Fractured Pleas

Emily’s POV:

Darkness wraps around me, soft and suffocating. There’s no pain here, no fire, no chains biting into my skin. Just an empty void where my body should be.

Then, something pulls me back—warmth, the scent of smoke and leather, the distant hum of a voice I can’t quite make out.

My eyelids are heavy, but I force them open, blinking against the dim lighting. I’m no longer on the cold, unforgiving floor. I’m in a bed—his bed.

The silk sheets are smooth against my raw skin. My wrists, my thighs—bandaged.

My breath catches. He took care of me.

I turn my head, and there he is, sitting beside the bed with an unreadable expression, his elbows resting on his knees, watching me like he’s been waiting for me to wake up.

Alex.

My stomach churns. The last thing I remember is the searing pain, the fire against my skin, the way my screams filled the room. But now, he sits there like nothing happened, like he didn’t just brand me as his.

I shift slightly, and that’s when I notice the tray beside the bed. My favorite food, perfectly arranged. The scent drifts up, making my stomach twist in confusion.

I force my voice out, hoarse and weak. “Why…?”

He tilts his head slightly, as if he doesn’t understand the question.

“I thought you’d be hungry,” he says simply, like he didn’t just ruin me.

A laugh bubbles up, but it’s hollow, broken. “You burned me, Alex.”

His jaw tightens, but his voice remains calm. “And now you’re healed.”

I stare at him, waiting for guilt, regret—anything. But there’s nothing. Just that same cold, controlled gaze.

I glance down at my bandaged wrists. “And the chains?”

He reaches forward, trailing his fingers over the gauze. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. “You fought too hard,” he murmurs. “You hurt yourself.”

I let out a shaky breath. “And you expect me to eat? To act like everything is fine?”

His eyes darken. “I expect you to take care of yourself.”

I scoff, my throat burning. “You mean you want to take care of me.”

His lips twitch, not quite a smirk. “There’s a difference?”

A shiver runs through me, but I’m too tired to fight him. Instead, I sink back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.

He sighs, reaching for the tray. He picks up a fork and holds it out to me. “Eat, kotenok.”

I don’t move.

His voice lowers. “Don’t make me feed you.”

I flinch, and his expression softens just a fraction. “One bite,” he says. “Then you can rest.”

I hesitate. Then, slowly, I take the fork from his hand and bring it to my lips. The taste should bring comfort, but it doesn’t.

Because no matter how soft his voice is, how gentle his touch—

The chains are still there.

Even if I can’t see them.

– A Caged Mind

I eat because it’s easier than fighting him. Each bite is tasteless, sitting like ash in my mouth. My hands tremble as I hold the fork, the bandages pulling at my raw skin.

Alex watches me, his gaze unreadable. He doesn’t force me. Doesn’t rush me. He just sits there, patient and composed, as if I’m not crumbling from the inside out.

The silence between us thickens. The weight of what he’s done presses against my chest like a heavy stone, sinking deeper, suffocating me.

I drop the fork onto the plate with a soft clink and push the tray away. “I’m done.”

He studies me for a moment, then nods, setting the tray aside.

I pull the blankets up to my chin, curling into myself. My body feels foreign, tainted. The sting beneath the bandages reminds me of his mark, of the permanence of what he’s done.

And yet, the worst part isn’t the pain.

It’s him. The way he looks at me like nothing has changed. Like I’m still something delicate in his hands instead of someone he’s broken beyond repair.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will myself into sleep, into escape, but the darkness behind my eyelids is just another kind of prison.

Memories rush in, jagged and unforgiving. The heat of the brand, the way my body convulsed, the sound of my own screams ringing in my ears.

I gasp, my lungs struggling to expand. The walls feel too close. The air is thick, suffocating. My fingers clutch at the sheets as panic claws at my throat.

No, no, no.

I can’t be here.

I can’t breathe.

I throw the blankets off and sit up too fast, my vision swimming. My hands go to my throat, desperate for air, for space, for freedom.

“Emily.”

His voice is calm, but I hear the warning beneath it.

I shake my head, chest rising and falling too quickly. “I can’t—” My voice breaks. I grip my arms, digging my nails into my skin, trying to ground myself. “I can’t do this.”

I feel the bed dip, his presence coming closer, but I jerk away before he can touch me. “Don’t.”

He stills. For the first time, his expression cracks—just slightly.

“You’re panicking,” he says softly, like he’s trying to soothe a frightened animal. “You need to breathe.”

I let out a bitter laugh, my vision blurring. “I can’t breathe, Alex. Not here. Not with you.”

His jaw clenches. “You don’t mean that.”

I do. I really, really do.

Because every time I look at him, I see the brand. I feel the chains. I remember the way he whispered, You are mine.

A sob rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. Crying won’t help me. Begging won’t change him.

I need to get away.

I press a hand to my forehead, my breathing still uneven. “Let me go.”

Silence.

I lift my head, meeting his gaze through blurry vision. “Just for a month,” I whisper, my voice barely holding steady. “Please.”

His face remains unreadable, but his fingers twitch—barely noticeable, but I see it.

A flicker of something sharp, dark, possessive passes through his eyes, gone before I can catch it.

Then, slowly, he leans forward, his voice dangerously quiet.

“And why,” he murmurs, “would I ever let you go?”

Author’s Note:

Darkness, obsession, and a love that blurs the lines between possession and destruction—Emily is spiraling, caught in a battle between her mind and the man who refuses to let her go. Will Alex grant her the freedom she craves, or is escape nothing more than an illusion?

Things are only getting more intense from here. Buckle up.