Life and Death

A quick trigger warning: this chapter has depictions of both sexual assault and violence.

Well.

This chapter was impossible, but here it is.

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She'd always thought of life and death as opponents.

Foes that had been at war since the beginning of time.

Fighting over souls for centuries.

She believed they were separate.

Polar opposites that could not exist together.

That there was either life or there was death.

She thinks that is why she was so angry with the immortals for killing the boy.

They had robbed him of life.

Enid is thinking of this as she paces the floorboards, moonlight liquid beneath her bare feet.

Life.

Death.

The clanking of her chain annunciating each step she takes.

Her thoughts are nearly too loud for her to hear the squeak of the door swinging open.

For a short moment, she thinks it is them.

It had only been four days since her conversation with Almalfi, but maybe he had been able to put things into motion quicker than he thought.

Something unknots in her chest, relief soothing through her veins like cool water.

The smile burns to ash on her face as she takes in Flynt's form.

Hope sinks, curdling in her stomach.

"I could hear your jingling from down the hall." His smirk is vicious.

Enid steps back as he enters the room, feeling the mattress press against her legs.

His icy eyes study her casually.

"Are you upset?" There is raw curiosity in his gaze.

She isn't sure whether to laugh or scream or cry.

All she can do is stare at him, a look of disbelief alight on her face.

Flynt rolls his eyes as the silence stretches on, an annoyed sigh leaving him.

"Are you displeased with your accommodations? I have given you a nice room, food, a shower, fresh clothes. Really, one might expect some gratitude." Flynt drawls.

A dare in his eyes.

Her hackles raise at the challenge.

Fiery anger prickling underneath her skin.

"You kidnapped me, threatened my friends, and are trying to kill the men I love. So, yes, I think I'm rather displeased with my accommodations!" Her voice rising as she yells at him.

Flynt smiles with twisted amusement as she glares at him.

Taking another step forward, he fiddles with the cufflinks of his shirt.

Enid moves back further on the small bed, crawling backward until her back met the wall.

"Strange how you refer to them as the men you love. Present tense. Last I checked you were running away from them when I found you." He muses, leaning against the post of the bed.

She hadn't noticed the truth of what she said until the syllables had already been formed.

Love.

Present tense.

Her glower deepens as he chuckles.

"You know, it's really such a shame that you cut your hair. I much preferred it long. It was more tamed then. Less wild." He continues, studying the way her curls brush against her neck.

His eyes dip lower, languid as they run along her collarbones.

Hunger in the curve of his lip.

She folds under his gaze, trying to become so small that she might just disappear.

There is no where left for her to go as he takes a final step toward her.

His hand reaching out to tug on one of her curls.

Enid tries to hide the way her body quivers with anxiety.

Keeping her eyes firmly on the blanket beneath her.

A finger drags along her cheek, over the bruise he had put there a few days before.

His breath brushes against her arms as he leans down toward her, goosebumps erupting across the flesh.

Terror stealing her breath.

Fragments of a memory of tree bark and smoke and another pair of unwelcome hands.

"Please stop." Her plea is frantic as one of his hands falls to her thigh.

She is grateful that she had been given pants instead of shorts or a skirt.

He laughs softly, tilting her head up.

Her hands are on his chest.

Pushing, pushing, pushing.

But he is much stronger than she is.

His lips ghost across her own and she wretches her head away.

Bile rising in her throat.

Hyperventilating as fingers begin to toy with the hem of her shirt.

"Flynt." A voice comes from the doorway and she nearly cries in relief.

The man tenses, his grip on her tightening before releasing.

She has never been so happy to see Armad Almalfi before in her life.

Flynt steps forward, blocking the burly man from her view.

"You're needed downstairs. Something about a trespasser." His Slavic voice is like music to her ears.

She barely notices as Flynt curses, storming from the room.

Shaking hands pressing against her mouth as she tries to erase the feeling of his lips on hers.

Almalfi stares at her from the doorway, sorrow and guilt in his eyes.

"The plan is set for tomorrow. Just hang on a little longer, little girl." He shuts the door behind him and for once she is thankful for the sound of the lock.

She does not sleep that night.

The meager contents of her stomach emptied into the toilet as the memory of his head lowering toward her loops in her mind.

It is all she can do to pull herself up from the tile floor.

Standing for a few hours under the spray of the shower, she washes the memory of his hands away until her skin is red.

Nothing makes her feel clean.

In the morning, she eats the apple from the tray that was delivered.

Anticipation makes her restless, desperately hoping that Almalfi carries out their plan correctly.

She paces the room.

Thinking of life.

Of death.

Anything but the feeling of his mouth.

It is nearly evening when he enters her room again.

He is different somehow, his expression a little looser.

More manic.

His gestures more dramatic.

She realizes why when she smells the liquor on his breath.

"You know, I can say a lot of bad things about the immortals. But they definitely knew what they were doing when they chose you." His words are slightly slurred as he ambles toward her.

Warily, she steps toward the window.

Sober Flynt was already difficult to handle.

Him being drunk was an added dangerous variable.

She prays that the immortals get there soon.

Gulping another large mouthful from the crystal glass in his hand, he suddenly snaps his fingers.

"I've never given you a tour of the mansion! My, what a rude host I am." He sets his glass down on the desk.

A gasp leaves her as he pulls a key from his pocket.

Her heart in her throat, she lifts her manacled ankle toward him.

Hoping upon hope that he doesn't change his mind.

His eyebrows furrow at her action before a loud laugh leaves him.

"Oh, no, little mouse. I'm still keeping you on your leash." He shakes his head in amusement as he unlocks the end tied to the bed.

The look on his face is like that of a spoiled child as he tugs her out of the room.

Enid nearly trips as he traipses along in front of her, forcing her to scurry to keep the chain from yanking her leg.

"This is the fourth drawing room... Here's another guest bedroom..." She can barely focus on the rooms they pass as she tries to keep up with him.

Her eyes search desperately for help, but the corridor is vacant.

The door at the end of the hallway is different from the others they have passed.

Something sinister in the darkness of the wood.

"And this... is my room." He halts before it and she stops just short of running into him.

Enid tenses as he looks at her with hooded eyelids.

"I, um- I think I want to go back to my room." She steps back as far as the shackle will let her.

Flynt's lips press into a displeased line before he turns around.

Her fate seems doomed as the door swings open.

Just like the rooms she had caught small glimpses of, the room is extremely opulent.

Modern, expensive furniture fills the spacious area.

Stark, dark lines and rich textures.

It is exactly what she expected.

"Come in, come in." He drags her over the threshold.

A ghastly grin on his face.

Her heart dropping as the door clicks shut behind them.

Flynt drops his end of her chain, walking over to the drink cart by the window.

Slowly, she reaches a hand behind her and presses down on the doorknob.

Locked.

Suddenly reappearing before her, he offers the glass in his hand to her.

Warm amber liquid swirling inside the intricate crystal.

"No, thank you." Enid says nervously.

The relaxed set of his shoulders disappears as he glares down at her.

"Women are not meant to say no." His words are much clearer than a few minutes prior.

His free hand rises, gripping her chin violently.

Pain erupting in her jaw.

Cold glass rubs against her lips as he holds the rim to her mouth.

Enid struggles against him, locking her lips together and making noises of protest.

"Drink." He growls as he forces her mouth open, pouring the burning liquid down her throat.

Wincing as she swallows, her eyes burn with tears.

Flynt gives a hum of approval.

Stepping back, his support of her weight disappears.

Her body sways and she places a hand on the wall to keep herself upright.

A haziness on the edges of her vision.

"I'm going to take a quick shower. Be good." His voice cuts through the fog.

The sound of the bathroom door shutting jars her back into the moment.

Okay, time to think.

Rolling the chain up, she holds the metal so that it won't make noise as she crosses the room.

Testing each of the windows, she finds they are welded shut.

She curses silently, checking the door again.

The shower turns on and she hopes the sound is loud enough to cover as she tries to kick it down.

In her weakened state, she stands no chance of getting it open.

Heartbroken, she presses her forehead against the wood.

A tear marking a trail down her flushed face.

Find a weapon.

Alexander's voice cuts in and she pulls herself back together again.

Surveying the room, she checks the drawers of the dresser first.

Blushing at the piles of underwear, she finds nothing helpful.

The drawers of the desk are locked and there is nothing sharp on top.

Enid searches under the bed.

Nothing.

The sound of the shower turning off sends a surge of panic through her.

Think, think.

Where would you keep a weapon if you were a psychopathic murderer?

Her mind races as she imagines his torture lair.

No.

Flynt was distrusting, paranoid.

Being vulnerable during sleep would be one of his biggest fears.

He'd keep a gun close.

Crossing to the side of the bed where the sheets were rumpled, she opens the drawers of the bedside table.

Empty.

Her heartbeat is deafening in her ears.

Leaning over the dark furniture, she feels along the back of it.

The space between the table and the wall just wide enough to fit...

There.

Her fingers brush against something cold and metallic.

She nearly laughs with joy as she grabs the small gun.

The sound of the door opening behind her ends the small victory and she shoves the weapon between the waistband of her pants and her back.

Pulling her shirt down to cover it.

Flynt hums as he leaves the steamy room, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Another towel in his hand as he dries his snowy hair.

For a monster, he still looks surprisingly human.

His gaze is sharp as she meets his eyes.

The hot water had sobered him slightly.

"I think since I was so kind to give you a tour of my home, I should get something in return." Flynt says as he pours himself a drink at the cart.

Enid glares at his bare back.

"No." Her fingers itch to strangle him.

He raises an eyebrow at her as he turns around.

His cruel smirk back on his face.

"What did I say about that word?" Flynt's voice is condescending, like a disappointed father.

Before she can blink, he is before her.

A hand on the center of her chest as he is pushing her down onto the bed.

Crawling on top of her as she sinks into the comforter.

The gun is hard against her spine, her attempt to reach it failing as his grip tightens.

Her arms fumble to push him off.

Clumsily kicking out her legs to try to disbalance him.

Flynt laughs at the attempt, his touch bruising as he holds her down.

His long limbs stretching to lock her in place.

Droplets of water drip from his hair, cold on her cheeks as they fall.

Alarm paralyzing her as his hands drift along her legs again.

Opening her up despite her refusal.

He tears her top in half, her bra the only thing keeping her chest from his greedy gaze.

A serpent like smile slithering across his face.

"No! Stop." Her demand is shaky.

He presses a hand against her throat, cutting off her windpipe.

"You need to learn your place, little mouse. Clearly your immortals didn't train you well enough. It's time I taught you a lesson." His features are pure evil as he stares down at her.

Gasping for air, she clutches at his forearm.

A tornado of thoughts wreaking havoc in her mind.

She can't think straight.

But then- she hears him.

C'mon, little bird.

You are smaller, but you are smarter.

Fight.

She brings her leg up, kneeing him as hard as she could.

"Bitch!" He curses, his weight falling against her.

Enid slips out from under his lanky form, crawling back across the bed.

She is about to leap from the surface, her hands scrambling for the gun, when she is yanked backwards by her ankle.

The ephemeral moment of victory ripped from her.

A snap is heard as the manacle harshly pulls at the bone.

The sharp pain enough to tell her it's possibly broken.

Flynt is breathing heavily, the chain clutched in his hand.

His towel has fallen, and she feels bile burn at her throat at the sight of his bare flesh.

He wrenches the metal again, dragging her back toward him.

A sneer on his face as he climbs back on top of her.

"Enough." He barks.

One hand holding her arms while the other unbuttoned her pants.

Tears burn and freeze along her cheeks as he slides the material down her legs.

She is begging, pleading him to stop.

His mouth is on hers.

Bruising and godless.

Taking and taking and taking.

That which is not his to take.

She bites down on his tongue until she tastes blood and still, he does not stop.

In her mind, she imagines happier times.

Dante reading her poems.

Alexander's thigh pressed against her own on the piano bench.

Theodore across the table from her, a newspaper in his hand.

Her and her father, wrapped in a blanket and the stars.

Flynt releases her arms, needing both hands to pull down her underwear.

She imagines happier times as she reaches beneath her.

Their smiles.

Their laughs.

Their love.

Enid does not look at his face as she aims the gun at him.

She closes her eyes, imaging Alexander's fingers over her own.

Helping her hold it steady.

Just like that, angel.

When she pulls the trigger, she realizes she was wrong.

His blood warm on her bare skin.

The weight of his body seeming to crush her into nothingness.

She was wrong about life.

About death.

They weren't separate entities.

Weren't two opposing forces at war.

Life and death were the same.

Two sides of one coin.

The door flies open behind her and she can just barely make out their faces before she slips into the darkness.

She was wrong.

Because there is so much death in life.

And so much life in death.

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This chapter was definitely the darkest thing I've ever written.

I have had this moment- of Enid with the gun- so vividly in my mind since the start of this book.

It was surreal to actually write it out.

Next update might be a little later than usual as this week is finals for me.

I hope all of you who have exams do wonderfully!!

Comments fill my heart with joy.

All my love, Sappho ❂