Sold To The Devil I Ruined

Elenora stared at the tray. The smell of the cold soup was greasy and metallic. Rage, sudden and hot, flared in her chest. It overrode the fear.

She swung her arm out.

The tray went flying. The bowl hit the wall and shattered. Cold broth and chunks of vegetables splattered against the silk wallpaper and dripped down to the carpet. The crash was loud, satisfying.

"I am not a dog, Fitzgerald," she said. Her voice shook, but she held her chin high.

Fitzgerald watched the soup ruin the wallpaper. He didn't blink. He slowly turned his head to look at her. The amusement was gone. His eyes were flat, black pools.

He pushed off the doorframe.

He took a step toward her. Then another.

Elenora scrambled back on the bed until her spine hit the headboard. There was nowhere to go.

He reached her. He didn't strike her. He leaned in, placing his hands on the mattress on either side of her hips, trapping her.

"Your value right now," he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest, "is less than a dog."

The proximity of him brought another memory crashing down on her.

The hospital corridor. Ten years ago.

Elenora was walking down the hall, her heels clicking on the linoleum. She was wearing a fur coat that cost more than the MRI machine in the room next door.

She saw Fitzgerald. He was pleading with a doctor. His voice was desperate, cracking. He needed an extension on the payment.

Beside him stood a nurse. A student nurse. Britni Bird. She had her hand on Fitzgerald's arm, rubbing it soothingly. She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes.

Elenora felt something ugly twist in her gut. It wasn't just disgust at his poverty. It was... something else. Something that felt like possessiveness.

She marched up to them.

"Woodard," she said, her voice echoing. "Is this why you won't polish my car? You're too busy playing man for this charity case?"

Britni flinched. She hid behind Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald spun around. He put his arm out to shield the nurse. "Elenora, stop. Not here."

Elenora laughed. She opened her clutch. She pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. She crumpled it and threw it. It hit Britni in the face.

"A tip," Elenora sneered. "Stay away from my dog."

Britni started to cry. Fitzgerald shoved Elenora. Hard. She stumbled back into the wall. It was the first time he had ever touched her in anger.

The memory dissolved.

Fitzgerald's hand was on her throat.

Reality snapped back. He wasn't shoving her. He was choking her. His fingers wrapped around her windpipe, thumb pressing into the soft hollow of her throat.

"Do you remember?" he hissed. His face was inches from hers. "Do you remember how you treated her?"

Elenora clawed at his wrist. Her nails dug into his skin, but his arm was like granite. Black spots danced in her vision. Her lungs burned.

"She... is... a liar..." Elenora choked out. The words were barely air.

Fitzgerald's grip tightened. "Shut up. You don't get to speak her name."

The pressure was immense. Elenora's vision tunneled. Just when she thought her throat would collapse, he let go.

She fell sideways onto the mattress, gasping, coughing violently. She sucked in air, her throat screaming in protest.

Fitzgerald stood up. He loomed over her, adjusting his cuffs.

"Clean it up," he said, pointing to the mess on the floor.

Elenora looked at the shattered ceramic and the stain.

"And eat it," he added.

Elenora looked up, horror chilling her blood. "What?"

"Eat it off the floor," Fitzgerald said. "Or I call the hospital and tell them to stop your father's medication for the night."

Elenora froze. The threat was a physical blow.

She looked at the floor. The soup was soaking into the rug. Shards of white ceramic glinted in the mess.

She crawled off the bed. Her knees hit the carpet. She moved toward the spill. Tears blurred her vision, hot and stinging.

Fitzgerald watched. He didn't leave. He stood there, a sentinel of cruelty.

Elenora reached for a piece of potato that had fallen on the rug. Her hand trembled. She put it in her mouth. She swallowed. It tasted like dust and shame.

She heard Fitzgerald inhale sharply. She glanced up.

He was looking at her with an expression she couldn't read. It looked like triumph, but his jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He looked... repulsed by her submission, as if it were a mirror to his own monstrosity.

He turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

Elenora was left alone in the dark, chewing on grit and tears.