Hi guys! again, long time no see. This chapter turned out extra long, and to keep with my twenty-chapter goal I've decided not to split it. Enjoy, and as always let me know exactly what you think. I'll be sure to update as prompty as possible ;)

♡ ann

My throat was raw.

Maybe it was the screaming. Maybe it was the shallow sobs that had shaken my chest, tears soaking into the newly applied duct tape around my lips. Maybe it was the knife that had sliced my throat, leaving a row of jagged stitches in its wake.

But it didn't matter. The reason didn't matter. All that mattered was stopping him, and that was far from the realms of possibilities, especially while I was tied to a chair.

Since he'd left, the room had become cold. The fluorescent light was burning into my vision, and my stomach turned over itself in hunger. My mouth was dry and my bladder full, the minutes bleeding into hours bleeding into what felt like days.

But it couldn't have been days, because when the door finally opened again, it was Evan with food. He looked exactly the same as before.

"Hi," he said sheepishly, as if we were casual friends running into each other at the grocery store. "You must be hungry. I brought dinner."

My eyes followed him as he stepped off of the stairs, holding a small plate of what looked to be toast.

My mind was running fast. Despite the desperate growl of my stomach, I knew I could use this opportunity. In order to eat, he'd have to remove the tape. That meant I could talk to him. I could ask him to free me.

But, just as my hopes started to rise, a shadow appeared behind him. Blackwood.

His expression was curious, the thoughtful etch of his brow not having moved from our encounter that morning.

I didn't kill Gia. Gia isn't dead. I couldn't have killed her.

It was impossible. I chanted it in my mind, again, and again, and again. Despite what was hidden in my brain, the memories clouded in a fog that I couldn't quite clear, I was sure that Gia in danger would register. I was sure with all the power I could muster, my brain cycling over the traces of forest and the glint of a knife so many times that it brought a sweat to my brow.

I was sure that I didn't return home that morning. I was sure I'd have known if I had found her.

"I'm hoping you've recovered from your... episode earlier."

His voice was like a poisonous velvet, brushing over my skin so softly, yet setting every pore it touched on fire with a ravenous flame.

My episode. The screaming. The bleeding from my throat and my wrists. The explosion that I couldn't contain. If I could have I was sure I'd have ripped his throat out with only my fingers. The image of my nails biting into his skin had me panting with desperation.

"If you want to live, Aspen, you need to start making some choices."

If I wanted to live. That was the question. But I knew it wasn't up for deliberation. He needed me. He had to need me to have done all of this.

"You need to open up to me. You need to let your guard down and show your vulnerability. I can't trust you when you shut off your mind. I know you hate me. I know you want to kill me."

My fists clenched as he took the plate from Evan before resuming his seat in front of me. Then, as gently as earlier, he removed the tape again, the plastic ripping at my chafed lips.

I kept my jaw taught and my lips pressed shut, refusing to drop his challenging gaze.

"But if you want to keep her safe, you'll listen to me," he finished.

This was it again. The weapon against me.

I willed my hatred to carry in my gaze. He sighed, giving me a sympathetic look, his aristocratic features softening. "Aspen, do I need to feed you? Or can I trust you?"

My heart thudded. Was he going to let me go? I slowly nodded, knowing he must know what I was thinking.

"You can't escape. You know that," he reminded me, giving almost a sorry smile as he placed the plate on another one of the wooden chairs beside him. "It would be incredibly dangerous for you to do so."

He wouldn't kill her. He needed her to control me, and if he couldn't do that he'd just kill me anyway. I couldn't feed into his lies, no matter how terrifying they were.

I didn't kill her. I didn't kill her.

Slowly, he rose again, circling me. Goosebumps scattered across my skin as I felt his breath against my neck. I waited, so long I started counting the seconds. And then his fingers were tracing the raw wound of my neck, making me bite down hard on my tongue to keep from screaming.

"I'm glad you woke up. I'm glad you proved me wrong." I gulped heavily, flinching away from his touch. "I wish you could understand. It's how things have to be. It's balance, not evil. Taking and giving. Surviving."

"You're sadistic," I whispered, unable to stifle the words.

"I'm crazy. It's what it does to you. But I promise you, I'm not a bad person. I promise you one day you'll realise that too. You'll understand what it's like. You'll understand what years of this does to you."

Untie me. Just untie me.

"You're a lot of talk, Blackwood," I said boldly. His mind was going in circles, revolving between a spectrum of mindsets. One moment he was trying to kill me in the woods, or holding a knife to my face, and the next he was trying to reason with me. Trying to make me like him.

"Do you want me to show you?" he asked, his words quiet. I shivered again as I felt his fingertips down the back of my arms.

"Show me that you're a good person?" I clarified. My mind was reeling. Attempting to predict the point he was making left me constantly in the dark, and the desperation crawling thickly across my skin made me want to think irrationally. But I couldn't. If I wanted to survive this-- if I wanted my friends to survive this-- I needed to be smart.

He chuckled lightly. "I'm not sure anything I could do would make you believe I am a good person now. But I could show you I can be."

Let me go.

"After Mathew died-- my brother-- I questioned good and bad for a very long time. So much so that the lines became blurred, that I wasn't even sure there was a definition of each," he said.

His fingers trailed lower to my wrists. His touch stung, with more than just the irritation from the ropes.

"And maybe there isn't. But I did realise one thing. None of us can be good. It's the bad in us that makes us good."

With a sharp tug, I felt the rope drop from my fingers, and I inhaled deeply, freedom almost in reach.

"But some forms of bad outweigh the good," I said, trying to distract him, to lure him into believing that I was engaged in his conversation. His scent was strong in my nose, his proximity close behind me. "And killing people cannot be redeemed, especially when you show no remorse. Especially when you continue to do it, corrupting the good in people who have no choice."

It felt good to put it into words. To reason with him, despite knowing it would do no good. I tentatively pulled my hands into my lap, now seeing the rope burn drawing blood across them.

"Remorse," he said, the word almost seething on his lips. "Of course I feel remorse, Aspen. It's what makes me human. It's what keeps me human."

He stepped in front of me again, retrieving the food he'd placed on the chair.

"Eat."

I took the plate in my hands, my fingers feeling numb and bruised from their struggle. Though my instincts were begging me to scoff down its contents, my mind reminded me that I needed to bide time while my hands were freed.

"As long as you're unrestrained, I will be here in this room," he said, as if reading my thoughts. Maybe he was. It wouldn't surprise me anymore.

I stared at him, trying to think of how I could use this precious time to my advantage. But, my mind was as confined as my body was. My thought train hit dead end after dead end, always spiralling back to his dangerous potential and the people he could harm.

"You should eat. Don't be stubborn. After all the power you've realised it would be shameful to die of hunger."

I needed strength and sustenance to think clearly, but at the same time I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me eat his food, of being the good little captive.

But maybe I needed him to believe that.

Slowly, I raised a piece of toast to my mouth. It was cold and overcooked, and the joints in my fingers screamed as I tightened them to get a grip. He watched as I put the corner into my mouth, biting down. Immediately my mouth filled with saliva. I was dehydrated and desperate for energy.

"Clever," he noted, sitting on the chair and watching me with fascination. Immediately I stiffened. Could he really read my thoughts?

Was it just me, or was he on edge too? When he'd tried to convince me Gia was dead I'd lost it. Maybe it was the screaming, or the clawing at my own skin, but I swear he'd almost looked afraid. Was he afraid of me? Or afraid I'd hurt myself. His apparently invaluable possession.

I slowly ate the bread, refusing to look away from him, any insecurity long gone. I didn't trust him or his unhinged mind. I needed to look for weaknesses. Escapes.

But I knew my chances of getting past him were slim. Even with my arms unbound, my ankles were strapped tight. He was much larger than me, both physically and mentally. The best chance I had was my words, no matter how hard they were to control in themselves.

And using them on him would be a huge risk.

But, I had Evan.

I needed my mouth to be free somehow. But, there was no way Conrad would trust me. He'd covered all the gaps, they weren't even allowed to look me in the eye.

He could control people from a distance, somehow. He'd done it with Gia and Isobel, he'd sensed them when I tried to warn them. Maybe somehow I could do that too. I could reach into their minds and tell them to set me free.

It was a huge stretch. I didn't understand my abilities, but I could hope. Even so, though, there was one thing nibbling on my mind.

The balance.

What had Conrad said? The more we give the more we owe. The more unhinged we become, unless we take the power from someone else.

Someone else.

The thought was deathly. If what he'd said was true-- the keyword being if-- then theoretically I would be stronger. In that moment I was completely sure it wasn't true. If she was dead, and I had killed her, then I would be powerful.

But wasn't that what he did? He made people kill for him? What if it only made him more powerful?

I swallowed what was in my mouth, searching for a way to pose the question without arousing suspicion.

"How do you do it?" I asked, hoping I sounded more interested in our partnership than interested in overpowering him.

"Do what?" he asked, looking a little satisfied that I was engaging in conversation.

"Take people's power, even though you aren't the one to kill them?"

He paused for a moment, a half-smile quirked on his lips. "The power of intention. I was the one who intended to kill them, not the middle person. It's my force that implements it. It all comes back to me."

I took another bite to delay my response. But what if that person could absorb the same kind of power too?

A shiver ran down my spine. How could he believe there was good in him, when he talked about taking people's lives so easily?

"I know what you're thinking," he said. "Gianna. Yes, I took her too. You were but a bridge, Aspen."

I didn't believe it. She wasn't dead, I knew it deep within me. I knew I'd have woken up, I'd have killed myself over and over before raising a hand to her.

When I didn't respond he sighed and looked to his watch. "You have five minutes, Aspen. I have a class to teach."

No. Immediately panic overcame me. I couldn't be left to sit here vulnerable again, my body breaking and my insanity growing by the second. My fingers tightened over the plate in my lap. I couldn't go back to the confinements-- to the straps digging into my skin, to the helpless breath that escaped my nose when my mouth was fixed closed.

I wanted to beg him to leave me free, to cry and plead until he felt some kind of sympathy. But I knew he wouldn't. I knew it wouldn't help.

Surprising myself, my control began to slip. In one swift motion, I raised the plate and hauled it at the cement wall, the ceramic shattering with a blistering cry.

I had two seconds of surprise. Two seconds of action. My hands desperately clawed at my feet, just as Conrad let out a long chuckle.

He was mocking me. Mocking me. Tears of frustration slipped from my eyes as I furiously pulled at the leather around my feet, securing me to the damned chair I'd been sitting on for hours.

"No!" I screamed, my tone animalistic as he began approaching me. "Please don't. Please-- you don't have to do this. You don't have to leave me here. You can trust me, I'll do whatever you say. I'll work with you. I'll obey your every word--"

"Aspen," he said calmly, a contrast to the way I roughly jerked away from him, tearing at my bounds so hard that my nails almost ripped from their beds.

"Don't touch me," I said as he grabbed my shoulders. A scream coiled in my throat as he pulled me back against the chair. "Get your hands off me!"

His touch burned, like hot wax from a candle as it spread through my body. Despite every piece of my dwindling energy fighting him, he maneuvered me like a doll, pinning my arms behind me with just a hand.

"Evan!" he barked once my screams had been reduced to heavy sobs.

The two of them tied me again easily. My face was saturated with tears and sweat, and they had to dry the skin by my mouth so they could apply another piece of tape across my lips. I didn't fight it. I was tired, and I knew I had no chance.

I was here for as long as he wanted me here. And I was starting to feel like I'd never leave, not alive at least. He'd never trust me. How could he?

Isaac. Isaac was my only hope.

But then I pictured it, Isaac coming to my rescue. He couldn't. It would be dangerous for both of us. The best he could do was... was to get people away without arising suspicion. He couldn't come for me, wherever I was.

Once the door was closed again and the room was plunged into darkness, my breathing started to slow. I'd lived in fear from the moment I'd known of his existence. Not just fear for myself, fear for my loved ones. Fear for my sanity.

I wouldn't be afraid anymore.

I took long breaths through my nose, closing my eyes. I filtered through my entire body-- my broken, panic-stricken body, bruised and bleeding and desperate for water. It was weak. My exterior was weak.

But my mind wasn't. My mind was what was keeping me alive.

I could kick and scream and shiver in fear as much as I liked. I could try and use brute force-- to shove my way out of the prison I'd only known for a day or so. Or I could channel my strength into more. I could stop denying the hyperactive energy in the core of my brain that chirped to life at his touch, burning my veins.

I was powerful.

Hours passed. I couldn't tell the time, not with no windows, so I just sat there in the light, fixated on the broken pieces of the plate glittering against the wall. I'd lost it twice now, fear of confinement-- fear of my best friend being dead-- pushing me to the extreme. But I needed to practise a deadly calm if I wanted this to work. I needed all my energy.

Time blurred, but I tried not to cave into distractions-- the images of my family and friends and what things would be like if he'd never existed. Comfort. Instead, I reserved my mental power. I'd need it.

When the door finally opened I realised I'd dozed off, my eyelids heavy and my bones sore. Immediately I threw away my physical discomforts, they didn't matter. What mattered was who had entered the room.

Relief washed through me when I realised it was just Evan again, this time baring no food as he walked down the stairwell.

"Morning," he said, again adverting his gaze as he reached the floor. In his hands was a dustpan and a broom. "I'm supposed to clean up your mess."

I hardly processed his words. Instead, I fixated my gaze onto him. And finally, I released all I had pent up beneath my skin.

Things happened fast. It was hard to process exactly what I was controlling and what was happening naturally. It didn't make sense to me that all it took was an explosion of my mind, but suddenly the ground beneath me was wavering and Evan was clutching the wall for support.

And then in one fleeting moment, his fearful eyes pierced into mine. And from that, I knew I had him. My marionette. I was in control.

Let me go.