Ella

I watch him come up from the ground below, his body covered in blood. I don’t know if it’s his or his opponent’s, but I do know he put up one hell of a fight. I’m still mad at him, but I can’t stop looking. Something about a man covered in blood commands attention ... demands respect.

When he went down there, the first thing I did was gaze through the circular window in my floor. How could I not? I had to know if he would survive. I know they fight to the death down there, and I don’t want him to die.

Despite hating him for not resisting Graham, I don’t want him dead.

I just had to know, had to watch him fight. And it was painful … every single strike. He took them again and again, seemingly not caring about whether he’d get hurt. He didn’t defend himself, and it made me want to scream. Why was he giving up?

Graham was there, but the way they talked made it seem like they were mad at each other. But at what? What happened is a mystery to me. It was unlike him … but then he threw me that look.

I couldn’t look away and neither could he.

For some reason, just me being there, watching over him, made him change his mind.

Just like that, he found the spark he needed to fight once again.

I could see it in his body, the primal fire blazing within him as he beat his opponent to a pulp. He’s not just fighting to survive. He’s fighting … for me.

For the right to claim me.

I couldn’t stop watching him do it. Couldn’t tear myself from the glass until the fight was over and he stepped out victorious. Like a true champion.

And still … I can’t stop looking.

He unfurls the wraps around his hands, revealing the bruises underneath, but the pain doesn’t seem to move him. Instead, he takes off all his clothes like he always does and walks into the spot where the shower immediately turns on.

For a moment, I’m struck in awe at his presence … the power that scorches from his body.

I envy his ability to see through all the suffering and focus on the beauty alone.

He’s like a young man stuck in an adult’s body, seeing the world through a hazy lens.

I wonder if it’ll ever change.

Whether we get out of here or not, this man is no ordinary man.

The door bursts open, and I get up from the bed, wondering what Graham is doing here. He’s marching to my cage in an aggravated manner as if I did something wrong even though I haven’t. I face him without fear and without emotions blinding my observations. I don’t need them anymore when there’s nothing to care about. Nothing to look forward to.

I wait until he says what he has to say, but he catches me completely off guard when he plasters a piece of paper against the glass.

It’s a photograph … of Syrena.

Made just days ago.

I immediately head to the glass, not giving a shit about whether I’m in his face and throwing everything I just promised not to do out the window.

It’s her … it’s really her. And she isn’t bruised or cut or bleeding. She’s … alive.

“I sold her, but she’s unharmed,” Graham says, frowning.

I can’t stop looking at the picture, though, but then he pulls it off the glass. I feel like he just gave me a shot of heroin and then took it all away again.

However, he saunters to the box and tucks it inside, shoving it my way.

“Keep it. It’s yours,” he says.

I snatch the picture before he can take it away again. He’ll have to claw it out of my dead hands before I ever give this back.

“If … you behave,” he adds, raising a brow.

I make a face at him, refusing to use my voice for someone as disgusting as him.

“You want more perks? Act like an adult,” he says. “And maybe … just maybe … you’ll see the outside world again.”

Outside world.

Did he just say that out loud or did I dream it?

Images of the green bushes and trees around my house flash through my mind again—the bright sun and blue sky, birds flocking together, the sounds of nature, animals, quacking, crickets chirping, my mom’s voice.

I almost tear up again, but I push them away.

I want to go there but on my terms. It has to be my choice, not his.

So I clench the photograph between my fingers and stare him down until he gets the message. I’m not going to be easy. I’m not going to be good. I’m going down loud and with my pride intact. He might use my body, but he’ll never break my soul.

When he’s gone, I sit on the bed and stare at the picture in my hands. My eyes tear up again at the sight of her face. She’s pretty. They must’ve noticed that too, so they finally bought her. I don’t know where she is or if she’s happy … but all I can hope for is that she’s safe. That the man who bought her will make her whole again.

Cage has been watching me from his corner, staring at me while under the shower. He’s fully nude, but as always, he doesn’t seem to care. But I’m not focused on him as he’s used to. I’m homed in on the picture and all that it entails.

This was a gift from Graham … that he felt compelled to give me. But why?

Was it because I’m refusing to eat?

Or is it because of something else?

I look up at Cage and ask, “Did you do this?” I hold up the picture.

He steps out from under the shower and grabs a towel, drying off as he walks closer, still completely naked. I don’t let it get to me even though his body is to die for.

He nods briefly then points with his fingers at the picture.

I wonder why.

Turning it around, I notice scribblings on the back that I’m not prepared for.

Fight. Live. Love. Never give up. You will be free.

It’s her, but it isn’t her handwriting. It can’t be. She was blind. Her buyer must’ve written this on the back for her. Maybe as a last request.

I smile, tearing up. Her last minute here, with her freedom still belonging to her, was spent trying to give me a message of hope. My heart fills with gratitude and joy, wishing I could thank her for what she’s done.

I won’t give up.

She’s here, watching over me through her picture, reminding me of what’s at stake. Reminding me of what this world owes me. The freedom to live how I want.

“What does it say?” Cage’s guttural voice blocks out all the voices in my head.

“That I shouldn’t ever give up …” I mumble, licking my lips. I pause for a second then gaze up at him. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t …” He swallows, unable to finish his sentence.

“I know you asked your father to do something,” I say. “Down there …” I point at the carpet under which the circular window lies.

He nods again, rubbing the back of his head, still completely oblivious to the fact that he’s naked. And buff. And … hot.

Jesus, why am I thinking this right now?

Blushing, I place the picture down on the bed and sigh out loud, telling myself I can do this.

I need to do this. If I ever want to see the outside world again, I need to give Graham what he wants.

And what he wants … is for me to fuck Cage.

It’s fucked up, but there’s no other way.

I’ll throw away my dignity for the sake of my freedom.

Anyone would.

So when the shower turns off, and the door emits that familiar click sound again, I don’t panic. I don’t flee. I stay put and wait until he comes to take me.