Seithe (2 page)

Scary that. In this moment I have more respect for my abductor, than I do for Mr Dickhead at home.

He laughs. It holds incisive clarity and cuts through the music, scything into my ears with seductive tones.

Oh, I have so lost my mind. Maybe I'm the deranged one? At what point does a victim get Stockholm syndrome? How can I find him the least bit seductive?

"The skin is the largest organ of the body."

"Thanks for the biology lesson, asshole."

A strong grip holds my head as my eyes are shuttered with cloth. It's tight. Too tight to be comfortable.

"When the eyes are blinded, we start to use our other senses with deeper clarity."

"Is this how you get your kicks?"

Flinching, a gasp is extricated as something frost cold drips between my shoulder blades.

"Sensation is heightened."

I let out a bored sigh and force myself to relax. I will not give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Just kill me and get it done. Put me out of my misery.

A slow seeping heat replaces the cold. Despite my resolve, breath hisses out through clenched teeth as it begins to scorch. Freezing cold follows again.

"The skin can become so acutely aware that normal sensations can be painful to withstand."

Something slippery and cool runs down my spine.

Ugh, it feels like a crushed slug. So gross.

"Enough! You're demented."

A low chuckle advances close to my ear, "Your imagination is making you sick, isn't it?"

My stomach is tight, and I admit that bile is hovering behind my throat. The thought of what could possibly be creating these sensations makes me want to vomit.

"As fear takes hold of the mind, adrenalin increases." He inhales next to my temple. Something sharp traces my hairline. "For one of them I find you alluring. So brave, and so very stupid."

I arch my eyebrows, but keep my mouth firmly clamped closed. The last thing I need is to have crushed slug in my mouth. That would just make today
perfect
.

"
Fuck!
"

An expletive wrenches from me automatically, as agony explodes with a pierce impaling the skin above the dimple in my lower back.

"That is true pain. The body swiftly induces an adrenalin rush so you can withstand torture, fight me, or run for your life."

A sensation which I assume is his tongue circles the location of the throbbing pain.

The scorch returns on the back of my thigh, "What is this?"

"Hot."

"You can do better than that. What is it?"

"Bloody hot. I don't know."

A creepy cold runs down my spine. "What is it?"

"Cold."

"And?"

"Heavy."

"What is it?"

"I don't
know
."

His warm breath falls over my ear again, as he whispers, "Open your mind and engage me. Tell me what it is."

I release a pent sigh. I'm tired, and this guy is a weirdo that outshines all others. He's what I'd label,
extra special
. He probably won't kill me, or release me, until I play his little game.
Fine
. I hazard a guess.

"Mercury?"

The weight disappears as I listen to him laugh, "Very good."

The slimy sensations returns, "And this?"

"A slug."

He makes a tsk-tsk noise. "Would I slide slug over the skin I intend tasting?"

Ew!
He's such a fucktoid. He's turning into Mr Creepy - the deluxe version. I shrug awkwardly. My neck is beginning to hurt at this angle.

"Clue?" he suggests.

"What is this? You are so weird."

A sharp sting lashes over my thighs, "You are trying my patience."

"How do you think I feel?"

The cold pierces behind my neck. "That is a magnet."

The heat burns into my skin on my inner thigh. "Melted chocolate, to which I am holding a flame."

The slug rubs against my cheek. "Cucumber."

Well, that's a relief.

A piercing of pain runs up my sole, "Pin."

Stinging sensation behind my legs again. "Willow rod."

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Seithe."

I'm experiencing the wet warmth like a tongue again, followed with a sharp pain.

"Lips, tongue, and I give up on the other part."

Lips close over mine, scalding breath washing over me.

"Taste your lips."

Tentatively, I run my tongue over them. Flinching reflexively as it's caught between teeth. He sucks it into his mouth, and I can taste metal. I have the urge to cry.

His mouth releases mine from captivity and he pulls the blindfold off. I stare back at liquid silver eyes.

"You fucking freak me out, dude."

"What is your name, girl?"

"Phoebe."

He smiles and his eyes change to deep brown. A masculine hand pushes errant strands of hair off my face. "You forgot how exciting it is to be alive, didn't you?"

What kind of question is that?

He snatches at my hands, releasing me in wrenching gusts of movement and carelessly commanding my body into his strength. He turns me around, and I stare at a table covered in bowls. The entire rear of the room is painted red, adorned with red lit candles.

Are we in the voodoo fetish room?

He clasps a bowl and holds it under my nose, "What is it?"

"Cinnamon."

He repeats the process, "What is this?"

"Lemon."

"This?"

"Menthol."

Holding my neck tight, he demands passionately, "You take it all for granted. Your senses speak multiple languages. When was the last time you consciously used them?"

"You are so fucking strange."

He laughs and leans over me, my skin prickles with the body heat emanating off his chest, his skin an inch from mine, "Oh, we are a long way from fucking,
or
strange."

Long fingers continue holding my neck in silent intimidation, "You take breath for granted."

"Is there a point to this?"

He lets go and folds those sexy arms over his torso. Staring at me with mild curiosity, "You're no fun. I picked the wrong toy to play with."

Up yours!

Male arrogance just ignited my latent rage.

I stand and shove my finger into his shoulder. "No fun?
No fun
! Do you think I find this
fun
? You drugged me, stripped me of virtually everything I was wearing and play stupid, let's examine your senses games with me!"

Shove.

"I wasn't planning on being
fun
! Men suck.
You
suck. Fuck
you!
"

Clenching my jaw so tightly it hurts.
Freak.

He catches my hand in a swift movement and forces my fingers back, exposing the wrist, "Pressure points. Have you ever played with them?"

I'm really upset. Tears are wanting to be noticed and they're pooling. My frustration and disappointment are mingling with powerlessness, again. I'm sick of being some asshole's victim.

"No!" Tears spill over to saturate my eyelashes. "Just get lost and leave me alone!"

He drops my hand and watches me as I fumble with my jeans, which were perfectly placed next to the rumpled bed.

I'm shy and scared as he silently observes me. When my clothes are back in place, reinstating dignity, I scowl at him with all of the man hatred I can muster, "Which way out?"

A thumb rubs under my eye, "You take pain for granted. You feel such intense joy and such intense sorrow. You weep."

"
Which way out
?
"

"Through here." And he pushes a hot palm over my heart. Stepping in, he wraps arms around me, "You can't escape, Phoebe. You are a prisoner until you find the key."

I shove at him. Glaring at blue eyes and shocking white hair, "How the hell do you do that?"

He smiles, it holds no emotion. "Phoebe, does fire burn?"

I nod uncomfortably.

"Then explain a fire walker. Explain how cold can burn as much as heat."

"I can't."

"You are a prisoner until you open up your mind and your senses. You are half alive. Half dead. Wake up."

"I WANT OUT!"

"
You hold the key.
"

"Thanks for being such a freak!" I start flouncing around trying to find the door.

"There is no door."

"Then, how did we get here?"

"I willed it."

"So
un
will it."

"Meet me again and I'll let you go."

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice."

I stare at him defiantly. "Fine."

He steps forward and puts a thumb over each of my eyes and whispers, "And the blind shall see."

Instantly I'm rendered blind.

Chapter 3: Medieval

I wake up with my heart pounding, it's like a jackhammer trying to shatter my ribcage.

"Whatever you took last night knocked you out cold. Where did you go?"

My wild eyes scan rapidly to encounter Mr Shithead. I narrow scornful eyes at him, "Don't you wish you knew?"

"So? Are you over your hormones yet?"

I can't still the drumming of my panic. I need space to assimilate what's real, and what isn't. I glare harder at the lazy ass I share my life with.

"Why don't you go play with yourself?"

He thrusts his crotch in my face as he waltzes past the couch I fell asleep on, "You know you want to."

I stare at the zip presented to me and am ill with loathing. Pushing myself off the couch, I stalk to the kitchen, "You are such a prick."

He yells after me, "And you need an attitude adjustment!"

I put the kettle on with renewed rage. The light beyond the window hurts more than a usual hangover. What the hell was in that drink anyway?

I change my mind and dash to the shower instead. Slamming the door closed and locking it. Stripping my clothes off in panic. Abandoning them rapidly to examine my body in the mirror. I stare at the red marks, and my strength deserts me. Instantly weak and trembling, I sink down onto the edge of the bath. My breath catches as I stare at the marks on my inner thigh. I don't remember coming home. I've never suffered from alcohol induced blackouts, and I don't like having gaps in my recollection.

Angry at the uninvited invasion, I stomp to the shower and blast it. Men. They're all trouble. Each and every one of them. Swiftly, I scrub myself down, scouring with Imperial Leather. When what I wish, is that Vanish would invent a human soap that could remove every stain off my soul, mind, lips, spirit, memory. I slap a wet palm bitterly against the cool tiles.

Why? Why do they always find me?

I obviously have victim etched into my irises, and any man who stops to look into my eyes sees 'easy prey'.

Swivelling the tap closed, I clench my jaw in battle rage.

Fine. It's time for me to engage in war. I'm going to make Joan of Arc look like Cinderella. I'm taking names and cutting those bastards down. Starting with the idiot who's too freaking lazy to clean up after himself, but magically has energy for friends, hobbies and shagging.

After towelling dry, I stomp out of the bathroom and wince at the instant pain behind my eyes. Shees, it's bright today. Bloody glare dancing off windows everywhere I look. I stalk into the sitting room, simmering for a confrontation, and am immediately deflated as I spy the post-it-note on the door.

Gone Out. See you later.

Typical.

Dropping the green towel, I wander to the kitchen to make coffee. Absently dialling Ariel's number as I spoon coffee into the bodum.

"Hey babes. I have a question for you ... Your apartment in High Level road, are you still looking for a tenant? ... Delightful. I'll do an EFT today. Can I come over to get the keys? ... Half an hour? Great! Love you! ... bye."

Cradling fresh coffee, I switch on my laptop and do the transfer. Smirking indulgently at the surprise about to happen to Mr Shithead. "See you later."
I don't think so.

I piled everything that was legitimately mine into my beat up Polo, and went over to Ari's in Camps Bay to pick up the keys. Lived through ten full minutes of interrogation, bought her extra futon, and procured her man as my muscle for lugging it upstairs.