CHAPTER TWELVE: Why Me?

Crimson bled into my vision as my eyes fluttered open. The familiar, dreadful shade of red enveloped me—the crimson round bed. My heart leapt into my throat, a frantic bird desperate to escape its cage.

Not again. A silent scream clawed at my chest. I tried to scramble off the bed to run, but a cruel tug stopped me. A cold, metallic cuff dug into my right wrist, shackling me to the bedpost.

Panic set in. "No, no, no!" I screamed, my voice raw and desperate, but the only reply was the suffocating silence of the room. My mind raced, a whirlwind of fragmented memories and agonizing questions. How did I get here? Was I drugged? The phantom pain from yesterday's torment still ached deep in my core, a heavy anchor dragging me down. I had to get free.

I pulled and twisted, but the cuff held firm, only offering more pain in return. My gaze darted around the room until it landed on a small plastic container on the bedside table—a bottle of lubricant - almost empty. It was so close, yet just out of my reach. I stretched, my muscles straining and trembling, my fingertips grazing the smooth plastic.

I took back my hands and used my leg this time. But the plastic fell to the floor as my leg touched it, shattering the abrupt silence in the red room. I gasped. My only hope is gone now, and my heartbeat increased its pace.

Just as I was about to give up, the door swung open with a soft thud. My breath hitched. Revealing Collins, who just stood in the doorway. He was barefoot and bare-chested, his black pants a stark contrast to his pale skin. A single diamond chain glittered against his chest like a frozen tear. His eyes, usually so neutral, were now full of a terrifying, predatory hunger.

“You're awake.” He said as he held a wine cup of a strange, impossible blue. It was not the color of any drink I had ever seen—the liquid was a vibrant, unnatural sapphire. The room was bathed in a deep red light, and as he raised the cup, that scarlet glow hit the glass. The two colors clashed and bled together, the blue giving way to a rich, shimmering purple that spread through the liquid like a spell. A smirk touched his lips, catching the crimson light, and he took a slow, deliberate sip.

My blood ran cold. The gentleman I got married to was gone, replaced by a merciless stranger whose posture promised only pain.

I instinctively pulled my knees to my chest, and my revealing attire suddenly became a new form of vulnerability. Weak and pleading, I could only watch as he approached, his eyes full of a terrifying craving for my punishment.

A chilling fear gripped me, the kind that makes your breath catch in your throat and your heart pound against your ribs. "Why do I deserve this from you, Collins?" The words were a fragile whisper, a plea torn from my raw throat. Tears, hot and heavy, carved tracks down my cheeks. "Just free me... please," I begged, my voice cracking, "I promise to be at my best, henceforth."

His eyes, however, held a terrifying light—a glint of cold amusement and a hunger to inflict pain. He stopped, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Were you not at your best," his voice, a low, gravelly baritone that sent a shiver down my spine, "when you begged my friend for food? Were you not at your best," he continued, placing the wine cup on the bedside table and crawling onto the bed like a predator, "when you devoured that meal as if you'd been starving for years?"

"I was hungry, I was hungry…” I replied to him amidst my tears, but he wasn't even entirely into my excuses.

My stomach churned at the memory. He raised a single finger, pointing it to the ceiling, his head tilted slightly, as if in deep contemplation. "Wait... were you not at your best when you broke a glass cup?" he purred, his fingers brushing against my knees. A jolt of electric dread shot through me.

Oh, I broke a glass cup? I actually thought it was a little thing that broke behind me and I never knew I had caused that much chaos before I slept off.

I begged for my freedom, my pleas lost in the suffocating silence of the room, my throat raw and dry from the constant weeping. The world began to spin, and a dull, throbbing headache bloomed behind my eyes. I stopped crying, my body giving in to exhaustion.

The words were a ghost in the silent room, "Why me? What have I done to you to deserve this?" They hung in the air, heavy with a disappointment that had long ago replaced the stream of sadness. His captivating blue eyes, shards of glass in the dim light, met mine without a flicker of recognition. He was a statue, impervious to my pleas, and the chasm between us yawned wider with every passing second.

When he moved, it was with a chilling purpose—not toward me, but away, moving towards the white mirror desk. My breath caught in my throat, a dry gasp of terror. The world shrank to a single point: the glint of steel, the wicked curve of a whip, the cold promise of a gag. A scent of his cologne, sharp and suffocating, became the only air I could breathe.

The room was a tomb sealed in red light, and I was its captive, my senses a tangled knot of fear. My mind went blank, waiting for the inevitable. The bed was a witness to my dread, its smooth fabric a stark contrast to the rough reality of what was to come. He returned to me, and the tension was a physical thing, a thick, sticky web.

I held on to a fragile hope, a desperate prayer that this was all a terrible mistake. But then he tore the rainbow cloth from my body, the delicate fabric ripping with a sound that shredded my last shred of composure. A violent intimacy, a violation of a beautiful thing.

His fingers, calloused and cold, threaded through my hair. He laughed again, and ran his fingers again from my chest to my laps, a cruel parody of affection. "You wore this seductive cloth, huh?" he whispered, his voice a low growl of accusation.

He ripped my bra off, a final act of stripping away my defenses. The question echoed in the void between us, a cruel irony: How could he condemn me for a choice he had encouraged, a game he had started? The answer was another question I didn't dare to ask, a truth too painful to face. My heart, now a bruised and frantic bird, beat a desperate rhythm against my ribs.

The metals were tied on the same bruised spots on my limbs. The pain lingered on my body and I was in total discomfort.

He took off my panties too and fondled my clitoris, and I started to get wet.

The feeling was heavenly and I moaned. I started to hear low, slimy sounds as he still kept fondling with it. My eyeballs were rolled up, a satisfactory sign and then, he took off his hand, putting an end to my moment, and forcefully dipped it into my own mouth.

It was more of being tasteless and less of being salty. I wanted to puke but I still held it to myself. He still held onto the whip as he kept doing the irritating act. I just laid there, wishing for this torture to end but it seemed he just got started.

He held his manhood and stroked it a few times before pushing it to rub my core twice and he slowly pushed it in.