The Tyrant's Trophy
Hunger

(A/N: Thank you all who've been saving my story to your lists! I hope you all are enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Just a quick warning; this story takes a dark turn going forward. Also, I am debating if I should rewrite my synopsis of this tale. Please enjoy and any feedback is welcomed. God bless.)

Maybell

Soft lips brushed my forehead; it was a split second but I knew it was a kiss that woke me. In my mind’s eye, I saw Phil. It was the night after I was released from the ward. He lay with me in bed, rocking me gently back and forth. It was one of those rare occasions where he was soft with me: humane.

During those times, I couldn’t help but cry because of his gentleness and question whether he was the beast I’d come to know or the beautiful man that truly did love me.

Glancing upon the owner of the lips, however, Chad was the one that held me now. It was both a relief and a disappointment. Oh, Phil…I wish you were dead. I wish I was dead.

“You’re sister informed me of the man in the psych ward. Any word?” Abijah’s voice rattled my brain, though she whispered. It took me a good couple of seconds to fend off the growing headache that came with my new sense of hearing.

It would have been polite of me to let the two know I was awake. Yet, once I heard what they were discussing, faking sleep just came naturally. I forced my body to remain in its relaxed state and my breathing to come out as even as possible. I tuned in, ever so closely as the two discussed the man in the psych ward.

The very man that attacked the small boy.

The man who I felt his very pulse in the palms of my hands.

Snippets of what happened danced across my mind and it took more effort than I realized to suppress the shiver of delight.

“I want to see the guy.” There was a cold underbite to Abijah’s tone. It reminded me of the way Phil used to speak down to me and also the memory of Abijah blackmailing me. Suddenly, there was this unexplainable rage building up in the back of my throat…like bile ready to be strewn about.

This went unnoticed by the two conspirators. “What business do you have with this?” Chad did his best not to move me as he shifted in the bed.

“Thanks to my own psychotic villain, I now have in my procession names of human traffickers tied to Dr. Phillip Sweetheart. All we have to do now is research the scumbags and see if our ‘friend’ is one of them.”

“Oh, that would give us the advantage.”

I kept my eyes shut, even when an extra hand brushed my hair. “How she been, really?” My hair curled around my friend's fingertips. “Poor Maybell…” I wanted to choke on that pathetic sympathetic voice.

Chad shifted once more, laying me more on the bed while he shimmied out. “It’s been hard on her. These changes have been twisting her up in more ways than one.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “The good thing about this is her eating habits; she’s finally having an appetite.” There was a moment’s pause. “Which reminds me. It’s almost time for dinner. I should bring her some food.”

“From the cafeteria?” Chad must have nodded. “I’ll go with you. I need something in my stomach too.” I waited until the two left.

I WAS getting hungry and though food sounded like music to my ears, I found I craved something else. Something more appealing than what the cafeteria offers. Hearing the ‘ding’ of the elevator signaled me to open my eyes and sit up. It was almost an out-of-body experience; standing up and walking to the windows.

Quinn had gotten after her workers for leaving me unattended during my seizures. Which meant at least two nurses stood to watch outside my room.

I couldn’t bring myself to think much as I opened the window and climbed out. Maybe if I did, fear would have told me to stay inside or fall to my death. Since I was in auto-mode, I scaled the wall to a room two floors above me. My nails dug into the concrete, yet I felt nothing. Not the cold of the evening wind nor the scrapes of concrete wall whenever my knees hit it.

Silently, I opened the window, using my hair to slither through the crack and unlock it from the inside. I looked to either side before climbing inside, in case any nurses were there. Luckily, the room was empty. Laughably, it was smooth sailing from there.

All I did was walk out towards the elevators, following the signs that led me to the psych ward. It was, unsurprisingly on the last floor of the building. I didn’t need to know what room number he hid in. I had his stench ingrained in my head. So I followed that until the filthy scum’s scent got stronger.

I stopped right in front of the door where his stench became outright nauseating. But it was the underlining scent that told me this was the correct room. That scent belonged to none other than Phil. Through the small window on the door, the man was lounging on the bed. He was bandaged up, with an arm in a sling. However, it was the wrappings around his neck that pulled my attention.

My hands twitched, longing to feel his pulse again. I could hear his heartbeat; the way it sped up as he begged for air. Then the slowing down when the lack of oxygen settled in. My head hurt recalling it but not enough to stop me from picking the lock with a few strands of my hair.

My victim didn’t seem too concerned when the door opened. He must have thought Quinn or Chad would be there to question him once more. It thrilled me all the more when the fool’s eyes widen to the size of plates - the fear deliciously seeping from his pores.

I inhaled deeply, savoring every detail before closing the door.

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