Seemingly empty (part 2)

CW: Stockholm syndrome, mental health issues, substance abuse, physical violence, gore, and abuse.

It has been years since I have seen the light. I've been kept here and sworn to secrecy by him. Nilson E. Boyd. The charming yet manipulative guy, who stole my heart and broke into several pieces. I knew he was only using me, but it felt good to be wanted. Even if it was in the most toxic way.

The door creaks open, revealing a tiny imp servant named Morrigan. "The master requests your presence." Her shrill voice echoed throughout my cold, chamber. I inhale the musty smell and turn around to glare at the small demon. I have learned my lesson about attending dinner with him or standing by Nilson as he explains his plans to me, while I stroke his ego to stay alive. Flattery is the only reason why he hasn't killed me yet. Morrigan approaches me slowly, as if I was a wild caged animal.

In some ways, I'd guess that I am. Cornered, trapped. His pressure weighing me down, sending me back under the deep ocean. I try to swim up for air, but the sharks always block my way. So, I'm forced to hide in the shadows.

Morrigan guides me to Nilson's study, while I am still in my daze. I'm so exhausted, my body feels like it's crumbling slowly, just to make me suffer. Lumbering like a zombie, I slump into a dark leather armchair. The room smells like damp pine trees, like a forest after the rain. My eyes glance over to a large bookshelf, and I snap awake immediately. The bookshelves were filled with various genres of books, sorted out by the years they were written and by certain authors.

"I knew that you'd like this place." A low, silky-smooth voice chuckled. I didn't have to look behind me to know who it was. Peeking over my shoulder, I could see that Nilson was wearing his usual Mahagony blazer, deep pale red round sunglasses, a crisp white button up collared shirt, creased black trousers, and shiny yet scuffed brown loafers.

Arching a brow at him, I roll my eyes, "I'm an AUTHOR. Of course, I'll be obsessed over books." I scoff and he grins. That smile... that smile of his is what made me fall in love with him in the first place.

He was playing the piano in the orchestra. It was a masquerade ball, a birthday party for my closest friend's daughter. Ever since he asked me to dance with him, flashing that very grin at me, I've been head over heels. I saw him every day since then, but when he had gotten arrested, my heart shattered.

When I heard that he had escaped, I knew he would come find me first. I started packing right away and loaded up my Porsche with all my luggage. My prediction was right. Before I could even start the car, he was already standing in the driveway. His cronies commanded that I exit the vehicle with my hands up. I complied knowing that if I decided to rebel, I would go down with a very slow and painful death.

Ever since he used to me to kill Gwenore... I've been stuck in a hard spot, where there is no space to wriggle out from. No door to open, no window to escape from. Only me and my thoughts are forever dwelling in this wretched place. I'm going to go MAD if I stay here any longer than I have to. Though, Nilson has major trust issues and would probably maim my tongue, gouge out my eyeballs, or something gruesome like that if I even told a single soul about what happened to me.

"You can read whatever you'd like in here. I'd suggest the historical fiction to you. It's really quite magnificent." Nilson brags and I cross my arms.

"I'm sure it is..." I mutter loud enough so he can hear. Nilson tilts his head to the side, pulling off the most innocent face he could possibly muster but that doesn't work on me anymore.

"Is there something wrong, Beckett?"

"Don't play dumb! I know your tricks, and this little act you're doing is faker than your stupid career-"

He slams me into the bookshelf, which wobbled and creaked from the amount of pressure put onto it. Nilson's calloused hand is gripping tightly around my neck. He flicks out a bright red Swiss army knife, with his name painted onto it in gold cursive. He leans close into my ear, pressing the Swiss army knife against my stomach, enough to draw some blood.

"You should shut up, if you know what's good for you."

I purse my lips together into a thin, grim line. Averting my eyes away so he doesn't see me tearing up. I don't need him getting a big head about me crying even though he hasn't even slit my stomach open yet. Though I tried hiding it, I failed. He takes the cold knife off me, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Nilson wipes the blood off of Swiss army knife with a fancy handkerchief. He hands the handkerchief to me then punches the bookshelf, which makes a few books fall onto me.

Nilson closes the door on me, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again. I press the handkerchief to the wound, and I hiss in pain. I curl up into a ball, letting myself rock back and forth.

"Everything's fine, he still loves me. Otherwise, he would've killed me, right? Right. Because he still needs me. Wants me, even. Who knows what's going on within that dark and brilliant head of his? I'm no psychic. If I was, I would know how to get out of here. Maybe when I get out of here, I can assign him to a mental institution." I ramble to myself.

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About an hour later, I leave his study with some books under my arm. Ones about supernatural beings. I figured it would help me understand how to summons those...imps and creatures so I can turn them against him. Not so I can control them, but just so then I can escape without him or anyone knowing. While walking by Nilson's bedroom, I can hear him talking to someone. I'm positive that it's not any of the impish staff members he rounded up. The person he's talking to has a deep voice. TOO deep. Almost sounds like a raspier verson of Corpse Husband.

"Is your team ready to initiate the plan?" it asked, and I pressed my body against the wall, nearby so I can eavesdrop on their conversation.

"We're ALMOST ready, s-sir! Just a few more items and we'll-"

"SILENCE!" it roared, and I could see Nilson visibly gulp. I laugh silently. Ha, karma for him. That's what he gets for being SUCH a narcissist.

"I cannot wait any longer, I must go claim my prize. If you won't do so, I will do it myself." it bellows then continues, "Kids these days, always so lazy..." it huffs.

"Sir, the plans are almost complete. You know what will happen if you go out there now. It'll be absolute CHAOS! I'm all up for wreaking havoc but not when we're THIS CLOSE to being done."

It sighs, "Fine. Go on with it. And get out of my sight before I change my mind." Nilson beams, "You won't regret this, sir!"

"Trust me, I already am." it grumbled, turning away.

Nilson runs to the door to leave but I was l already halfway down the hall. Racing up the sleek marble floor, my feet slapping against the red velvet carpet. I shut my chamber door, going over to my desk to study the paranormal creatures.

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By the time I was done reading the pile of books, I was famished. I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I looked out of my chamber's window to see that it was already dusk. I creep out of my bedroom quarters and sneak down into the kitchen. I heat up some microwaveable popcorn, pour it into a bowl, and was about to go back to my room when I noticed that Nilson was sleeping in the den.

His blazer was on the floor, his collared button up shirt was now undone and wrinkled. A bottle of fine wine was open on the table and was half full.

I shake my head, feeling pitiful of him. I lift him up, carrying him into his room. "Whazzat Bucket...? Muh head huuuuuurrrrrrtsssssss..." he murmurs, unable to speak properly because he's obviously drunk. "Shush. I'm helping you." I lay him down on his bed and force him to drink water, which Nilson reluctantly obeys.

A smile slowly creeps onto my face. "I have no idea why I even love a maniac like you." I lean down and kiss him on the forehead, tucking him in. I leave and turn off the lights. "Goodnight Dorkus." I shut the door, and before I left, I can hear him answer: "Goonite Bucket."

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To be continued...