Page 135 of Venomous Desires

“You’re welcome, little bird,” he murmured, and I felt his warm breath against my skin.

Chapter 53

The Prey

Just as I had agreed, I stayed in the apartment for the next two days. And to my relief, Judas kept his distance. If it looked like it. Or should I say, he was too busy in whatever business he was running to spend more than an hour in the apartment.

He’d come late at night, and I would pretend to sleep, every muscle in my body taut with the fear of his touch. But he wouldn’t take me. Not again. Instead, he would sit in that same chair, in the corner, cradling a glass of wine as if it were a sacred ritual. His eyes, even through the darkness, I could feel on me, cold and calculating. The hours dragged as I lay there, my body healing but my soul flayed open, raw and exposed. He was a man of habits, and this habit of watching, of claiming without action, had become part of our twisted routine.

When he did touch me, it was like a branding iron—quick, sharp, meant to leave a mark.

His kisses were devoid of warmth, his hands unforgiving as they roamed my body with a possessive force that made me hateevery inch of my skin.

He was shameless, a creature driven by lust and power, and his words—filthy, degrading—clung to me long after he was gone. But it was the absence of violence that unsettled me the most. It kept me guessing, kept me on the edge of a precipice, never knowing when he might shove me over.

It had been two days since I lost my freedom, and my dignity too. I was still recovering from his brutal fucking. Yesterday when I sat on the toilet, my core throbbed painfully, and I thought he might have torn it. Fortunately, it wasn’t the scene.

Kyle brought my things from the dorm. Along with my books and other items. Except for my clothes. I didn’t know where they were. The only clothes I had were the ones Judas got for me. Sweaters, jeans, trousers, and expensive looking coats and scarves.

I should be grateful. But I was not. The more he was doing things for me, the more I loathed him. Not a second went by that I didn’t think of him. For bad reasons, though. I was always on edge around him. He was unpredictable and unhinged. There was no knowing what his next move would be.

The apartment was silent, and it was a suffocating kind of silence, punctuated only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. I could feel it pressing down on me like a constant reminder of the two days that had bled into each other, indistinguishable in their misery.

I forced myself to get up, though my body screamed in protest.

I was weak, weaker than I’d ever been, and the distance to the kitchen felt insurmountable. But I pushed forward, one agonizing step at a time. The kitchen was cold; the tiled floor unyielding beneath my bare feet. I glanced at the stove, knowing I should eat, should try to keep my strength, but the sight of food only turned my stomach.

Still, I reached for the bread, letting it drop into the pan. The butter sizzled, and I watched as it burned, blackening at the edges, a charred reminder of the futility of it all. I wasn’t cooking. I was surviving. The smell of the burnt toast filled the air, acrid and bitter, and I forced myself to take a bite, the taste as awful as I had imagined. I chewed mechanically.

“Not hungry?” Kyle’s voice cut through the silence. I hadn’t heard him enter, but there he was, leaning against the doorway, watching me.

“What does it look like?” I shot back, my voice a rasp. He didn’t answer, just continued to watch, his gaze heavy with something I couldn’t place. Pity? No, that wasn’t it.

“You’re angry.” It wasn’t a question.

“Brilliant deduction, Kyle.” My sarcasm was a flimsy shield, and I knew it. But it was all I had left. I no longer cared if I’d get punished.

“He’s not here to hurt you.”

I laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Is that what he told you? To keep an eye on me and make sure I know how generous he’s being?”

“You should eat something more than that.” He nodded toward the sandwich in my hand, now cold and unappetizing.

I threw it into the sink, the clatter louder than I intended. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” There was a firmness in his tone, a command that reminded me of Judas in its own way, and it made me hate him a little too. He didn’t understand. None of them did.

I turned away from him, hating the way my hands shook as I gripped the counter for support. “Leave me alone, Kyle.”

He didn’t move, and for a moment, I thought he might push it, might try to convince me to talk, to open up in a way that would expose everything I was desperately trying to hold together.

But he just watched, his eyes narrowed slightly, before turning and walking away, leaving me alone with the silence, the burnt toast, and the gnawing sense that I was slowly coming undone.

I sighed and tossed the sandwich into the dustbin, feeling its weight in my chest more than in my foot. The window drew me, and the cold glass was a barrier between my world and the one outside. The city moved, indifferent to my suffering.

People with lives, with purpose, walked the streets. I watched them, feeling a distance so vast it was almost incomprehensible. I envied their ignorance, their freedom.

My thoughts spiraled, dark and consuming. I questioned everything. How did I end up here, a puppet in Judas’s hands? What was left of me? Each day in this apartment stripped me of something vital, something irreplaceable. I wondered if I would ever get it back, or if I was doomed to become nothing more than a hollow shell.