Though Monster left the house in a decent enough mood this morning, I can’t help the bad feeling prickling at the nape of my neck all day. Foreboding, I guess. Or just a general sense of unease.

I’ve been in this house for almost a week, and most of that I’ve spent by myself. Well, I have Cerberus to keep me company, but I’m mostly at a loss for what to do.

So, I spend my days sunning myself by the pool, and my nights reading something from the pile of books I ordered online. I also spend a lot of time and money on buying new things online. Lingerie, jewelry, art for the walls.

Nothing big, although Monster certainly wouldn’t notice what I spent or where. So far, he didn’t seem worried about the money I spent, just that I looked good when he got home.

But he was usually getting home at all hours, late into the night and early into the morning. Not only that, but he usually smelled like perfume and wore a distinct patina of sparkly glitter.

I knew all too well what that meant. After all, I’d grown up with my father and brothers. I knew the classic signs of men who had spent their evenings at strip clubs. If I was actually a girlfriend or a wife, if I had any claim on him at all, I would be out of my mind with jealousy.

But I’m not a wife. Not a girlfriend.

I’m merely a slave, a possession. A toy.

I remind myself of that as I shop, mercilessly buying every single dress that catches my eye on the Nordstrom site. Then I buy every single pair of shoes that even remotely interest me.

I feel a little better after that.

Opening the little laptop I’ve been using, I hesitate. Then I navigate to Facebook and look at my brothers’ Facebook profiles. Their pages are usually full of trashy memes and stupid jokes about the women they’re thinking about banging.

But when I go to Dave’s page, I find that he’s been silent for over a month. Furrowing my brow, I check Art and Tony’s profiles. But it’s as quiet as a graveyard there too, except one of Art’s idiot friends posting a few times, wondering where he is and if they’re going to hang soon.

The fact that none of them have posted in over a month is concerning. Either they are laying low and my Dad took their devices away, or…

I swallow. I don’t even want to think of the other possibilities.

Then again, I shouldn’t care about my family. Even Tony, the one brother I was closest to, betrayed me greatly. The second that he sold me to the cops that day… and the cop told me that Dad knew…

My eyes mist over and a lump of some unnamed emotion forms in my throat.

I may be back in New Orleans, but I won’t look my family up. They’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m worthless to them. Instead, I navigate to a clothing store I like and buy a few dresses to forget all about my traitorous family.

I succeed, mostly.

When my purchases start arriving later that day, I realize how much stuff I bought. My bed is stacked high with boxes, and the box stack spills over onto the floor. I really did some damage here, there is no denying that.

I sort through the packages, trying on a few necklaces to start. One that’s grey pearls, one that’s a slinky gold chain, and a rosary-inspired black beaded affair. I walk over to the mirror, admiring the necklaces.

Taking a minute to take in my entire appearance, I cock my head to the side. I see a pretty blonde, with high cheekbones and huge blue eyes. The necklaces look nice against my collarbone and make my plain black strappy dress seem more elegant.

I have started to fill out a little again since I’ve been allowed to eat. Turning sideways in front of the mirror, I notice that my breasts are coming back, plumping up. Cupping my breasts, I stare into the mirror as I try to push them up a bit.

It’s only then that I glance up and see Monster in the mirror, leaning in the doorway. Black energy rolls off of him in waves, and his eyes are dark as he glowers at me. Gone is his usual fastidiousness; instead he is barefoot, his dark shirt missing a few buttons at the collar as though he simply didn’t have time to undo them.

I don’t need to be close to him to know that he smells of liquor. I can practically see the whiskey on his breath.

Whatever he has been working on, it obviously didn’t go well. I swallow against the lump the forms in my throat. Only one person is usually punished when Monster’s business goes awry.

Me.

He pushes off the doorway, locking eyes with me in the mirror. “What the fuck have you bought, Fiore?”

Glancing behind me at the tower of boxes on top of my bed, I break into a sweat. I answer him through lips that are suddenly numb, my voice rough. “Dresses, mostly.”

“You do realize that someone has to work for that money, don’t you?” he asks. I bite my lip and bury a hand in the skirt of my dress, trying to ascertain the proper answer.

When I take too long coming up with a response, Monster gets angry and sweeps the boxes off the bed in a single elegant motion. He points to the bed, already impatient.

“Get over here and kneel down. I need to blow off some steam, and you’re going to suck my cock until I dump my cum down your pretty throat.”

My eyes widen at his words. My pulse starts racing. My palms begin to sweat.

“Monster, I—”

He narrows his gaze, staring me down. Whatever words I was about to say, they die in my throat. I drift towards him, uncertain of his intentions. As I get closer, I can smell the acrid tang of whiskey in the air around him.

Monster moves a few steps to meet me. His hand lands on my shoulder, roughly forcing me to my feet. My knees hit the wood floor hard and I wince at the throbbing pain. I’m sure I will be bruised there tomorrow.

He unzips his trousers, pushing them down and baring his large cock to me. It stares down at me, long and wide and perfectly pink. The slit at the very tip already oozes a little of his essence. I already know exactly what the steely length will feel like in my hand, how soft the skin will be to the touch. What he’ll taste like in the back of my throat.

I glance up at him, not unwilling. But he isn’t interested in my agreement or my compliance.

He likes when I cry a little at first, beg a little. He likes when I’m terrified of him. That much I’ve figured out, at least.

Monster digs his hand into the back of my hair, causing me to suck in a breath. He grips my hair hard, and I cry out. I flatten my hand on his leg, seeking balance.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says. “Open your goddamned mouth.”

Moving my hand to fit around his cock, I open my mouth, tasting his tip. That’s not good enough for him, though. He moves his hand to brace the back of my head, cupping it so tightly that I can see stars. He slams forward, shoving almost all the way into my throat.

Unprepared, I gag. My eyes start to water. The fingers of my free hand dig into his leg, my nails scoring the trouser-covered flesh.

When he withdraws, I suck in a deep breath.

“Cover your fucking teeth,” he threatens, before thrusting again.

This time, his cock touches the back of my throat. I gag and convulse, which he seems to like. I start to cry, which isn’t helping my breathing any.

He withdraws again, and then he pauses. His gaze seems to catch on my chest. “What the fuck is that?”

Obviously, I can’t answer, because I’m crying, my mouth still full of his cock. He’s not really worried about my answer, though. He plucks at my necklaces, fumbling with them a little. He holds up the end of the rosary necklace on the side of my face, so I can see it, his fury renewed.

Starting to tremble, I just look at him with big eyes, tears running down my face. Monster shoves me back, starting to look unhinged. “You’re a fucking sorceress!”

“It’s just a necklace—”

“You’re going in the box,” he grits out, lurching toward my bed. “I’m not going through this again.”

The Box? Like the Box Beneath the Bed? My blood turns to ice in my veins.

He must be talking about something else.

Please, god, let him be talking about anything else.

“Going through what?” I beg, watching as he reaches the bed. He glares at me for several seconds before he tosses up the bedskirts.

Fuck. No, no, no. What if he has The Box here?

“No! No, anything but The Box,” I cry out, desperate. Monster doesn’t even look up at me. He just gets to one knee and reaches under the bed, dragging The Box out.

How did he even get The Box here? And why?

Did he bring it, knowing that he would use it to torture me? Surely, he can’t know why I’m afraid of confined spaces. No one knows except for Tony.

I look on with horror as he reveals The Box in all its glory. The Box is just as I remembered it, shining dully gold in the dim light.

“Monster, just tell me what I did,” I beg, unable to look away from The Box. He pries the lid off, revealing black crushed velvet. “Please, please! What did I do?”

He doesn’t answer. The Box seems to have a magnetic pull, the black velvet lining it acting as some sort of black hole. He gets to his feet, capturing me like he would a frightened rabbit. Out of instinct, I claw at him, sobbing and looking frantically at The Box.

“No! No, please—” I bawl.

But he’s too strong. I’m no match for Monster’s big arms. He forces me to lie inside the box, maneuvering the lid on. I scream as the room disappears, replaced by absolute and perfect darkness.

I’m locked inside The Box, trapped. Somehow, I can feel its velvet walls closing in. I can feel myself growing, stretching, threatening to burst out of The Box.

Except that, a few breaths later, The Box is still around me, surrounding me. Burying me alive.

I’m going to die.

I know it.

Taking a deep breath, I scream into the dull void.