The Broken & The Punisher

Chapter 8. "What's wrong with you?"

Mary’s teeth chattered, and she clenched her jaw to silence the infuriating sound. Theo had kept it cold in the room, similar to the temperature one might keep in a meat locker. She wondered if she was one.

'Was it to torment his victims or to slow the decomposition of their bodies? Maybe both'. Mary thought as she shifted on the table, once again jerking the rope around her wrists only to cut deeper into the raw skin. It was indiscernible how many hours she had spent on that table, but with the way her stomach grumbled and twisted she surely had missed at least a couple of meals.

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about that. It was Tuesday. "On Tuesdays, I have cereal for breakfast and a salad for lunch. I eat at the table with my laptop open in front of me." But this Tuesday was different. For her, this Tuesday was wrong in every possible way. A wave of uneasiness came over her, and she began listing the presidents in order. The chant had been on constant replay since she had first woken up there.

"I needed to be home," she whispered.

Finally, the door to the room opened, and in walked the psychopath, himself. He looked much more put-together this time, and he no longer wore the sling. He carried a bag and trained his gaze on Mary before allowing the door to shut behind him.

“Back so soon?” she asked, stiffening her muscles to ease the shaking. Her skin was already fair before the cold, so she imagined she must have appeared ghost-white by that point. He didn’t need to see her shaking along with it.

A new shiver traveled down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold as he stalked toward her. The glint in his eyes was primal, more like a tiger's than a human’s. No warmth shone in that gaze, yet his face didn’t set in a frown or show any anger. His lips were tilted ever so slightly into a disturbing smile or maybe a smirk. She guessed, "Did he force that to scare me, or was that just his face?"

“Good evening.” He set the brown paper bag on the table beside her.

She forced her eyes to stay trained on him instead of the insidious bag. Her guard was high around him like it should be, and she readied herself for another round with this assh*le.

He cracked his neck as he removed his suit jacket, and she caught his slight cringe. He was still in pain.

'Good.' She somewhat felt proud to be the reason for his pain.

She suspected he had planned to set the jacket to the side before rolling up his sleeves and beginning the torture, but he didn’t. It caught her by complete surprise when he draped the jacket over her exposed torso. The smell of cologne mixed with a masculine scent unique to Theo filled her senses, and she found herself wiggling beneath his warmth that lingered on the jacket.

A lump formed in her throat from the simple gesture. It was only a shred of kindness, but it still managed to put a nick in her shield.

“Better?” he asked as if he could sense the sliver of vulnerability that had escaped her.

“Is it better for you, Norman? Was it not the view you’d hoped for?”

His brows knitted together, and he moved his attention to the bag. “I would like you to stop calling me that.” He strained to keep the discomfort from showing, but she was studying him too closely to miss it.

“Then what shall I call you?”

He pulled a plastic container from the bag, and her eyes widened when she registered its contents—lamb with steamed rice and broccoli. It was her Tuesday dinner, and it couldn’t have been a coincidence.

“Theo.” He once again met her gaze. “My name is Theo.”

'Theo.' She eyed his blond mane, so thick it made her want to run her hands through it. A five o’clock shadow revealed stubble a few shades darker than the hair on his head. Blue piercing eyes contrasted beautifully against the sun-kissed skin that was typical of the non-agoraphobic Floridian residents. 'He looks like a Theo', she concluded.

“I’m Mary.” She had seen in movies, the victim trying to humanize themselves to the killer. But that wasn’t what she was trying to do. There was no hope to humanize oneself to a psychopath, but she didn’t want him calling her Rose.

“Mary,” he repeated. “I was under the impression you went by—”

“My name is Mary.” She said, with a stern voice.

His head tilted at her insistence and his gaze roamed her face as if to study her. He reminded her of a pretentious assh*le at an art museum who tried to fool people into thinking they had the artist figured out. They didn’t.

Theo glanced at his watch and popped the lid off the container, filling the air with the savory smell. “It’s seven.” He pulled a metal fork and knife from the bag. “Are you hungry?”

Her stomach growled and her mouth watered as he used the utensils to cut the lamb. The way his hands wielded the knife with such grace mesmerized her. Or maybe it was just the hunger.

“May I be untied?” she asked as if he had forgotten. He smirked before stabbing a piece of lamb with the fork and scooping rice with it.

“A normal person would recognize that I’m the only one with the code to leave the room, and harming me would lead to starvation and a painful death… but, you, I’m coming to find, are not a normal person. So absolutely not.” His voice was calm as he said those words.

He pressed the fork to her lips, and she turned away from it. Theo chuckled but left his hand hovering with the fork where her mouth had been.

“Now, Mary, it’s 7:03. Won’t the world explode if you don’t eat?”

She swallowed and closed her eyes, but he was right. Too many things about that Tuesday were wrong. She needed to get this right. With a deep breath, she slowly parted her lips and lifted her mouth to where the fork was. Theo fed her the bite, being careful not to jab the fork into her lips or tongue. The act was odd. It was almost… sensual.

She chewed and forced the food down her dry throat. He must’ve sensed her difficulty because next he pulled out a water bottle and took it to her lips. She gulped until he pulled the water back, too soon for her liking.

“So, Theo,” she said, while he speared a piece of broccoli. “How long have you been watching me?” A tremor, ever so soft, carried into her voice. She cringed in embarrassment as her own ears registered it, and she regretted asking the question at all. The smirk that tilted his lips showed that he’d also caught the tremor.

She cleared her throat and readied herself before speaking. Fear would get her nowhere with him. It was what he craved and it’s what would get her killed. Besides, fear was no fun for her either.

“Do you watch me at night?” This time as she spoke, her voice was velvet. The smooth meaning hidden beneath her words was veiled beautifully in her seductive tone, and she swelled with pride when she noted Theo’s reaction. His shoulders tensed and his eye ticked, but he didn’t remove that smirk from his face.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but there wasn’t much to see.”

'Ah, very cool, psycho. Nice try.' She wasn't letting him off that easily. Nope.

“Did you watch me touch myself, Theo?” she drawled, putting extra emphasis on his name. Finally, that smirk vanished and in its place was discomfort. Her gaze traveled down him and back up, a devilish smile playing on her face. “Do you want to see me do it again?”

His eyes widened, and he brought the broccoli to her lips. Anything to shut her up. She giggled before taking the broccoli between her teeth and slowly pulling it from the fork, never taking her eyes from him.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, his voice soft. He stared down at the suit jacket as if picturing her skin underneath. She didn’t have to wonder too much about the interest in her torso or where the question came from, but it sent bitterness running through her veins anyway.

'"What’s wrong with you?" Wouldn’t you like to know?' She would have scoffed if it wasn't for the food in her mouth. She finished chewing the food in her mouth and swallowed it.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” she gritted. She didn’t realize her jaw had clenched. “What’s wrong with You? How about we focus on that, being as I’m the one tied to a table until you get the balls to just kill me already, you fu*king freak.”

She thrashed against the binds, yanking and grunting until blood dribbled down her skin and onto the floor. She was getting violent with every other move, not caring if that was only hurting her instead of helping.

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