Abducted By Hercules

2

On my fifteenth birthday, Papa got me a book with all the English words and their correct pronunciations. He said that once I put my mind to it and study a quarter of that three thousand five hundred-page book, my English would start to sound better and fewer people would bully me in school for my accent. When I'm done reading more than half of the book, I’ll have more than five best friends and would spend every weekend with them. By the time I finish the entire gigantic book filled with more words I knew existed, I would be doing my Masters in business management with a ring on my finger. As a fifteen-year old, I believed every word he said. And I remember sitting down on the rug the very next day, opening the book to the first page with an excited grin on my face.

I turned to the last page of the book a few months ago, just this time neither was I smiling nor did I feel excited. I wasn’t studying any subject, let alone business management and my hand held no ring. I felt more alone than I did six years ago while I sat with my legs crossed on the floor. The only thing that changed for the better was my knowledge of the English language.

Friable, it means easily broken down into pieces or reduced to nothing. The word on the top page is a hundred and sixteen that I highlighted in purple. Don’t ask me how I remember the exact page number because I don't know either. I guess when you’re desperate to find light in your life, you’d start to believe in the most foolish things and I believed in that book.

Right now, as I sit with my back against the wall and the silk bed spread around my shoulders, I think of how much of a friable being I am. Like powdery soil between fingers. The devils finger to be exact. He didn’t come into the room after he left to answer his phone. I don’t know for how long I’ve been asleep but I'm certain that the devil wouldn’t have come in here and left without disturbing my peace. I hope I don’t see him for at least a few more hours. At that thought my stomach protests and starts to grumble. I have no idea how long I haven’t eaten, just as I don’t know how long it’s been since I was thrown into this cage-like room.

I stand up with shaky legs and walk towards the door. The silk rubbing against my sore ass reminds me of how hot and merciless the devil could be. Lifting a fist, I bang hard on the door thrice. “Help me! Someone please open this door,” I scream and start to bang again. I hear no sign of anyone being on the other side of the door but I continue to pound my fists against it until the skin on my hand breaks and I bleed.

“f**k!”

I sit back on the floor and press the wound against the cloth covering me. No one would come looking for me. No one would even realize I'm gone. My neighbour, David was one racist asshole who I never saw being sober for even a day during the long years I’ve lived next to him. He definitely wouldn’t know someone kidnapped me nor would anyone else. At the age of twenty, I had around zero friends, zero co-workers who would notice my absence, zero employers who would be concerned about their employee’s well-being and zero people in the entire United States of America who give at least one s**t about me. Frustration boils my blood and I feel tears burn down my ice-cold cheek. If Papa were still here, he would care about where I am right now. He would care about how lost I feel every day.

And that’s when for the first time in weeks, I think about dying. Maybe if I lay still on the cold floor for a few more days, I’ll die of starvation. I'm almost certain this is what the end goal was for the devil anyway. Kill me after f*****g me. If I'm lucky, I could die before he even f***s me. As soon as my head drops to the ground, I feel the familiar feeling of being sucked into the darkness and I close my eyes.

This time, I dream;

The devil pinning me against a wall, his fingers tangled in my dark wavy hair and his tongue deep in my mouth dancing with my own. I let out a moan when I feel his hardness press on my hip and hear him groan with want. I place my hands on his shoulders and feel the muscles move as I pull him impossibly closer to my body. My p***y throbs painfully and, so I lean my head back, tearing my lips from his to beg him to f**k me. But I stop and feel my body still as I look at him. His eyes are completely black and I see blood dripping down the corners of his mouth. He smiles and his teeth are coated in red. I feel my stomach turn when I taste a metallic substance in my own mouth. He pulls his fingers away from my hair and I watch as the bright, thick liquid drips to the ground from his hands.

“Sweet Neha”, there’s something sinister about his deep voice that makes my heart race. I see a movement at the corner of my eye and turn my head, my gaze locking with my father who kneels on the floor with a knife held tight against his chest by himself. His smiling wide, the kind of smile I saw him wearing rarely.

“Sweet Neha” My father pulls the blade away from him and then plunges it deep into his body. I try to scream and go to him but my feet don’t move and I can’t be heard. Papa keeps stabbing his chest over and over again, the smile on his face never fading, until everything I see is red. I feel the devil's hand that’s slick with blood slip past the waistband of my pants and underneath my panties until two fingers push inside me.

“I'm going to f**k you hard right in this hole while your dead father watches us”, he says and laughs inhumanely.

My eyes snap awake and with a gasp I sit up straight. I blink a few times but I still see faint spots of red in my vision like the blood I saw in my dreams are seeping through into reality. My heart feels heavy as it thuds hard against my chest, my skin feeling cold and wet and I feel loose strands of my hair sticking to my face. For a moment then, I think I'm at the apartment waking up to another long day by myself but I hear a throat clearing beside me and my body breaks into shivers.

I was kidnapped by the devil.

“Bad dream?” he asks.

Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I turn to look at him sitting on a soft armchair beside the bed I'm on. I'm on a bed. My palms fist the soft pink bedspread and I notice that I'm in another room. This one’s a lot bigger than the room I stayed in earlier and to my surprise I see a door wide open that leads to a bathroom, opposite the wall where the windows are wide open and the evening sun spills through. There’s a cabinet in the corner that’s most probably empty considering how the devil loves for me to be naked.

I swing my gaze back to his and see him holding out a glass of water. With hands that still tremble slightly, I reach out and take it, my fingers carelessly brushing his when I do so. “Thank you”, I whisper and drink every sip hurriedly to quench my thirst. The devil watches me closely as I place the glass down on the bedside table and wipe my chin. I'm still undressed but the silk cloth that I covered myself with is still wrapped around my shoulder and it feels like some sort of shield protecting me from his stare.

“You passed out again”, he says.

“I know”.

“Does it happen a lot?”.

“Yeah, like most people only if I'm kept starving without food or water in a room that barely has enough oxygen for me to breath”, I scoff. When I see him raise an eyebrow, I look down at my lap where my hands twist together nervously. I'm not going to apologize for being rude unless he apologizes for leaving me for hours in that cell. If he looks guilty, he certainly doesn’t show it.

“Take a shower”, he jerks his head towards the open door. “Inside the bathroom you’ll find everything you need and your clothes are in the cabinet”. Oh, so there are clothes in there.

“You have thirty minutes and then meet me downstairs for dinner”, he says as he stands up, buttons his suit jacket and walks out the door. This time, I don’t hear the lock click in place.

I pull myself to straighten and trudge to the shower, pausing briefly in front of the door that leads to the rest of the house. Is this his house? Does he have a family or is he as lonely as I am? I don’t know anything about the only man who’s seen me completely naked and has had his fingers deep inside me and that makes me feel uneasy.

I drop the fabric away from my body and step behind the curtains, under the warm water that relaxes my muscles, I'm afraid to close my eyes even though I want to. I'm afraid that if I do I’ll see my father on his knees with a knife stuck in his chest and a smile plastered on his face.

I'm going to f**k you hard right in this hole while your dead father watches us.

I hate him and his stupid sexy body. I hate him and his chocolate eyes and every word that comes out of his mouth. It’s just been a few hours that I spent with him but why is it only him I think of when my hands run through my soapy skin? Is it because since Papa passed away, I’ve never been in someone’s company or is it because I'm just a pathetic girl?

After rinsing, I wear a Red sundress with high black stockings which looks so sexy on me. If he wants me to play his games, I will but I make my own rules. I smirk to myself and pull my hair up into a ponytail. If seducing him is the only way I find answers and a way to escape, then I’ll seduce him and drag the devil to my kind of hell, a place where even men like him would tremble with fear.

I slip my feet into the heel that was left for me, ignoring how everything fit so perfectly, I walk out the door and shut it softly behind me. The hallway is wide with cream coloured walls and bright lights above me. On my right, I see three more doors and on my left, there’s a staircase. I make my way downstairs just as he instructed me to. My hands softly brush the polished wooden banisters on either side of the steps.

The room which seems to be a living room screams money. With high ceilings that a crystal chandelier hangs on, a few rich beige sofas in front of a fireplace and large gold vases filled with the most beautiful variety of flowers. Simple but classy, if the devil decorated this house; I’ll admit he has a good taste of style. It’s a shame his personality doesn’t match his god-like looks with it too.

I walk further past the hall and into the kitchen that is similar to the way the rest of the house is like. Cream and gold cabinets lined high up the walls and a counter with a few bottles of wine buried in ice on top. A few feet away, I see a long dining table. My stomach growls in hunger as I move towards it and take a seat.

“I’ve imagined you sitting at my dining table a million times before”, I hear the devil say as he walks from behind me to take a seat at the head of the table. I pull the napkin from its tight knot and spread it across my lap, not wanting to meet his eyes but just eat and go back to my room.

“But every time I imagine you, you’re naked with your legs spread open for me”, his voice lowers and I feel it caress my heated skin. “And thinking of you in that way makes me so hard, sweet Neha”.

“I'm hungry”, I mutter and pull the plate of food in front closer to me.

I hear him pick up his cutlery as I do and without a second thought about manners, I cut the piece of juicy steak and stuff my mouth. The saltiness and spice with the rich meat melts on the tongue and I can’t help but moan as I swallow. I can’t remember the last time I had a meal that tastes so good. Fifteen minutes later, once my entire plate is wiped clean and my belly satisfied, I look at the devil and his eyes are already on me. Was he watching me eat all this time? Pervert.

“You haven’t eaten”, I state when I notice his plate is only half empty.

“I'm not hungry for food right now”, he leans back in his chair and crosses his thick arms on his chest, his eyes never leaving mine. The air in the room shifts and I know it’s time to play.

Thankfully, with my stomach full and after having a good shower, my mind is able to think of the more important things. Like right now, how to free myself.

 I lean my arm on the table next to where my butter knife is and shift my body towards him. His blank expression doesn’t change even when I swing one leg over the sidearm of my chair, the skirt of my dress riding up and exposing more skin of my thighs while I do so. I see his eyes drop to my hard n*****s straining underneath the fabric, and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. I know he’s turned on now.

Part one, successful. As much as I know I'm playing with the hottest fire that could scar me forever, I don’t want to stop. There’s guilt and regret and shame all slamming against my body. Each emotion begging me to stop teasing the man I met only yesterday and who almost raped me then. The man who used degrading words while speaking to me and hurt me in ways I’ve never been hurt before. The man who I know absolutely nothing about but yet the same man my body craves. Even though I know all of what I feel is wrong and even though I hate myself for it, I feel a bubble of excitement to hear him call me a slut again and touch the aching spot between my legs.

But not today, today I tease him and show him that I have control over whatever this is as well. He doesn’t need to know that I have no control over my body being attracted to him though.

“What are you doing?” He questioned when I started rubbing my hand on my body in a very seductive manner.The table corner between us blocks his view, but he knows exactly what I'm doing. I see his eyes darken. My breathing grows heavy and I start making fake moans , I know he is hard for me and this is what I wanted. I have to cage him in my Trap or else that Devil will Destroy me.

He doesn’t move but just watches me as if he finds me entertaining. , as if my little plan doesn’t affect him at all. With a low grumble, I forcefully pulled my hands away from my body and cursed in my mind, I thought this plan would work but I guess I was wrong. Now his stare is making me feel so creepy and disgusting . I shouldn’t plan this. my fingers skim the knife on the table but I don’t take it because I know I can’t hide it without him knowing. Maybe I’ll first get him to trust me.

I turn and start to walk back but the words the devil says makes me freeze in place.

“Friable little Neha”.