, anyway. Now lie down or I’ll put you in the fucking cage. Is that what you want?”

My chest heaves with fury. “One day,” I manage through gritted teeth, “you will regret this.”

“And one day,” Kieren adds apathetically, “you’ll be dead.”

39

MONROE

Five Months Prior to Present Day,

Night of the April Full Moon Ceremony,

Junior Year,

Sigma

“Open your mouth,” Kieren tells me, holding my pills for the evening.

I open, extending my tongue.

“Water,” I grimace, waiting to swallow. As Kieren turns to fetch a bottle from the small fridge in his room, I maneuver the pills under my tongue. He twists off the cap and hands it to me. I take a small sip, letting him see my throat bob.

“Show me.”

I open again, displaying my bare tongue.

“Good.”

Kieren grabs his ceremonial mask off the bed and walks into the bathroom. Carefully, I spit out the pills and silently place them inside my partially unzipped backpack. I wasn’t sure which mirror Kieren would use to adjust his mask, the standing floor-to-ceiling one in his bedroom or the one over the sink in the bathroom. I got lucky. He picked the bathroom. If he hadn’t, I had planned to say I needed to pee one final time before heading to the basement.