Yandere Prompt

Mhorra sobbed quietly as she curled up as best she could in her current predicament. Her right leg was broken, her arms were tied together with coarse roped behind her back, and she was blindfolded. She knew that she lay on a queen sized bed, and that said bed was in the basement of her captor's home.

Her captor was someone she thought had been her friend, but turned out to be a half crazed, obsessive man who had decided she would be the one who would be at his side forever. He'd invited her to homecoming, so nice and charming, so sweet and kind and handsome. Then when she'd been about to head home, he'd injected her with something that'd knocked her out. When she'd woken, she'd been here in the same room she was now.

That was three months ago.

Mhorra Arnell was a nineteen year old student at the local university, and had been studying the culinary arts. She was five foot, five inches tall, with pale skin that was freckled across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, and emerald green eyes. Her delicate, heart-shaped face was framed by short red hair in perpetual bedhead, and her body was on the leaner side, with small curves in chest and rump. At least, that's how she'd been before homecoming.

Now, her pale skin was littered with bruises, her right leg black and purple, swollen from being broken and poorly set, and put in a makeshift splint. Her arms were covered in cuts and burns from being bound in rope, and her lips were cut from his harsh kisses that cut her with his teeth. Her skin and hair were at least clean from his nightly bathing her, and he'd gotten her some clothing to wear, simple things that were a little big, but warm.

Unable to take the utter silence of the soundproofed basement, she turned her thoughts to how she'd ended up in such a sorry state.

She'd received several 'lessons' and 'talking-to's at first when she'd first began. She'd learned the hard way that she shouldn't cry when he was around, or beg to go home. She shouldn't let her fear show, but that was impossible. She shouldn't do things without his permission, else he would have one of his fits..

His fits terrified her. First, they were minor. He'd yell and slap her. He'd grab her by the neck and pin her down, screaming at her, asking her questions or calling her a liar if she tried to deny something. Sometimes he'd throw her into a wall or to the floor. However, he always seemed so remorseful, and after he was done, whether or not she was conscious, he would sob into her shirt and beg forgiveness, telling her that it was for her own good, that she had to learn so he could protect her. It broke her heart to hear those pathetic wails and cries.

Then they got worse, triggered by her first escape attempt. Back then, she'd been free of any bonds, but he kept constant surveillance on her. When he'd disappeared into the bathroom for a quick minute, she'd ran. However, she'd quickly gotten lost in his home, and he'd found her in under a minute. He'd tackled her down, and had such dark eyes, soulless and empty as he'd pressed his hands to her throat, growling and snarling between shouted questions as to why he would leave her. He'd choked her into submission, and when she'd woke two days later, beat her into unconsciousness as punishment.

Then, last time she'd tried to escape... She had found a broken piece of metal and cut the bindings on her wrists when he'd been out to get groceries. She ran to the door, managing to find her way to the front door after a couple minutes of searching for the secret entrance/exit door to her prison. She'd then sought out the front door, only to find it locked, unable to be opened without the key he'd undoubtedly held. She didn't give up, though, and sought it out.

Then he'd come home. His rage had turned his eyes nearly black with rage, and she'd nearly soiled herself with how afraid she was. He was incredibly patient when he saw her freeze up while rifling through a drawer, and had turned to re-lock the door when she'd stood and turned to face him. Then he'd stepped forward and asked her what she was doing. He gave her a chance to apologize. He'd given her an opportunity to make up for it, if she would give him a hug and return to her room. However, she'd been too frozen by fear.

That time, there was no yelling. There was only pain. He'd struck her hard enough her vision went white when she'd slammed into the wall. He'd jerked her arm up hard enough it was dislocated from her socket and she was left hanging in the air as he held her up by the arm, telling her just how disappointed in her he was. He was going to give her another chance, he told her. She just needed to keep from running. He dropped her on the floor, then stomped on her leg hard enough to crack it. He did this several times, until the bone was shattered and she was screaming in pain and apologizing profusely.

Only then did he kiss her cheek and inject her with the strange drug that let her roll into sweet, painless oblivion. She'd woken here. That was three days ago.

There was a click of a lock as the secret entrance opened. She turned her head towards the footsteps that'd approached, a whimper of fear coming from her as tears welled in her eyes and soaked into the blindfold. What did he want now..?