Page 14 of Grave Possession (Grave #2)

Chapter Eleven

Mallory

T he chains outside rattle as my captor pulls them through the door handles, preparing to fuck me up for what feels like the hundredth time in a row.

I’ve lost count of the days, but that doesn’t matter, I refuse to break.

The hinges groan as he heaves open the two heavy wooden doors, allowing the light from outside to faintly bleed into the room.

His work boots clunk down the stairs, and as he emerges from the dusty, dim atmosphere, I can see his hands are full.

He’s carrying a shoe box, two plastic shopping bags, and a plate with a delicious looking sandwich on it. Colour me intrigued.

“You ready to behave today, darlin’?” His voice is light and inquisitive, but I know better than to trust whatever false sense of security he’s trying to lure me into.

I’m weak, and my mind is foggy because he’s only fed me a few times since abducting me.

However, I’m not doing myself any favours by being a huge pain in the ass and denying the food he’s brought me.

If he wants to keep me, he’ll have to give me what I want, or I’ll slowly kill myself.

“That depends on what you brought me,” I mumble, trying to be an insufferable bitch.

“Oh, I brought you lots, darlin’. But whether you get it or not is to be determined.” He taunts me with the promise of a way to keep my sanity intact while locked up in this dank, windowless prison.

“Show me then.”

“Nah, not yet… You hungry?” He drops the bags carefully and I almost squeal when one tips slightly, gracing me with a glimpse of what he brought. Books and pens. Lock your shit down, Mallory. He can’t see how eager you are to get your hands on that stuff.

“Yes, I’m hungry,” I whisper. A sinister smirk pulls at the corner of his lips as he eliminates the distance between us, squatting down in front of the dog kennel I’m locked inside.

Pulling a ring of keys from his jacket pocket, he unlocks the padlock that’s been clicked tight around the wire door and threaded through the frame.

He swings the door open, the rusted metal hinges squealing and making the migraine throbbing behind my eyes ten times worse.

“Well, come on now,” he says. I crawl out of the cage, and it’s confidence-shattering on a whole new level.

He moves to sit on the mattress in front of me, patting the spot beside him, beckoning me like a fucking dog.

It’s so demeaning. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this humiliated before, felt this level of worthlessness.

Violence swirls beneath my skin but I could never act on it in this state.

My limbs are stiff and sore from being cramped in that small area for what feels like days on end, and I can’t see clearly from the ocular migraine.

Shakily, I attempt to stand but his mumbling sound of disapproval meets my ears and I pause.

“Nuh-uh. Fuckin’ crawl to me darlin’.” He spreads his legs and licks his lips, watching me with an intensity I’ve never seen from him before.

Picking up my leash, he tugs me toward him.

Slowly I move, putting one hand in front of the other as I swallow my disgust.

“Good girl,” he says as I sit beside him on the mattress. He picks up the plate, handing it to me. I salivate like a starved animal as the smell of deli meat wafts into my nose. It’s the most sustenance I’ve been given thus far, he’s been throwing me granola bars and bags of chips intermittently.

The sandwich bread is white and fluffy with a thick spread of mayo, stacked high with ham, bologna, lettuce, cheese, and tomatoes. It may be the most beautiful sandwich in existence. What’s the catch, asshole?

“Eat, eat,” he urges. “I want to show you something.” He pulls the shoe box into his lap, removing the lid. The sandwich pauses halfway to my mouth when I witness what’s inside.

Polaroids.

So many pictures of women who I assume to be previous victims. They’re injured, cut up and bleeding—full on mangled and barely recognizable. This is a fucking test. He wants to see if I crack at the unveiling of his deepest darkness. I put the sandwich between my teeth and bite.

Show no weakness. This doesn’t bother me. They aren’t real. They’re fake, and this is a horror movie. Just another terrifying true crime case I’m listening to…one I unfortunately happen to be the focal point of. Chew and swallow.

“Is this all you wanted to show me?” I mumble before taking another bite. The meat grinds between my teeth as the juice from the tomato runs down my chin. His eyes spark to life at my indifference. Then the sicko leans in and licks the liquid from my skin. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

Drawing back a fraction, he looks at me. “Feed me,” he rasps.

“What?” I choke, mouth still semi-full of food.

“Feed me,” he repeats. I hold the sandwich up to his mouth, annoyed I have to share, but he shakes his head. Oh, fuck. Does this lunatic want me to baby bird my sandwich to him? No wonder it’s so big…it’s meant for two.

He must see the change come over me as I realize what he wants. “Hurry up, darlin’, I’m hungry too.” He shifts around, laying his head in my lap with the box of horrors sitting on his abdomen. He opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, and I want to both cry and vomit simultaneously.

I lean over and spit the food from my mouth into his.

His jaws snap closed around the lump of half masticated sandwich, and he hums his approval.

I’m shocked and speechless, suppressing the gag lingering at the back of my throat.

“Again,” he demands. I take another bite as he holds up a picture of a dark haired woman.

She’s naked, covered in dirt, blood streaming from a hole in her shoulder, and she’s on her knees with his dick in her face.

She looks familiar, but his victimology hasn’t strayed from women who resemble me for a while.

At least now that he has me, all other women are safe.

The food rolls off my tongue, and plops into his waiting mouth.

“This is the one you met on your first day here.” What?

My eyes dart from the picture to lock with his.

He can’t mean… “Yeah, darlin’, the one you tripped and fell on top of.

Remember…she exploded like a necrotic water balloon.

” A deep rumbling laugh overtakes him as he relives the moment.

Don’t break. Don’t break. Don’t break. You’re a rock.

“When can I shower?” I snark, trying to put an end to his reminiscing.

“Or get some new clothes?” Bite, chew, swallow.

He doesn’t acknowledge my question, or even seem to register the sound of my voice.

Maybe he didn’t even hear me, too lost in the memory to perceive reality.

His eyes have that far away look again, and I know he’s reliving the time he spent with her.

“She was such a good play thing,” he finally says, eyes focusing back into the here and now, his gaze meeting mine. “No one’s compared to you though. You’re perfect.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan. Does he think this shit is working? He can’t possibly believe this is wooing me. Fake one orgasm and play into his choking kink, now he’s more obsessed with me than ever before. It will work to my advantage in the long run though, I suppose.

“More, please,” he says from below me, nestling into a more comfortable position.

I continue to ‘share’ my food with him as he pulls another picture from the box.

“Want to see me fucking a throat?” he asks, overflowing with elation from whatever is on that little square in his hand.

Is it of him getting a blow job? I prepare myself for whatever rough scene I’m about to see, but nothing could have prepared me for what I actually absorb when he flips the image towards me.

Stay still. Don’t move. Don’t fall apart.

He props himself up on his elbows. They dig into my thighs, the pain centring me as his face becomes level with mine. He’s looking for any trace that my sickness doesn’t match his. “Tell me what you did,” I whisper, as the lump of sandwich stalls in my throat. I force it down and suppress a cough.

He grasps my hand in his, raising the meal to my mouth.

I take another bite. His lips meet the shell of my ear as he whispers what he did to that poor woman.

“She couldn’t suck dick to save her life, so I cut out her esophagus and used it like a fleshlight.

Spilling my cum down her throat over and over until it shrivelled up and rotted.

” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He licks my ear, nibbling and sucking on the lobe before pulling away and returning to his relaxed position on my lap.

Laid back, and completely unbothered, like he didn’t just traumatize the shit out of me.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

The sound of his fingers snapping in front of my face jolts me back to awareness. Did I unknowingly slip into a catatonic state just now? I don’t remember floating away. I didn’t consciously decide to dissociate this time, and that’s concerning as fuck.

“You okay there, darlin’?” The soggy, saliva soaked bread sits heavy in my mouth.

It’s on the cusp of disintegrating as the other ingredients swirl over my tongue.

I nod, and gesture for him to open up. “Alright, go slow this time.” His eyes are eager saucers, waiting for me to spill the nutrients from my orifice into his.

I slightly part my lips, and let my bread flavoured spit leak into his mouth.

He groans as I watch his throat swallow down my lunch. Or is it dinner?