Three played a 'Wicked Game.' Now, it's time for round two.
One will fight. One will meet The Maker. And one will try to keep them all safe.
The world may be black and white but to win this game, they'll have to play in the gray.
Hunger. Stomach-churning bile and air hunger. Fourteen days without food. The last thing that occupied her stomach was an avocado-tomato quesadilla she picked up from Fresh. The funny thing was she could deal with the starvation wreaking havoc on her gut. She'd fasted for longer; three weeks of the master cleanse lemonade right before walking down the runway at NYC Fashion Week or the smoothie binge a month before swimsuit season.
Faith could go without chewing. She wasn't a big eater, being a sufferer of celiac disease was a big proponent of that but was she was a drinker. Liquid rolling over her tongue, chilling her mouth as her tastebuds tingled from the sweet nectar of fruit. She eyed the tall, sweating glass of orange juice next to the spinach-mushroom omelet atop the platter on the maple desk.
He brought it in an hour ago with simple instructions—Eat. That's all he uttered, every day, three times a day when he brought her provisions in. Just eat, nothing else, nothing more.
The first time he brought her food in she threw it back at him. The tall whip of a boy didn't break his chill. He didn't slap her across the face and bust her perfectly red-painted lips. No, he quietly left the room and twenty minutes later came back with bucket and mop to clean up the mess in his food-stained shirt.
No longer did she have the energy to put up the dramatic display of rebellion. Now, she just sat on the mosquito-net draped bed eyeing the food with a devoid belly and parched mouth.
Faith folded her knees up to her chest as she sat on the made bed, her hair curling up from the warm, sticky air that swept through the opened windows. She wasn't a fan of the thin, pale green spaghetti strap dress The Boy gave her but it was the best thing for the hot summer. The whirl of the oscillating fan in the corner of the room interrupted the mind-numbing quiet that stretched over the green flatland sprawled out the windows of this room she woke up in two weeks ago, give or take a day or two.
Faith couldn't remember the exact number of days. The time melted together like slices of cheese pressed between bread on a griddle. All but one iota of strength fluttered in her heart that gave her body hope. She knew someone had to be looking for her. Her mother might give up and chalk her disappearance up to a childish temper tantrum but they would know that something was wrong. Two people would know she didn't just flee in the night because she was cut off from the magical well of infinite funds. Isabeth and Alex would for her. They would come for her. They would find her.
Hard footfalls echoed outside her door and she knew he was approaching. Key rattled outside her thick wood door. A lock popped back then hinges sung a tune unpleasing to the ears.
Low curly hair, café au lait skin, a crisp white button-down tucked into black slacks that hung off his hipbone; he stood in the doorway with a stoic eye canvasing the room.
He took in a deep breath of air before lightly shaking his head at the food-rich plate and filled cup. "Still starving yourself, I see." His words were free of animosity. "But isn't it for not." He shifted his gaze to Faith as she stared straight ahead at the armoire that was filled with the same attire she had on now. "If The Collector wanted you poisoned, you'd be dead already."
"Then kill me, already." Faith bit out with her dry voice.
The boy tsked as he picked up the platter. He turned back towards Faith, "A dead collection is an unfruitful collection." He lifted the platter, "There are worse ways to be feed. I don't particularly like the other way." He shook his head gently, "And neither would you but The Collector doesn't do emaciated. Either you eat the food brought to you or I'll be forced to take matters in my own hands." He stalked to the door. "Lemon garlic orzo with roasted vegetables is on the menu tonight." He flashed her a fake smile. "It'll be to die for."
The door closed hard and the lock thudded into place shrouded Faith in a cloud of hopelessness causing her weak body to fall back on the firm mattress. She wanted to scream, kick, and curse but there was no one that would hear and her voice was already hoarse.
Should Faith eat the food and drink the beverages?
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