Taste of survival

LILA POV 

My throat was dry, and even though I felt sick to my stomach, my body craved food.

There was no telling how long I'd been here, or when I last had something to eat or drink but when Damon placed the tray with bread and what I now knew was water and vinegar on the bed, eating or drinking was the last thing on my mind.

The second I laid eyes on Damon, my skull prickled with warning. Nico had darkness burning in his eyes, but Damon? There was something far more sinister stirring in him, and it made my skin crawl. Oh God.

What the hell was happening?

What am I going to do?

How am I going to survive this whatever this is?

Wiping away the remnants of tears from my cheeks, I stared at the stale loaf of bread. What I really wanted was water, but when I tasted that god awful vinegar, the gulp I took burned down my throat.

Unfortunately, that small taste of water only intensified my thirst, and now I was even willing to see how much of the disgusting water-vinegar mix my body could tolerate before I threw up. I glanced down at the liquid I'd spilled all over the floor.

Without thinking, I crouched forward, pushed my dirty hair back, and started licking the vinegar-water off the floor like a fucking dog. I couldn't stop myself. It was as if every primal instinct in my body had taken over, and if licking water off the floor was what I needed to survive, then so be it.

The taste was disgusting. The sharp tang of vinegar stung the inside of my mouth, burning all the way down my throat. But I didn't care. I focused on the little taste of water I managed to get every now and then. After licking up every drop I could find, I sat back, leaning against the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The psycho was probably watching me, loving the sight of me crawling on the floor like a pet. This was exactly what he wanted to see me on my knees.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I thought about the look in Nico eyes when he stared at me the hate pulsing with thick, hot rage behind those dark irises. He thought I killed his brother. But that's not true.

He wanted revenge against me for something I didn't do. How the hell was I supposed to get out of this, to survive, when that man had nothing but cold resolve written all over his face? I could feel more tears threatening to show how weak I felt at that moment, but I bit my tongue, pushing them back.

Enough tears had been expelled from my body and soul ever since the day I thought Nikolai had left me.

With every tear my body shed after he was gone, I hated him more and more. His absence made me weak.

It made me want to crawl back into that hole I had lived in for years before I finally gathered the strength to climb out.

I had promised myself that I would never allow anything to drag me back into that dark place where pain was my only friend.bBut when Nikolai disappeared, I couldn't take it. It was a different kind of pain the kind I didn't know how to love. And that's why I turned to drinking.

Alcohol became the only way to numb the craving, to control the urge to let the pain bleed out of my veins.

I never wanted to be that person again the one too weak to handle the pain, the one who needed to drown it just to feel normal. Being weak was not who I was. I eyed the bread, remembering his warning about what would happen if I didn't eat it.

Part of me knew I needed food to regain my strength, but another part of me refused. He wanted me strong so I could endure whatever he planned next. That was reason enough not to eat.

How stupid would I be to obey every order he gave, feeding into his twisted vendetta against me?

The way I saw it, I had two choices: Either I did what he said and prayed someone would find me before it was too late Or I fought him. I wasn't clueless. I knew the window of finding a kidnapped woman in this country was small. The longer I stayed here, the slimmer my chances became.

So my only other option was to fight to fight him at every turn, to show him that I wasn't the weak little mouse he thought I was. My mom used to tell me how strong willed I was.

No one could sway me once I made up my mind, which was why she never tried to stop me when I decided to move to New York. She knew that no matter what anyone said, I wouldn't stay.

So where was that woman now the strong-willed, fearless girl who wanted to prove she could stand on her own two feet?

I needed to find her again. I needed to pull myself together and show Castello that I wouldn't break easily.

I wouldn't play the helpless victim, giving him exactly what he wanted. I saw it in his eyes his hunger for power. And because I was the root of his revenge, that power had to come from me. Well, fuck him. I wouldn't give it to him. I grabbed the hardened loaf of bread and climbed to my feet. My stomach growled, begging me to eat, but I ignored it.

I tore off a piece of the tattered rag that hung just above my knees, swallowed hard, and reached down to where I knew the finger was. The second I felt it between my fingers through the fabric, I gagged.

I quickly wrapped the cloth around the finger, grabbed the box it came in, and stuffed it back inside. A rush of air left my lungs as my body went numb. I sat on the bed, staring at nothing.

Everything was still so surreal, like any moment I'd wake up in my apartment, safe and free. Wishful thinking.

With the bread still in my hands, I started breaking it into tiny pieces, placing them inside the box with the finger. I put the lid back on and carried it to the wall where I knew the hidden door was.

After setting the box on the floor, I glanced around the room, knowing he was probably watching. I climbed onto the bed, my stomach still rumbling, begging me to grab the box and eat. But my mom's voice echoed in my head over and over again. "You are the most strong-willed girl I have ever known..."

Her voice gave me strength not the two-week-old loaf of bread, not the foul vinegar-water. And if hearing her voice wasn't enough, the fact that the bread sat beside a human finger was reason enough for me not to eat.

No. I wouldn't eat. Nico wanted me physically strong so he could torture me and drag out his revenge.

I'd be strong, alright but not in the way he expected. If I wanted to win this war, I needed to fight him with his own weapon. Me.