A/N: I couldn't help it! I just couldn't help it. Reading too many angsty stories did me in. Sometimes when confronted with a poignant situation, humor wins out.
Hope you all enjoy this humorous little one-shot!
The heavy door swings open silently at his touch. He stands aside to allow me to enter. I gulp, worried.
Is this a good idea, Ana? Surely he wouldn't lock you in here. Would he?
I am unsettled. What sort of secret is this? Why does he need a special room? What's it for? What happens in here?
Too many questions assail my mind, churning and mixing, distracting. I leadenly move forward. One step. Two. Into the dark.
He reaches over, flicks a switch, and aimed overhead lights snap on. I suddenly think I preferred the darkness. It's all so… red. Dark blood red walls. Red ceiling. Jeez, was it painted with blood? I shiver and cross my arms in front of me, trying to hold myself together in the face of this madness.
There's a large X at the far end, with manacles dangling at each corner. I spy a large bed, with fancywork on the wooden posts. But it promises no comfort – it too sports manacles, and blood red leather sheets. No soft pillows, no bedspread, not an ounce of softness. Next to it a chest of drawers, holding heaven only knew what twisted things. I swallow hard, my throat constricting as the fear begins to claw at me, alarm bells ringing in my head.
I move no further, my horrified gaze scanning across the wall, seeing racks upon racks of the tools of torture: whips, canes, paddles, crops, floggers. Multiples of different types and styles. On another rack, hanging from hooks are different gathered lengths of rope of various kinds, and something that looks suspiciously like a butcher's meat hook. Another involuntary shiver. And there, in the center of the room and under one of the spotlights, is a strange bench, padded in the middle, with small "fins" that jut out off the legs, padded as well. It too sports manacles.
This is his secret. He hurts people. Chains them up and hurts them. He wants to hurt me.
"Ana, say something," he commands.
What can I possibly say? What does one say when they find themselves in a medieval torture chamber?
"Not sure I care for your decorator. Does your mother know about this?"