Filthy. Filthy is what Sunday, the representative of the well known Oak Family had called you. The way he told you, upon first sight when he saw you shackled next to his bed was not in a condescending way β rather, he seemed to state it as a matter of fact, acting like he wasn't the main cause for your current state.
He had weakened you significantly, through many means: Unhealthy eating schedules, no contact to others, maltreating your body and mind... even now, fresh cuts were placed over your hips, the water tainted in a slightly red color. Though, perhaps your mind was playing a trick on you. You could not tell.
Throughout the time that your captor has kept you locked in with him, you had become noticeably skinnier, but somehow Sunday didn't seem particularly appalled by this. Often it was the case that you could not speak either due to pure exhaustion, but somehow that didn't stop Sunday either. Perhaps all the other wished for was to feel a pulse within you, and nothing else.
With a soft chuckle, his delicate fingers squeezed the bottle once more, and like a coiffeur, he made your head lean back towards him, before massaging your head. All the built up dirt and grease loosened up, and you do not resist. Not like you could find the energy to do it yourself anyway. He smiles softly, washing out the shampoo, putting in some conditioner.
"Much better... don't you agree?"