Drake walked over to Anabel, his snake arm twisting and coiling by his side. Anabel sat at the computer, typing away at something of which Drake was unaware.
He watched her for a moment, her long fingers patting at the keys, her green eyes darting across the screen.
"Anabel." He said threateningly, "I need you to bring me Brianna." Anabel sighed indignantly.
"Get Caine to do it." She said, continuing to type. "I'm busy." Then she added, "Doing Caine's work."
Caine was with Diana, like he usually was after she gave birth to Gaia.
Anabel didn't like Caine. Or Diana. Caine was demanding, power-hungry, threatening, absolutely insane and Anabel had to admit to herself she was scared of him. But she wasn't scared of Drake.
Diana however, Anabel wanted to like, but couldn't bring herself to. Diana was either bitchy or passive.
"Anabel, it's not a request." He yelled, "I am ordering you bring her to me." He then coiled his tentacle arm around his own throat. "I'm going to make her suffer in the most painful, gruesome way I can." He said, smiling dreadfully.
Anabel stopped typing, but stared at the computer screen. "No." She said. Drake uncoiled his arm from his throat and looked at her menacingly.
"What?" He shouted, "You have to!" He yelled.
She stood up, and faced him.
"Or what?" She screamed, her saliva spraying finely onto his face. She spat deliberately. "What are you going to do, Drake? Kill me? I am not your slave, Drake." She wiped her mouth, and then added, "If you want to kill Brianna, go ahead. Skin her or hang her or whip her till you can see her bones, but I won't kill her. I'm not a murderer Drake, I'm not like you."
He stared at her, disgusted. Who does she think she is? He thought to himself, anger raging through his head.
He threw his whip arm at her throat, and it twisted tight around her neck. He was completely aware she could kill him if she wanted to. She could destroy him into a million pieces, if she wanted to.
But no matter how much he hurt her, she wouldn't. And he knew she wouldn't. She couldn't. She was too weak, too hopeless, too wound up in her own pathetic fantasies towards him. But he wasn't capable of recognising her emotions.
Anabel coughed, and he felt her hands gripping at his arm – as if she could make him let go.
"D-" She spluttered, "Drake, stop…" He raised her off the ground, her feet dangling a few inches off the floor. She gasped and choked, but her arms dropped to her sides.
"Drake!" He mocked, in a dramatic high pitched voice, "Drake, oh stop it, oh, please stop…"
He lifted her higher, and threw her across the room. He watched in excitement as she crashed into the concrete wall and landed on the ground with a thud.
She wheezed and coughed, blood dripping slowly from the corner of her mouth onto the floor. She was holding herself up by her arms, but they were too weak to hold her up. She was too weak.
She pitied herself when it was her fault. He harassed her, tortured her, bullied her but she was too weak to do anything about it. She was the only five bar in the entire FAYZ. Even Sam was scared of her, and he kept his distance from her.
But despite her enormous power, she was weak. Pathetic. And Drake knew it.
"Drake…" She coughed, falling onto her stomach.
He stepped closer to her, slowly, smiling roguishly. His tentacle arm traced down her back, and coiled around a clump of her shirt.
Anabel didn't move – she tried to breathe steadily. He tore off her blouse, and it drifted to the ground in shreds by her face.
Drake drew his whip arm behind his head, and brought it down as hard as he could on her almost naked back. It hit her bare skin with an echoing crack. She screamed in agony, squeezing her eyes shut – pushing out the tears as they ran down her face. She sobbed, and fell back down onto the concrete. He moved his snake arm off her spine; it revealed a thick, red line, with dark blood oozing from it.
Anabel cried. This is your fault, She thought, This is your problem.
He whipped her again, lifting skin from the flesh of her back. She wailed, in full knowing that it would do nothing. No matter how much she screamed, no one would come. Caine didn't care about her. Diana didn't care about her. Drake didn't care about her.
No one cared about her. No one ever has, no one ever will.
He thrashed her again, again and again, tearing more and more fleshy skin from her back. She was out of breath, she had used all the cry she had left. So she just wheezed and sobbed.
He kneeled beside her and put his normal hand on the hot slices in her back. They were ample and warm, sticky and wet. He was proud of himself.
He laughed happily as he rolled her over onto her back, and watched her face as the slashes in her skin came into contact into the ground. She cried, and bit her bottom lip, closing her eyes the way she always did whenever he hurt her.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. Into his harsh, thoughtless blue eyes.
For a moment, he stopped, and just stared back at her green eyes. They were red, and puffy, wet and getting wetter. He halted, and just looked at her. He stopped smiling.
And he just watched helplessly as she got up, pushing him away, and running out the hole in the wall that Sam had melted when he attacked last month.
Drake stood as fast as he could, and wrapped his tentacle arm around the edge of the hole.
"Anabel!" He shouted. "Stop!" But she was long gone, over the hill in the horizon, away from the Nuclear power plant. Was she running to Sam?
No, Drake thought. She doesn't like Sam. Not at all. She wouldn't…
Would she?
He ran over the hill after her, his snake arm waving behind him like a dogs tongue when their head is out the car window. He came to the top of the hill, and scoped the landscape for the speck of her red back sitting in the grass.
And there she was, sitting alone on the top of a hill. Her brown hair was blowing softly in the breeze, bits sticking to her bleeding back.
What had happened? What did he do? He had looked at her, in her eyes, and he had melted. Pathetic, he thought. He had never melted to her before, he had looked in her eyes so many times…
But there was something in her eyes at that moment. Pure anguish – something that would generally arouse him and make him want to torture them more and more bring more agony to their eyes. Why did he fall weak this time? Pathetic, he thought, pathetic, weak, pathetic, weak.
He walked to her. It was dark, still, and she was sitting in nothing but her blood soaked bra and grey shorts.
He stood about a meter behind her, and she didn't turn her head.
She knew he was there. She didn't know, however, what he would do to her. He would probably beat her more, for running from him.
But he had stopped, and she saw genuine penitence in his eyes. She wasn't used to it. She wasn't used to him ever feeling sorry for her or regretting anything he did to her. She was just his punching bag, something for him to take out all of his rage on.
What did he want now?
Drake stretched out his whip arm, slowly, and touched the nape of her neck. He pushed her hair to one side, so it hung over her left shoulder. He could see the goose bumps down what was left of her back, but she didn't move.
Did… did he love her?
No.
No he didn't.