She had been kept in the dark for the most part–the first time he had turned the lights on, the first time that Valentina was aware the room was wired for lights, was the day of the auction.
And the veil was lifted.
She saw her stomach and legs, near skeletal in appearance after twenty eight (was it twenty eight? she could have miscounted) days of starvation, only fed four or five times in total from a can of wet dog food–shoveled into her mouth, smeared across her cheeks and her chin by calloused fingers, bits dropped onto her chest and left to dry. She saw the puddle beneath her body, a wet mess of shit and piss (not all of it her own), and cried. She cried for the comfort of the darkness, the denial that it provided. Cried her throat raw.
“Shush-shush-shush-shush, darling. Don’t damage your precious parts.”
And there was a camera to document it all.
It didn’t matter though. None of it mattered. Valentina sucked in a shaky breath, scrubbed her knuckles together with fierce, violent concentration. The first layer of skin was rubbed away on some parts of her hand. She had been washing them over the stainless steel basin for twenty minutes, obsessive. It had become a routine.
He is still on you, his flesh under your nails. Clean. More, more, more.
(She had taken out his eyes first, to give herself the advantage. One thumb to each socket, and the blood fell down down, bathed her wrists. Mauled his face and throat till he collapsed–a month is a long time to go without trimming your nails. Then she had bashed his head against the cold concrete floor–again, and again, and again. It wasn’t terribly difficult to overpower him. She was weak, but he was a small man and Valentina stood an impressive 5′7″. His life was over the minute she climbed on top of him.)
She cursed as she realized that the gallon of distilled water had run out, threw it into the depths of the basin next to three identical empty plastics and ran shaking hands through her hair, pressing the heels of her palms against her temple.
She really ought to have been saving those for drinking.“Fuck.”
She did not want to go inside. His corpse was inside, four days old and reeking. She had to physically clench her stomach and then relax the muscles, command herself not to vomit every single time she reentered. There was nothing for her outside though, but desperation–sand and weed as far as the eye could see, a washbasin on the side of the shack, and a piece of shit, empty promise of a car with no damned gas in the tank. (How were you planning on getting home you fat fucking idiot?) Don’t think she hadn’t torn the place apart looking for a canister.
Her only chance at– at anything at all, really, was inside on that computer.
And again, “Fuck.”
MONDAY @ 12:30P.M.–
themaster001 is typing…
STOP. She chews on the flesh of her knuckles and tastes copper. How to best handle this situation?
themaster001 said : Who are you ?
HE keeps messaging. In any other situation she would be a fool to put her trust in this sort of person. In this situation – ? She has days to live without rescue, and that’s a generous estimate.
themaster001 said: Can you find me? I don’t know where I am.
themaster001 said: I’m alone.
WHY did she send that last part? She sounds vulnerable. She is vulnerable. But there is blood on her hands.
he’s watching it again. he didn’t download, oh no ——- tristan wasn’t that stupid . but he had to, had to see it again &. feel that glimpse of fascination again. there’s blinking , once , twice. SHE REALLY DID THAT. his eyes were out and he’d watch how blood ran down; screw every stupid ass greek statue ever made, that was art. JESUS FUCK, IT WAS HOT.
sequels existed for a reason. sure, most of them - if not all ! - were never as good as the original, but that made him want more. SHE HAD POTENTIAL , HE COULD SEE IT. a few clicks &. he’d check his inbox once again. still nothing. there’s a sigh and you know he’s frustrated, you know he wants to see some kind of online activity on her side one way or another &. he wants it now. patience wasn’t one of tristan’s traits, and it’d be obvious at that point to say he could be spoiled when he wanted to.
it didn’t take too long for a comment to be written and posted before the page started to refresh.
SADBOY2001 COMMENTED .
does she have a website ????
nothing . NOTHING BUT THAT SAME ADDRESS HE ALREADY KNEW . a roll of eyes and a sigh escapes and he turns off his laptop . enough internet for the day .
SADBOY2001 COMMENTED .
you cunts r fuckin dumb
MONDAY @ 12:30P.M. ———
he’s been watching it again. this time, he pays more attention. from the place’s state of decay to the plasma running down a dead man’s open flesh. ( would that taste good ?? ) there’s two windows open : they say hope is the last one to die &. it wasn’t much different with tristan and HIS BRAND NEW MURDER CINDERELLA ! and then , a (1) symbol pops up . JACK FUCKING POT !!!!!
# SADBOY2001 said : im batman
# SADBOY2001 said : lol im a fan :)
it’s obvious he’s going to make a joke out of it . it isn’t serious for him , just some current obsession he knows it’s gonna end by the time he finds a new one . YET THERE HE IS , AT LEAST WHILE THERE’S INTEREST . the next message is a complete surprise . wait , she wants for him to find her ? YOU JUST KNOW TRISTAN’S THE GUY TO ACTUALLY MEET AN ONLINE DEEP WEB PERSON , and thinking whether or not she wants to make a movie out of him too is even more tempting . sure , he’s usually more into producing than acting ( at least for now . he does want to have some kind of experience before turning into a snuff brad pitt , right ?? ) .. but .. who knows , huh ?
# SADBOY2001 said : ofc
# SADBOY2001 said : hows ur security system bbyg
# SADBOY2001 said : tho it wnt be that hard lmao nvm i just have one question
# SADBOY2001 said : are ya rly trustin a random stranger or do u wanna make me dumb guy 2.0 cuz u know…. im game for both
——— he honestly doesn’t mind.