Chapter 2

Next day afternoon...

Sunlight, weak and hesitant, dared to peek through the grimy window, painting stripes of gold across the stark white walls. But for her, the world remained a blurry canvas of pain, each breath a jagged shard in her chest. Her body, once a trusted vessel, felt alien, heavy limbs refusing to obey even the simplest commands.

The discarded shirt, his scent clinging to it like a mocking phantom, offered scant comfort against the biting cold. Draped in its flimsy embrace, she stumbled towards the bathroom, each step a war against the throbbing symphony playing in her bones.

The mirror, once a window to her own reflection, now stood as a cruel testament to the brutalities she had endured. Bruises, like ugly purple maps, traced the contours of her skin, each one a silent scream of her captivity. Tears, hot and salty, blurred the edges of her vision. The question, a venomous serpent coiled around her heart, hissed its relentless refrain: why me?

Anger, a bitter fruit, threatened to choke her. It was easy to blame herself, to weave a tapestry of self-recrimination where she was the villain and her pain the punishment. But defiance, a tiny ember amidst the ashes, refused to be extinguished. With a shaking hand, she slammed her fist against the mirror. The glass shattered, a million glittering shards echoing the fractured pieces of her own being. Blood, a crimson betrayal, stained her palm, a desperate attempt to drown the echoes of screams in the silence.

But the pain, a relentless predator, would not be tamed. The door splintered open, his enraged face a storm cloud on the horizon. Panic, a cold fist, squeezed her heart. Escape, even just from this cage of her own body, became a desperate prayer.

The shard, held aloft like a torch against the darkness, glinted with a chilling defiance. It was a final act, a desperate symphony of rebellion. But before the melody could be played, the door slammed shut, his shadow engulfing her like a hungry beast.

He bound her wounds, his touch rough but oddly efficient. Not with kindness, but with the possessiveness of a predator claiming its territory. His anger, a volcano on the verge of eruption, threatened to consume them both.

"You think this is a game?" he hissed, his voice a low growl. "You think you can hide? Bleed on my floor? Die?" The words, laced with venom, pierced deeper than any blade. Shame, a bitter pill, washed down with tears. She had failed, not just at escape, but at surviving.

Then, darkness, thick and suffocating, descended, pulling her under like a riptide. The pain, the fear, the anger - all blurred into a muted hum, a distant echo in a world fading to black. With a whimper, she crumpled onto the cold tiles, a pale ghost against the starkness of the room.

His anger, a simmering volcano, cooled to a simmering worry. The sight of her, fragile and lifeless, sparked something within him, a flicker of something other than ownership. He knelt beside her, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as he checked her pulse, a fragile thread still clinging to life. The crimson stain on the floor, a stark reminder of her rebellion, sent a pang through him, a sensation oddly akin to regret.

He tended to her wounds, each touch a silent apology in the suffocating silence. The rage that had consumed him moments before had dissipated, replaced by a cold, calculating anger. But she remained still, a porcelain doll shattered beyond repair. And in that quiet moment, he realised he had not just broken her body, but also broken her spirit.

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