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Bleu

By Michaela Haze




BLEU


Originally published in the United States/ United Kingdom in 2017 by

DIRTY JEANS PUBLISHING LTD

www.michaelahaze.com

Copyright © Michaela Haze 2017

All rights reserved


This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and all characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


Cover photo and asset credit: freepik.com

Cover design: Michaela Haze







Note from the author


Originally from The Devil’s Advocate, Nora’s back story was vast and vague. Nora was integral to the plot. A broken woman who suffered because of a demon’s jealousy.

A victim. A survivor. A woman strong enough to be the mate to the brusque Samuel Rose, and make a deal with the devil to take back her life.

I did not want Nora to detract from Dahlia and Luc’s story too much in Advocate, but I also felt that her tragedy needed to be told.

I hope I do you justice Nora…


Love Michaela x




Bleu



He took me. Trapped me like an animal.

I was used and spat out again by a beautiful Demon.

I didn’t know that he was an incubus, desperate for my love.

I was one of the lucky ones. I managed to escape.

I will make him pay.

I will watch him burn.




Chapter 1.


The music was obnoxious. Dubstep without a drop.

It was student night at The Forum, the nearest bar to campus at the University of London. The air conditioning was on the Fritz, which meant that my naturally fine hair was stringy with sweat. I could feel the strands as they clung to the back of my neck.

I sucked down the mouthful of water from my glass, which had been ice only minutes before. I eyed the crowd at the bar and tried to decide if I wanted another drink that badly.

My t-shirt was beyond awesome. An alpaca straddling a rainbow. I had received it as a present from my pen pal Sachiko. It was not the kind of shirt that screamed sex vixen. Mine was not an outfit that you wore if you wanted to get served at the bar almost immediately.

“You want another round of drinks?” Ingrid, one of my roommates, leant over and eyed my empty glass.

I breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank god. I do not want to brave that menagerie.”

Ingrid brushed her honey blonde hair over one shoulder and jiggled to rearrange her top to reveal more cleavage. She sauntered off with a wink.

“Grid's got her eye on the barman.” Harrison, a new addition to the group, leant over and took Ingrid's space in the circle.

I stood at the edge of the dancefloor, enough to be socially acceptable if I wanted to Bob to the music, but not near enough to be jostled and grinded upon. Harrison studied a couple that were having simulated sex in the middle of the dancefloor and hid his smirk behind his closed fist.

“How did your final exam go?” He asked.

I found myself unable to meet his eyes. Harrison was the kind of person that held eye contact during a conversation, which I found strange. I looked down to my flip-flops and wiggled my toes. The floor was sticky and I was certain that if I moved from where I stood, I would probably leave my shoes behind.

Zenzen, Betsuni.” It was nothing. I said.

“Considering I don’t speak Japanese; I'm going to assume you said that it was great.” Harrison's hair flopped into his eyes and he pushed it away with an easy smile.

Ingrid placed a cold can of Red Bull against my bare arm, and made me jump. I rubbed the spot and scowled. “Lenora doesn’t like to talk about it, but she fucking aced it.”

“Did she now?” Harrison laughed.

“Her Grandma is Japanese, of course she aced it.” Ingrid nodded earnestly.

“That’s like saying that you're a qualified surgeon just because your father was.” I said into my glass. Neither of the two sunshine kids heard me.

“O-M-G, Harrison.” Ingrid clasped her hands in front of her and jumped on the spot in a way that suggested she needed the toilet. “This is my song. Do you want to dance?”

Harrison's gaze rested on mine for a second too long, as if he was accessing my emotions towards the subject. Which was a bit silly, considering that Grid was one of my best friends

“Go on. I'll be fine.” I took another sip of my drink and shook the can when I found it to be almost empty. “I might make a move in a minute. I've got to call my mum and let her know how the last day of finals went anyway.”

I watched Ingrid drag Harrison onto the centre of the dancefloor. Her hips swayed from side to side and the poor Mathematics student looked a little lost. Someone bumped into them both from behind, causing Harrison to edge closer to Grid.

I put my empty can on the side and weaved past the bar and out of the side door, nearest the taxi rank.

I took my phone out of my pocket, ready to call an Uber, only to find that the damned thing was dead. I would hazard a guess and say that my battery couldn’t take the overload of Sherlock fanfiction that I had devoured while I had waited for Grid to get ready.

My house, which I shared with five other girls, was on the other side of the City in the cheaper part of Hackney. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I walked to the front of a line of black cabs. A few lights were on. I went to the first car, but it had been booked already. It wasn’t the smartest idea to get a taxi that I hadn’t pre-booked. There were adverts about it all the time on TV, but I’d done it once or twice and had never had any issues.

The third car in the line was free. I slipped into the back and gave my street name.

Sitting back against the worn leather upholstery, I watched as we pulled away from the brightness of the Forum and the numerous chicken restaurants that surrounded it.

I twiddled my thumbs, mentally berated myself for not charging my phone because I could have been playing Angry Birds, instead of humming under my breath for entertainment.

The driver didn’t bother to make conversation, which was fine with me. I was awkward enough with people I knew, let alone strangers.

Tapping my fingers against my jean clad legs, I watched the streets blur as headlights moved past. We were stuck in traffic. Stop. Start.

I eyed the metre, but luckily for me, it was fixed so I didn’t worry too much.

I recognised the ramp that led up to the Blackwell Tunnel. My mind was foggy from the alcohol that I had drunk, and a sweet smell permeated the air and made me dizzy. My chest heaved and I pulled my t-shirt away from my neck so that I could fan myself against the heat.

“Hi...um...” I stuttered. “I don’t think you're going the right way.”

The side of the driver's face was bathed in blue light as the darkness of the tunnel swallowed the car. The low hum of the radio jarred as it lost signal.

“I said Hackney. Not Greenwich.” I said, trying to place more confidence in my voice than I felt. I reached over to the door as subtly as I could and I tested the handle. The child locks were engaged. I squinted and eyed the dashboard and saw the tell-tale red light that confirmed my fears.

“You can drop me off at that bus stop.” I pleaded, trying to keep my voice level.

The driver said nothing. He kept his eyes on the road and continued driving.

My heart started throwing itself against my ribcage and my palms were clammy.

I wanted to open my mouth to scream. I mentally catalogued how hard it would be to break the window. I stared out at the traffic around us and wondered if anyone would stop if they saw me screaming for help.

I opened my mouth but my tongue was too big for my mouth. My throat had sucked closed.

I couldn’t make a sound. Paralysed by my own fear.

Maybe you're overreacting. I rationalised. He probably knows a short cut.

My hands started to shake and I tried to wrestle the door handle with as much force as I could. No longer trying to be polite.

All I could see was the back of his head. Close cropped dark hair. The glow of the red metre meant that I couldn’t accurately discern any of his facial features. Shadows twisted his image until he looked like a monster.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes, before putting my feet against the car door and pushing with all of my might. If I had worn heels, I would have taken them off and used them to bash the window through. Instead I was stuck with flip-flops which were a hindrance.

If I did manage to get out, it was unlikely that I could run in them, so I had to take them off.

I slammed my fists against the window until my clammy hands left smears all over the glass.

“Someone. Please!” I screamed until my voice was hoarse. “Let me out of the car. Help me. Please! Stop!

I no longer recognised any of the buildings as the road twisted from urban London into long stretches of darkness that had no houses on at all. I had taken off my seat beat and curled against the edge of the car door to make my body look as small as possible.

We had been in the car for over an hour. Long enough for my adrenaline to run out and leave my body exhausted and shaking.

The sickly sweet smell in the air so thick that it like I was swallowing cotton wool. I had never smelt anything like it.

The driver drove the car through a chicken wire gate, and over a ramp. The streetlights gradually diminished in number until the only lights on the road were our headlights.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and rubbed my face with the back of my arm. Tears leaked silently from my eyes, against my will. I was going to die.

The notion of my impending death hit me like a sucker punch along with all the things that I wanted to do and see but would never get a chance to.

I felt a flare of anger at the driver. I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists until my finger nails left crescent shaped dents in my palm. I was going the scratch him as much as possible.

I'd seen SVU and most of CSI Miami. I was going to get as much of his skin and DNA on me as possible to ensure that the bastard would rot, even if I was dead and defiled.

The car pulled to a stop, but there was nothing around for miles but thick darkness. I could no longer hear the road and I tensed my adrenaline weakened muscles and I readied myself to run from the car as fast as possible.

Granted, the only exercise I did was Zumba on a Thursday night at my mum's local church, but I had the will to survive on my side. I would bet that I wanted to live much more than the arsehole in the driver’s seat wanted me dead.

The driver killed the engine and got out of the car, leaving me alone in the locked vehicle. I wasn’t expecting that. I jumped over the centre console and grabbed the driver’s door. The lights flashed red as he locked it from the outside.

My kidnapper walked up a metal step and flicked on a dim bulb to what seemed like a temporary mobile home. The light bathed the immediate area and I could see rows and rows of rusted cars. I must have been at a scrap yard. I had never seen one or had a reason to.

He'd parked the car to the side, which meant that I had no idea which way that we had driven in from. I clasped the steering wheel and rested my head against it.

I was fucked.

I should have stayed with Grid and Harrison. I should have charged my phone. I should have. Would have. Could have.

I'm going to die.

Baka. Idiot.

The driver started walking back to the car. His gait was careful but calm as if he had all of the time in the world.

I screamed and thumped the steering wheel as hard and as many times as I could. The silhouette bathed in the still-running headlights flinched but did not stop his advance until he reached the driver’s side of the car. I scrambled away to put space between us when the door flew open, and my kidnapper grabbed my bare foot.

A tingle of electricity raced over my skin and my mouth filled with vomit. Suddenly light headed, my arms slumped in front of me like dead weight. His touch had disarmed me. Had he injected me with something and I just hadn’t felt it.

My eyes drifted closed, but I teetered on the edge of consciousness and sleep. He gripped the bottoms of my legs and wrenched me from the vehicle. My body was prone and paralysed like a rag doll. My hair gathered over my face as I was dragged over the hard concrete. My skin burnt from the friction but I couldn’t move a muscle.

I tried to work my jaw to scream but it was too stiff, and I could not move.

He hefted me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and ascended the stairs. He deposited me on on the water stained carpet and reached into his pocket. The dark-haired man pulled a pair of handcuffs out and gripped my wrist.

The office stank of old bleach and dust. The furniture was cheap and the windows were covered in newspaper with a small amount of light breaking through at the edges.

My bones protested as I was manoeuvred into an uncomfortable position. My chin rested against my chest. I felt drunk, even though the alcohol in my system had long since burnt out due to the adrenaline I had felt in the car. Had I been drugged?

My conscious brain drifted just under the surface of action and I could not will my body to move of my own volition.

I couldn’t raise my head to look at my kidnapper’s face. I could only see his shoes on the patchy carpet. Those fancy Italian shoes that look like boats.

I shivered against the cold, but my attacker did not seem to notice. Without a word, he turned off the light and shut the door behind him, leaving me alone.

I didn’t know how long I sat in the darkness, staring at the faint grid of light that leaked through the grotty newspaper. It wasn’t long before the combination of the alcohol and fatigue caused me to drift into a state of semi-sleep. With one arm propped over my head and completely numb, I slumped onto the floor with my head on my shoulder as I fought to keep my eyes open.

My bladder was full and uncomfortable. I crossed my legs over and over and fighting sleep was no longer a battle because I became focused on my desperate need to empty my bladder.

Using my free hand, I patted down my leg and searched my pocket. When my fingers met the cool steel of my house keys. I pulled them out using my Hatsune Miku - Vocaloid key chain and flinched when they clinked together loudly. I looked to the door and waited a few seconds for my kidnapper to burst through. When nothing happened, I breathed a sigh of relief and began to arrange the keys in the palm of my hand, using my mouth to pull the jagged metal edges through my knuckles until I looked like a homemade Wolverine. I need to be able to do some damage, and then I could try and run. I would have to wait for the cuffs to come off. That was if he came back.

I swallowed around the painful lump in my throat and the burning tears that threatened to emerge from my eyes. I shook my head to clear it. If I was left alone, at least I wasn’t being raped or killed.

Onaka ga suita.

I’m so hungry.

I took deep gulps of the stale air and forced my heart rate to slow. My body was still wracked with tiny tremors and I felt wrung out. Every noise made me jump. The sound of the vent. The rustle of trees. The creak of rusted metal.

“Why?” I sobbed, “Why me?”

I was delusional when morning came. The shadows had played tricks on my mind most of the night. My mouth was dry and the pressure on my bladder was unbearable.

He strolled in like he didn’t have a care in the world, carrying a flimsy plastic carrier bag. My fist tightened around my keys, by the side of my leg. I had to time it just right.

“Please let me go.” I begged, my voice was nothing but a whisper.

My kidnapper ignored me. His eyes surveyed me with cool detachment. In the bright light of day, his irises looked black. Like two harsh shards of obsidian and just as sharp.

His gaze raked over my body but he said nothing. I brought my legs up to my chest and laid my free hand between my thighs and stomach to protect my paltry weapon from his sight.

He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring but his mouth was still set in the same grim line. His eyes flashed another colour, like a cat in the darkness before returning to black.

He took a bottle of water out of the plastic bag and knelt as he held it out for me to take. I inspected his offering but made no move towards the bottle.

“Go on.” His voice was smooth honey and it wrapped around my body like a warm hug. I shivered in disgust and tried to push the slimy artificial feeling away. I had no idea why my body had reacted in such a strange way. I felt a familiar tingle between my legs that told me that I wanted the man.

Which made me feel sick.

“I need the toilet.” I whispered, tightening my grip on the keys in my hand.

My kidnapper grunted and rubbed his face. He was a muscular man and could have easily broken me in half. His clothes were clean and he was freshly shaven. Everything about him screamed at normality. He wasn’t someone that I would have avoided on the street. He was the kind of person that wore a suit and read the metro on the train, going home to his two point four children and his stay at home wife.

What did he want with me?

My kidnapper reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved a small key. He reached over to unfasten my shackled wrist, clearly not seeing me as any kind of threat. His neck was in front of my face as he unlocked the cuffs.

I gritted my teeth and held my breath as I jammed my house keys into the hollow of his throat. My bindings dropped to the floor with a thud and I used both hands to push against my kidnapper’s chest. Blood splashed against my face and I found myself closing my eyes. I staggered to my feet, cradling my numb arm to my chest, having lost all feeling in it due to its overnight position.

I had pins and needles in my feet as I forced myself towards the door. A hand gripped my hair and tugged me backwards. My scalp burnt as I felt the hair at the nape of my neck strain under my attacker’s grip. The turquoise headed anime keychain dangled from his throat and he grabbed it with callous hands and ripped it from the wound. Blood spurted and I flailed my arms to hit any part of his body that I could reach.

His eyes had changed colour from black to powder blue. It wàs unnatural. I screamed and raked my fingernails over his face, but years of nailbiting meant that I did little damage.

My head swirled with dizziness. Using the heal of my palm, I slammed my hand into his nose and hooked my fingers around the nearest filing cabinet so that I could drag myself out of his grip.

I huffed, as my lungs burnt with exertion. I kicked with my bare feet and they connected to something hard. I bit back my scream of pain as the bones in my feet crunched. My attacker hadn’t broken a sweat.

The same sweet smell that had accompanied me in the taxi cab burnt my nostrils and I felt myself relaxing against my will. My kidnapper held my shoulders as I slumped. My head rested against his shoulder and he stroked my hair as if I was his lover.

Tears leaked silently from my eyes as I felt every muscle in my body unfold and become sludge. I felt like I had just come back from a day at the spa, despite my mind screaming and bashing against the confines of my paralysis.

“There, there.” His voice was soothing.

I wanted to scream and beat his head in until it was a bloody pulp. I had never felt such a visceral reaction before. Never had anything penetrated my ‘cool girl’ exterior to such an extent.

I felt my jeans turn damp and warm. My eyes burnt with shame. I had pissed myself.

The smell of ammonia was strong, and I suddenly became aware that he held me tightly to his hard body as if he was trying to calm me.

He jumped back as if he had been stung, swearing under his breath. My knees buckled and I collapsed as if I was going to pass out. I felt lightheaded from the thick and cloying smell on the air. Like pheromones. It mixed with the sharp and acrid scent of my piss.

The warmth quickly turned cool and my jeans were uncomfortable as they stuck to my skin.

I was broken, humiliated. Trapped and scared.

All my fight left my eyes, just as the artificial calm had forced it from my body. I laid on the floor like a broken doll.

The gash on his neck knitted together and healed more quickly than was physically possible.

Bile rose inside of my gullet and I realised that my kidnapper was not human.

He was a monster. A beast. Something wearing human skin.

And he wanted to hurt me.










Chapter 2.


I laid on the floor for hours. My limbs felt like they were made of rubber and my jeans were soaked and cold. My head felt like it had become home to a thousand bees, but I didn’t even have the energy to try and crawl into a more comfortable position.

I was alone in the makeshift office, with my cheek pressed against the floor. When night came, the only light was the dim security bulb that could be seen through the makeshift paper blinds.

I had not heard another soul. Not the sound of a car starting, or a rogue voice of someone passing by.

It was becoming more and more likely that I was going to die.

I had fallen down the rabbit hole.

My cheeks stung when a wave of fresh and silent tears broke free.

What were Grid and Harrison doing right now? I wondered. Had they checked up on me? Did Grid notice when I hadn’t come back to the house?

Had someone called the police?

To my knowledge, it was Saturday night. I hadn't kept the long-standing appointment with my mother to go to mass in over a year. No one would notice I was gone when I didn’t turn up on Sunday morning.

The semester was over. My course was done.

Would anyone even find my body?

“Strip.”

My kidnapper was back, but I hadn’t even noticed his arrival. I was too deep into the dark sludge of my thoughts.

I shook my head, unable to will my voice around my dry throat. The bottle of water that he had brought earlier had rolled under the cheap plywood desk, which I could see from my vantage point on the floor.

The sweet smell was back when the man leant down and hoisted me up by my shoulders. He propped me against the filing cabinet like a broken marionette doll and began to peel my wet jeans down my legs.

I raised my hands feebly and tried to squirm away to no avail. His nostrils flared in disgust at my sorry state.

He took off every item of clothing with a methodical touch. My t-shirt came over my head, and he folded it neatly and placed it on the office chair. The face of the alpaca on the front stared up at me, as he rolled down my cotton underwear and folded that too.

Goosebumps raised over my flesh as I sat on the cold floor. He placed his arms under my own and hoisted me up. He spread me on the desk and bent my knees, leaving me entirely exposed.

I could not move my body. My eyes were wide as they rolled around my skill in a frantic attempt to kick-start my legs into action.

“Are you strong? Little girl?” He knelt at the end of the desk, between my open thighs. He did not look; it was as if my position was natural and not in any way sexual.

I could not answer his question because I did not know. I couldn’t summon the strength to shake or nod my head either.

“Do you know why you're here?”

Because I was stupid enough to get into your car. My internal monologue screamed. My throat choked out a sob.

“Fate brought you to me.” He continued. “What’s your name, lovely girl?”

I stared at him, unblinking.

Lenora Eloise Hiscock.

I said nothing.

“You'll tell me, won't you?”

I stared at the ceiling. Two fat tears rolled down the edges of my eyes until they mingled with my hair and ran behind my ears. I counted the tiles on the ceiling. I recited Pi to fifty places. I thought about chess manouvering. Computer code. My favourite K-pop stars in descending order.

My body jolted when I felt his fingers ghost a trail up my inner thigh. I cringed against his touch.

“You're wet.” He said. His voice was thick with amusement. I wanted to scream that he was a liar and that I wasn’t turned on. I was disgusted.

Mind and body had disconnected. My reactions were against my will. Traitorous.

His fingers jabbed inside of me roughly, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

“We’ll have fun, you and I.” He said. The stench of his pheromones made me feel drunk.

He took his hand back and wiped it on his tailored trousers with a smirk. His touch made me burn, against my will.

I was left cold and empty, and alone in the dark again.



I woke up in a different location. No longer in the portable office of the scrap yard. The itchy carpet had been replaced with cold concrete. I rubbed my eyes as I allowed them to take in the new room.

There were iron hooks on the wall, which looked perfect for restraining a large animal and a work bench covered in pitted holes on the other side of the room. There were no blood stains, only a dusty scent that hung on the air and combined with the smell of my unwashed body.

I was naked from the waist down, but my alpaca t-shirt was back on my body so at least I had some modesty. I stretched my fingers out and wiggled my toes. Sighing in almost orgasmic relief that I could finally move my body. I wondered what had happened to me. I had been paralysed. By fear? By something else? I had no idea what had been wrong with me, but it frightened me. I did not like the idea that someone could come in and with one touch to my skin completely rob me of the ability to fight back.

I shivered against the cold, and pulled my knees to my chest.

Looking around the room, I saw there were no windows. The light clicked off and I bit back a scream. I placed my hand in front of me to try and feel my way around the darkness, only for the dim light to switch back on. Motion controlled. That would get annoying really quickly.

Standing up, my knees buckled together like one of the newborn giraffes that I had seen on a nat-geo documentary once. I clasped at the walls to try and remain upright. Pins and needles swallowed my ankles, which meant that it felt like I had completely lost my feet. I looked down to make sure that they were still there.

I had no idea why I had been taken. I wasn’t the prettiest girl. Or the smartest. People often used words like 'strange' to describe me if they were pressed.

I barely went out. Often holing myself up in my house share and watching obscure Japanese animation; Korean Dramas and a smattering of SuperWhoLock.

Not a day went by when I didn’t retweet Misha Collins or lament the lack of season two of Attack on Titan. My mum had said that I was barely living. But it was my life.

It was hard to focus on the inane and trivial thoughts that normally occupied my head. Now that I had the ability to move again I wished that I had watched some survival videos on YouTube about how to forge a weapon from literally anything.

I pulled myself along the wall. The action of walking took a lot longer than I was used to. I did not count the minutes, but grimacing I finally made it to the work bench on the other side of my prison.

I rubbed my hands against the rough and pockmarked wooden surface. Noting random holes and notches. I searched the back wall where tools should have been fastened for easy access only to find nothing at all.

I eyed the iron rings imbedded in the concrete of the wall. I surveyed every surface as if it contained the answers to the universe. There were iron chains in the corner, coiled like a snake.

Kosoku. Restraint.

Akuma. Demon. Devil.

Koko wa doko? Where am I?

Rattling through Japanese words in my mind helped to slot my sanity back into place. I took a calming breath. Whatever was going to happen, and I would have bet my entire set of Harry Potter Funko Pops that my situation can only get worse.

I rubbed my face, exasperated. I had started thinking of trivial fandom shit. My mind was not coping with the situation at hand and my concentration was shot.

I wanted to go home.

I wanted to hug my mother whilst I listened to her rant about Maureen at the church and her M&S cake that she had entered into the church fete competition.

I was a flagrant atheist but sitting inside of a prison after a man with weird eyes had kidnapped me from outside of a campus nightclub had sparked the urge to pray to any deity that could get me out of the hellish situation.

I had been sat still for too long and the light had turned off again.

I stared into the darkness for the longest time. My mind quickly turned to all the horrific things my kidnapper had done and would do in the future.

He had invaded my body. My skin itched with disgust. I rubbed the tops of my arms and shivered. I felt sick. Not physically, but as if my soul had become mushy like a mouldy piece of fruit.

“You fucking stink.” He said.

The man had literally come out of nowhere. I blinked, unable to make sense of his sudden appearance. The door had not opened. It was a heavy affair, made of reinforced steel. I would have heard it.

“What are you?” I whispered.

My kidnapper cocked his head to the side, his facial features held an expression of aloof distain. He did not answer my question.

“Your name, lovely girl?” He licked his bottom lip, his eyes raked over my body and I tugged my t-shirt down to cover the space between my legs.

“Lenora.” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “It does not suit you.”

I shrugged, but the movement was forced and my stiff shoulders caused my actions to make me wince.

The man took off his blazer slowly and hung it on a hook over the workbench. He began to roll up his sleeves with precision and an intense look of concentration.

I watched his methodical movements as if they were a dance with a perfect number of steps.

“Will you behave, Lenora?” he did not look at me as he spoke.

“If you give me your name.” I spoke before I realised that I had opened my mouth. Once the words were out there, they could not be taken back.

My response amused him, and the expression was ugly on his face. His smile did not reach his eyes, they held no spark of emotion.

“My name is Gregory.” He said, his dark irises flickered over every facet of my face as if he searched for some clue as to what I would do with the information.

I blinked. Shocked that he had answered me.

I reached down and tugged the edge of my shirt, to hide my bare legs. My dignity laid in tattered on the floor of a dingy scrapyard office.

“I would like you to have a shower, Lenora.” Gregory said softly, he turned and opened the door as if the heavy monstrosity weighed nothing at all.

Now that he knew my name, it had become clear that he intended to use it as much as possible. If he thought that it would endear me to him, he had no idea what he was doing.

I intended to follow him but found myself unable to stand up straight. Gregory reached forward to grip my arm, but I wrenched myself out his vicinity. Unable to stomach the idea of his touch and it’s effects. He placed his hand on my back, over my t-shirt, which did not have the same dizzying feel as when he touched my bare skin.

The intoxicating and sickly sweet smell that came off of his skin was thick enough that I could taste it at the back of my throat.

Candyfloss and cough mixture. I realised with a jolt. I had been trying to place it since I had first encountered the toxic aroma in the back of the taxi. I had finally identified the closest possible thing.

He led me up the narrow staircase from my prison. His closeness spoke volumes. If I ran, he would find me. He would touch me and it would not be pleasant.

The hallway was nondescript. No pictures. Just generic magnolia paint as if it had recently been furnished to be as unoriginal as possible. Gregory led me to his bathroom, which was clean. He ran the shower as I stood in the doorway with my arms around my body likr I was about to loose all of organs through my bellybutton if I loosed my tight grip.

“Come on, Lenora. Time to wash that rancid stink off of you.”

I shot him a look at could have curdled milk, but he appeared uninterested in my drama.

“I will leave you to it. Behave.” The last word was said with such dominance and power that I did not understand the rush that it caused. It was a compulsion to obey, like he was a puppet master. Bile rose in my throat, but I stayed entirely still until the door shut behind me.

When I was satisfied that I was alone, I searched the door for a lock but found none.

Enthusiastic to remove the smell of stale urine and two days of sweat and dirt from my skin, I stepped into the hot water and forced every muscle to relax one after the other.

I spotted a bar of soap, which was cracked. Barely a slither. Rubbing it over my hands, I lathered and began to scrub my body with a fervour that was beyond my control.

My vision flashed. I saw his hands between my legs and I found my own hands washing my body with fevered motions wherever I had felt my kidnappers touch.

My hands tingled and my skin felt tender and raw as I rubbed the soap into my skin hard enough to leave bruises.

It was the best and worst shower of my entire life. Each for various reasons.

I stepped out onto the bathmat and searched for a towel but found none. My dirty t-shirt laid on the floor and what had once been my favourite item of clothing now caused a kneejerk reaction of vomiting in my mouth.

I opened the cabinet under the sink as I searched for anything that I could have used to help me. A razor. Toothbrush. Knife. Anything. The drawers were empty.

You are so Fucked, Nora.






Chapter 3.



Gregory came back to find me sat on the closed toilet seat. Naked and despondent.

He offered me a fluffy robe and a hairbrush which he promptly took back when I was finished.

He was a clever one. As I had held the plastic in my hands, I had imagined fashioning the handle into a shiv worthy of Orange is the new black.

He led me further into the house. It’s magnolia coloured walls and basic IKEA furniture told me nothing about the man that owned it.

I followed behind him like a dog on a short leash. Gregory and I walked into a small dining room, he pulled out a wooden chair and gestured for me to sit down.

I folded my arms across my body as if I could protect myself from him. I knew that I could not. I was thankful that he hadn’t touched me and taken away my ability to move. To speak. To fight back.

Don’t be thankful to a fucking rapist. A harsh voice drifted to the forefront of my mind.

“You smell more pleasant now, Lenora.” Gregory sat down at the opposite end of the table. I eyed the windows as if they would give me a clue to what was outside but the blinds were fastened shut.

I thought about screaming. I wondered how closely we were to civilisation. If we were in a terrace house or maybe an isolated cottage in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere.

I remembered the harsh feeling of his methodical probing between my legs. I clenched my thighs together and stared at a small scratch on the wood grain of the dining table.

“Not going to speak to me?” Gregory's lips hinted at a smile, but his black eyes lacked any warmth.

“Would you like me to talk to you?” I whispered. My throat was sore from thirst. My stomach was crippled and shrunken from intense hunger. My head swirled and made it difficult to concentration. I don’t think I had ever gone to long without eating before.

“As my guest, your conversation would be a delightful addition to your company.” Gregory said lightly. He stood up and brushed past me to retrieve a jug of water from the kitchen, beyond on the open doorway.

When he returned and placed it in front of me, I ignored the glasses and grabbed the giant jug and lifted it to my mouth. I did not care that water slopped down the front of my robe. I was so thirsty that I felt like my blood had turned to sand. I gulped down the water, breaking my lips from the edge of the jug like an Olympic swimmer to take a breath.

“I'm hungry,” I placed the heavy jug on the table but kept my fingers clasped around the handle.

“If you give me information, I will feed you.” Gregory shrugged but his eyes remained on mine as if he was trying to burn a hole in my face.

I cleared my throat, which was still sore despite my recent drink. “What do you want to know?”

“Full name.” He said.

“Lenora Hiscock.”

“What do you do?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Study. Work. Drink?” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“I study Japanese Language. Sandwich degree with Computer Science.” I supplied as my stomach gurgled enough to make bile rise up my throat. I clutched my torso as if I could will the pain away. I was starving.

“To what end?” Gregory queried.

“Is this a job interview or something?” my voice hitched. “Because, if so, it’s completely fucked up.”

He cocked his head to the side as if my words perplexed him. As if I was a puzzle.

“Do you have a criminal record?” he asked.

“Yes, but it's sealed.” I spoke through gritted teeth.

“Do you have any medical conditions I should know about?”

My nails dug into my palms until they left little crescent shaped marks.

“That you should know about?”

Gregory ignored my accusing tone. “Yes.”

“I had asthma as a child. Can I please eat now?”

Gregory nodded stiffly and left the room again. He returned with a plate full of biscuits and little else. My stomach roiled on nausea as I took in the pile of Jammie Dodgers as he bent down to place them in front of me. My hand flexed on the handle of the water jug and I debated slamming it against the side of my kidnapper’s head.

I took a biscuit between delicate fingers and nibbled on the edge. I was almost certain that if I ate it too quickly then I would vomit. I put the small jammy biscuit down on the plate with delicate hands. I blinked through my embarrassment and forced myself to meet the shark like eyes of my capturer.

“Why did you touch me… down there?” My voice broke.

“To check if you were female.”

I choked on my own saliva. “What?”

“Are you a virgin?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I lost it. Grabbing the plate and throwing it at the magnolia covered wall. It shattered in half and landed on the floor with a thunk. Gregory did not flinch at the harsh sound. My chest heaved and my fists were clenched. I bore my teeth at him like a feral and cornered animal. My legs scarpered backwards, my chair squeaked harshly against the laminate floor as I tried to get away from my capturer.

He rose with all of the grace of a king, and his smile was bored. Trailing a hand along the table, he swaggered to the side of the table. Enough to make me step back in time to his movements and prove how much of a scared little girl I really was.

“We were having a pleasant time, Lenora.” He rubbed his fingers together and surveyed them as if they were fascinating. “Why did you have to ruin it?”

My knees buckled but I forced myself to remain standing. My heart was going a mile a minute and I wanted to run. I glanced around the room, my movements were staggered. “Please let me go.” I begged. My voice was rough. Harsh and pleading.

Gregory ignored my words as he advanced. “I didn’t have to be nice, Lenora.” He said my name like I was a naughty student. He flexed his fingers and shock ripped from my throat in a strange gurgling sound.

Sensation jolted through every synapse of my body in unexpected totality. It felt like I was in intense pain but I wasn’t. I did not recognise my body’s response immediately. Sharp and intense feelings ripped through my lower belly and in between my thighs.

I experienced an orgasm but there was no build up. It had been taken from me, like someone pulling teeth. My breath puffed through my lips. My hands were shaking. My clit throbbed and ached. Every time a tremble wracked through my body, as I found my thighs rubbing together. It was too much to endure.

“What have you done to me?” I slammed my hand on the table, unable to stop my legs from collapsing and my body from slipping to the floor. My words had no bite, instead they were breathy and exhausted.

Gregory laughed without humour. “I’m an incubus, Lenora.” He pressed his fingers to his lips and studied my flushed face like I was a painting in a gallery. His detachment was more frightening then the fact he had pulled an orgasm from my body without even touching me.

An incubus? My frantic thoughts rushed through my mind but none of them made sense. My head rolled to the side and I looked down through hooded eyes to see his hand on my shoulder. My body revolted against me. My mind and my arousal battled in a war that could never be won. I slipped into post-coital exhaustion as my kidnapper touched my skin.

My face was wet with tears. Every inch of me had been violated.

“Don’t…” I begged as I drifted into darkness.

He did not respond.


Chapter 4.


I slept for long enough to earn a throbbing headache. My towelled robe was lose, as I pushed myself away from the concrete floor. I was back in my basement prison. Starved. Thirsty. I needed the bathroom. I shouldn’t have drank all of the water that he had given me. My mouth was still so incredibly dry that it felt like it would never recover.

I pressed the pads of my fingers to my tongue and felt the cracks and ridges on the pink flesh. Dehydration and whatever the hell happened when Gregory touched me had made my head swim.

I did not know how long I could hold onto my sanity before it snapped like a rubber band.

I had never been in a fight before. I had never been in pain, not really. I had bruises from falling off my bicycle as a child. Perhaps the odd burn on my wrist when frying something, but nothing to write home about.

Not soul wrenching and destroying pain. Even though every muscle in my body twinged in agony when I moved, something deep in my gut told me that I had only just crested the cliffs edge. I hadn’t gone over.

Darkness was something that I had never been acquainted with. It was a far away, dramatic, evil that lurked in the news and on strange creepy pasta stories on Tumblr.

Darkness was an abstract concept. Darkness happened to other people. I didn’t happen to twenty-one-year-old Otaku Computer geeks who couldn’t ever grow the woman-balls to dye their hair turquoise (like I wanted to).

I clenched my hands tightly into a fist and pressed them against my lower stomach. I hoped the pressure would distract me from the intense cramping that held onto my stomach like a vice.

The heavy bolt on the reinforced steel door slid home almost too slowly. I felt my heart begin to sprint like a frightened rabbit. Before my head had spoken to my legs, I found myself staggering backwards until my spine pressed against the concrete wall. My hands came out in front of me in a strange position between pleading and protecting my body. Gregory stepped into my dungeon. The dim buzzing lightbulb overhead made his dark eyes into bottomless pits. He was the abyss.

You did not glance into the gloom. It held you until your eyes bled. You stared. You studied. I was hypnotised.

“Now that you have had time to digest my heritage, I believe we should get down to business.” Gregory took off his blazer and hung it over the dilapidated work bench. He rolled up his sleeves and leant against the wall in an attempt to look casual but his body was too stiff and his expression was too fake.

I had no idea if he was trying to be accommodating or if there was truly nothing behind his cool mask of detachment.

His gaze hovered over me and gave me the impression of someone being forced to do something that they found repugnant.

Like maybe give an enema to a cow.

I cleared my throat. “I want to go home.” I croaked. He ignored me.

“We have two options. Option one: you play along. I take a year of your time and send you on your way. You cooperate and I make this pleasurable for you.”

My eyes widened his horror and bile rose up my gullet but I squashed it down by swallowing over and over until the motion calmed me. Gregory continued as if he hadn’t noticed my fear, or simply did not care.

“Option two: you resist me. I still take a year of your life. Then I will take your life.”

His eyelid twitched but his expression have no indication of what option he wanted me to pick. Gregory stepped forward, as if daring me to say something.

I fiddled with the belt of my robe and stared at the floor.

He wanted to kill me and he spoke about it with all of the finesse of someone discussing their amazon wishlist.

His approach was silent and he used a single finger to raise my chin. I kept my eyes to the ground, unable to look into the evil that threatened to swallow me whole.

“Why a year?”

Gregory smiled but it was cruel.

“Option one or option two?” He asked.

I said nothing.

Gregory licked his bottom lip and then grabbed my wrist. He still smelt sickly sweet as he pulled my body close to his chest, but the light-headedness that normally accompanied his touch was missing. Could he control it? Was it a fluke?

He gripped the slack rope around my waist and wrenched my dressing gown open with a fierce and jarring strength that was completely at odds with his neutral facial expression.

He gripped my breasts hard, as if they weren’t attached to me. His large hands twisted and the friction against my skin caused me to cry out in pain.

“I feed from lust.” Gregory leant in and gifted the words to my ears as delicately as flower petals. “I do not gain anything from taking you this way. Except to show you your future if you do not choose to comply.”

My exposed shoulders stung with cold as my gown dropped to the floor. I briefly entertained the notion of being able to keep my legs closed against all odds.

I could fight this.

My screams died in my throat. Stolen by fear. His fingers were rough enough to dust the skin of my stomach and breasts with bruises.

He did not kiss me. His eyes held no arousal. Or even lust. I twisted and squirmed away from his embrace, scratching the side of his face but doing little damage. I cursed my nail biting habit. I thought about how they would find my body. How no one would be able to take any forensic evidence from under my nails because I was a fucking nail biter.

I found it hard to breath.

I pushed him away, until he gripped my wrists and tugged me into position like a mannequin.

I kicked.

I struggled.

He did not grunt as he thrust inside of me.

Dry. Sharp. Staggering. Pain.

I was reduced to a baser level as he forced my submissive by invading my body like I was nothing. Like what I wanted did not matter.

My sobs drifted away from my quivering lips, against my control. My fingers scrambled forward as I landed on the floor with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.

He thrust inside me the same way that he spoke, moved, and breathed. Methodical. Cold. Stiff shoulders with no sounds. No groans of pleasure. No hint of orgasm.

His cock was engorged, hard and unwieldy as it scraped against my bloody insides. I retreated inside of the safety in my mind. I drifted away from my body.

I named all of the prefectures in Tokyo.

Shibuya.

Ueno.

Roppongi.

Ginza.

Shinjuku.

Harukuku.

I took a mental trip on the Yamamoto line. A railway that ran through the greater-Tokyo area. When my study year memories became to weak to hold the pain and tears at bay, I imagined Gregory's head on a spike with a javelin up his arse.

I imagined him on fire.

I imagined him gutted and begging for mercy.

I swore an oath to myself. I would see it happen. I would stand over his bleeding prone form as I watched him take his last breath.

Monster or not. Everything can die.






Chapter 5.


Covered in dry and flaking semen, shivered on the floor like a broken rag doll, I was alone again.

The stupid fuck had left his blazer on the edge of the workbench. I wanted to leap to my feet but my body would not comply. My core muscles were torn apart. Every step caused a jolt of fire to race from my pussy through to my spine. My teeth clattered together. My skin was marked with fingerprint bruises, as freely given as kisses. Smears of blood decorated my belly.

I resisted the urge to reach between my legs and survey the damage.

I stopped walking. Bile roared up my throat as disgust shot through me. I leant over and heaved but my body had nothing to give. I was starved. Thirsty.

Used.

I grabbed his suit jacket as if the navy article of clothing would disappear at any moment. I fumbled around the inside pockets, blind to my search as my eyes were fixed on the steel door. Just in case he came back.

My hands were clammy. I gripped something hard and yanked it free. It was a cigarette lighter. I threw the slim plastic object onto my discarded dressing gown on the other side of the room. I continued my search until I found what I was looking for.

A smart phone.

Thousands of possibilities ran through my mind. Calling the police. Tracking my GPS location. Getting the hell out of here.

Then the thoughts that had given me a juvenile criminal record slunk in like a serpent in the garden.

He must have had money. I could hack his accounts and rob the fucker blind. I could make his search history so filthy that even if no one believed that Gregory was a monster with a man's face, I could put him behind bars for the rest of his life. I could trump up charges so that even when I escaped I would never have to go through the hell of testifying. I could infest all of his computers with illegal materials so quickly that he would never see the light of day again.

No bars.

No WiFi.

No data.

I resisted the urge to slam the phone onto the floor in a fit of rage that would have made a toddler look serene in comparison. I slipped it behind the workbench so I could inspect it later.

I staggered back to my balled-up robe on the floor and wrapped it around my body. I ignored the itch that came from dried cum on the inside of my thighs, mixed with gummy and congealed blood.

I fashioned a bed from the flat concrete and curled up like an animal in the corner. Protected from any threat that thought it could sneak up on me.

Sleep came quickly but it was anything but peaceful.

I tried not to think about what had been taken from me. I sorted my mental shit into little boxes that I could deal with later.

It was the only way I was going to survive.



Even though my sleep would rival that if a corpse, I was exhausted. My eyes were scratchy and every time I closed them my head dropped.

At some point, the hunger had subsided and changed to a constant stabbing pain in my side. My brain was no longer attached to my belly. I had no idea about biology but I guessed it was a survival instinct.

I was not slim enough to even contemplate my stomach resembling that of a famine sufferer. I was certain I had lost a few inches though. Instead of being excited about the weight loss, it was a marker of my abduction.

Someone cleared their throat from the corner of the room, but my own throat was too sore to articulate a scream. What came from my mouth resembled a canary's call more than anything else.

The shadows in the room moved like waltzing dancers but when I focussed on them, they had disappeared. I had read somewhere that tiredness could cause hallucinations. I must have been feeling the effects more than I had thought.

The man in the corner had waist length silver hair, with eyes the colour of the sky before a thunderstorm.

There was a darkness about him. His smile was wide, and his stance was relaxed but everything about him made me want scream and hide. I couldn’t sense a definitely reason why.


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