31 Broken Record (1/2)

[The worst thing about being held captive is how it hampers your eating and sleeping habits. Alice had fun with her food, literally. How I had managed to survive as long as I had, I will never know.

In that unventilated large room, the clinical smell of bleach permeated the air and made it difficult to discern the scent of blood churning in the midst of it. The room was an illusion created by none other than Alice. She was a neat freak if she was close to being human. She made sure to scrub every corner of the room, me included, using soft products so that my supple skin was not tormented and was forever plump, awaiting her to gain an appetite for my meat.

The meals were sparse, just enough to keep me alive and sentient. The quality was horrid, she was definitely not a good cook. And worst of all was her descriptions of the food she was consuming. My stomach turned every time she spoke about the benefits of cannibalism.

I grew resilient soon. The talks of milky white skin and peeling it off was something I heard frequently. Like a broken record she would tease my patience, being extravagant in her descriptions and hoping for a violent reaction for which she could punish me. It sparsely came. Less frequently as time went by.

I still don't know why she grew so violent against me towards the end, or why she didn't do away with me altogether. The line of people continued to pass. Like clockwork, I went from slicing the meat to consuming copious amounts of chicken. She made me sit beside her during every meal. I could barely keep it down, but most days I managed.

”You're very beautiful,” she sneered at me one day as we played with our plate for food. Only Alice could turn such a mundane act into something insidious and gut-wrenching. Her words startled me. She had grown more vicious towards me. She would cut my skin often and force pieces of chicken down my throat even on my worst days. I knew it was close to the end. That there would be no point in hoping for survival, only a faint chance that going with her whims would extend my life by a couple of days.

The anger in her voice puzzled me. Her earlier comments about my looks were laced with an insatiate hunger. This time, her eyes glowed with menace. I shuddered.

I couldn't find my voice to retort, even if for small talk.

”Tonight you dine with a special someone,” she uttered, completely gleeful. Her turns in mood were puzzling.

”Who?” I found myself asking. The moment of courage was taken with a chuckle. She looked at me with a sharp expression.

”Did I give you permission to talk?” She grumbled. I pressed my lips together, finding myself slightly fearful of what was to come. ”You're growing more fearless as the days go. Shall I remind you what pain feels like? Will that make you understand who lets you live for another day?” I silently looked at the plate placed in front of me.

Alice had impeccable table manners and she liked enforcing them on other people.

Curiosity ate away at me. Who was this new person on whom bad luck and befallen and they would be dragged into this decapitating scene? I wondered which of us would be lucky.

A little part in me hoped that it would be me. A little more time… a little more chance of the cops finally rescuing me.

It surprised me that I still had some hope left in my heart. I suppose the obsession with living rendered humans incapable of completely letting go of their hope in life. In such desperate situations, how could I continue to endure such torture?

”It's a boy.” She giggled chirpily. I stared at her with a slight surprise. She had never told me much about her next target or what they represent, then why had she suddenly started speaking up?

”He's twenty-six and very pretty. You have a date with him tonight,” she said. I couldn't discern what she was thinking but it seemed like another one of her convoluted plans. ”You do know that I consider you my sister, right?” she impressed upon me, her voice childlike, a pout looking for approval on her lips.

I flinched internally as I waited for her to continue.

Who knows what she would do if I speak out of turn. I stayed silent.