Born of Betrayal, Raised on Revenge

Her head was sore and heavy, feeling like it was full of wet sand. She slowly forced her eyes open, the room was blurry at first, and it took her a moment to realize where she was. She didn’t recognize it at first glance, but it definitely was the basement. It has been carefully transformed into a space that almost felt inviting. Warm, yellow lights on the wall kept it from being too dark. A soft rug covered most of the concrete floor, but it was still clear to see this was the old abandoned basement that she and her best friend knew all too well. In the corner there was a small bed with a colorful pink comforter. Next to it was a bookshelf filled with old books and second-hand puzzles. Across from the bed there was a mini-fridge and a microwave that sat on a small table, along with some snacks, water bottles and paper plates. At the far end there was a bathroom area with a toilet, a sink, and a small shower hidden behind a curtain. She could tell that all of this had to have been done recently, from the look of building materials that were laying next to the toilet. She was on the other side of the bed, seated on an old worn armchair, and a thin blanket draped over her knees. She looked down to see her hands resting on her lap, she froze when she saw the handcuffs, but it wasn’t out of fear. There was soft padding protecting her wrist from the metal. Questions started racing through her mind followed by a wave of anger. Did he really think that putting a cushion on the cuffs would somehow make this better? As if him caring about her feelings would erase what he was doing? Her hands jerked against the cuffs, the metal digging into the padding, but she didn’t care, it didn’t hurt. She was too enraged at the audacity of this guy. She didn’t focus on escaping - she kept her focus on just how much she was going to make him pay for thinking that this was kindness. The door opened with a soft click and her head shot up. She kept her eyes on him as he came walking down the stairs, he was carrying a small tray with a sandwich and an apple on it, he grabbed a bottle of water when he passed the microwave. She recognized him immediately, he was in the grade above her. He was tall - maybe a little over 6 feet - with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build that made him look like he belonged on magazine covers instead of here in this dimly lit basement. His hair was a soft, messy brown, the kind that fell into his eyes and made him look almost boyish when he smiled. His skin was clear and his features were sharp but not harsh: a strong jawline, full lips, and warm hazel eyes that seemed to glow when he laughed. On the surface he was the kind of guy people trusted too easily. He had that easy, practiced charm - the way he tilted his head when he listened. His voice was smooth, low, musical, like he could talk anyone into anything, if he wanted. But his charm never worked on her. She was the exception. And he did not find pleasure in that at all. He kneeled down in front of her and softly put the tray on the ground. “Hey,” he said like they were old friends meeting for a cup of coffee. “I brought you something to eat, I thought you might be hungry.” She stayed sitting, as stiff as she possibly could, afraid that moving would set him off. “What are you doing? Why am I here?” she asked quietly. He paused for a second, his smile flickering. “I want to. I like taking care of you. That’s what people do when they love someone.” He laughed a little, but it sounded too high, too tight. “Not that you have to say it back. Not yet. I know you’re... scared. Confused.” “I’m not scared,” she said, even though her voice shook a little. “I just want to go home, this is not the way that love works.” His hands twitched at his sides. For a heartbeat, anger flashed across his face — quick, sharp — but he smoothed it away just as fast. He jumped up, but quickly kneeled down before her again, acting like he was getting ready for a casual chat. “This is your home now,” he said, his voice growing softer. “You’ll see. You’ll get used to it. People adjust to new places all the time. It’s like... moving to a better neighborhood.” He smiled again, too big, too forced. “Only here, no one can hurt you. No one can lie to you. No one can leave you. I am your home now.” She swallowed hard. “You’re scaring me.” He leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the chair that she was seated on. His smile broke completely this time, his voice slipping into a pleading whisper. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m trying to fix everything. I have to fix it. They said I wasn’t stable enough, that I couldn’t... couldn't love properly, but they were wrong. They’re all wrong.” His breathing quickened. “I’m the only one who knows what you need, they want to hurt you and make you pay! I am the one who is saving you.” She stayed very still, barely blinking. Slowly, he caught himself, resting on his knees again, running a hand through his messy hair. He laughed nervously, trying to pretend nothing had happened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get intense.” He nodded at the tray. “You should eat before it gets cold. I made it myself.” He looked at her, a moment that reflected that there was something awkward between them, then he stomped hard as he turned around and walked up the stairs, he gave a creepy, yet charming smile before he closed the door behind him. She wasn’t scared at first, but after he left she found herself questioning reality. Was there something else that she was supposed to be concerned about?