107 days.

That was how long you remember being here.

But that was before you stopped counting. Counting had begun to prove useless.

You weren’t leaving his clutches anytime soon.

And who was he, anyways?

He always wore that strange mask, oddly feminine looking ; like a porcelain doll.

Sometimes, another man would enter the home, but he never stayed for long, this man wearing a black hood covering with a red cloth frown, and matching empty red eyes.

The two would have minute conversations before he left with a bottle of pills or a pack of cigarettes.

The masked man smoked so much.

It was a normal day, you had gotten used to the routine by now. Wake up, have him untie you, shower, and then it was to the living room where he would watch you, all day.

The two of you would have conversations as you fed you carefully, and those moments were your favorite.

You felt most human in those moments.

On this day, it was slightly different. He fed you breakfast and watched you, having small conversations and whatnot.

Until he got up and sat on the couch, lighting up a cigarette and beckoning you with a finger to get up off the floor where he put you. You stood up on shaky legs, confused, but maybe he was going to ask you to get him a drink or something, that had happened once or twice.

The mask “looked” at you for a few moments before he patted his broad thigh.