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I screeched out into the still air as another swipe of his blade cut across my breast bone, slicing shallowly into my skin, and once more as he pressed the cloth saturated with iodine and alcohol on top of the wound. A sick smile spread across his face as he took in my screams, and he, almost innocently, whispered, "Do you think this is what he did to her? Listened to her scream for her daddy? Well, we'll never find out will we?"

And he pressed once more. Over and over again, until I could barely feel it anymore. It was then that he'd make a fresh incision, down the length of my bicep, and pour alcohol, vodka if I'm not mistaken, into the gash. He'd been at this 'game' for at least two hours now, and I was starting to feel it take a toll on me. I felt my muscles ache in pain as I had been tensing my body every time he ever pointed the knife in my direction.

He had stripped me down to my underwear, however he had not raped me, which was something I was confused about. Don't misunderstand me, I was beyond content that he decided to omit that, but I didn't understand why. He wanted to recreate my father's torture on Juliana, correct? It was common knowledge that my dad repeatedly raped her, so why wasn't he paying full tribute to it? Maybe remorse? Possibly he just didn't have it in him to degrade me to such a level. This means that there was a way out of here. He had some kind of a conscience, he was drowning in a sea of grief, and felt this was the only way to avenge his daughter's death.

A small sob escaped my lips, but I steeled myself against the tears, and I shakily responded, "You really don't have to do this. Let me go.. Please."

His only response was the shove the blade directly through my bullet scar, twist lightly and hear me shriek in agony, while simultaneously watch as the blood overflowed and dripped down my collar bones and stained my skin red. When my mind stopped reeling, I sent a steely glare in his direction, and he only laughed it off. The room started to get warmer, and I could only imagine the heating was wired down here too. This struck me as odd, as most people liked to keep their basement cool, as this was where they stored all their junk. Why heat it up? That didn't make any sense.

Now that he had brought in a few lamps and lights from upstairs to truly relish in watching my pain, I was able to see around the room clearly. It was made of stone, like most basements, and the floor was freezing against my bare feet. There were no windows, and the only door that I knew of was up the wooden stairs. Even if I got out of this chair, he locked the door whenever he left - even if it was only for a moment. The only way I was getting out of here is if either one of us killed the other, or if Stephenson sent someone to find me. And that wasn't going to happen any time soon - he didn't care about me enough to waste resources. Plus, I had to have only been gone for about 4 hours. I needed to be gone for another 20 before anyone would take it seriously.

"See, this is only the beginning, Charlotte. We're going to have so much fun, aren't we?"

In retrospect, this wasn't the smartest thing to do in that moment, but I didn't care. I spat directly into his face, and watched as the fury bubbled over, and it was then that he attacked me. It wasn't a single slap, or even a punch, it was a rain of assaults on any patch of skin he could find, and by the end of it, I knew he had blackened both of my eyes, and from the blood that filled my mouth, I noted that he had split my lip. There was a stinging sensation along my jaw line, and I figured that there was a particularly deep gash now located there. I'm fairly sure that he had torn some of my hair from my scalp, and it might have been bleeding for all I knew.

I bared my teeth and groaned slightly, but otherwise made no sound, as to not encourage, nor give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had hurt me. The rest of my body ached, but for a completely different reason now.

I felt a blood swell in whatever cuts were in my mouth, and I spat out onto the floor. I wasn't making the same mistake twice - I wasn't an idiot. Blood leaked out of the hairline fracture that I sustained, and into my eye, blurring my vision for a moment, however I blinked through it, and felt it continue its journey down my cheeks, mixed in with a few escaped tears. When the tears slid over the abrasions on my face, I hissed sharply, and felt my world spin on its side.

Scratch that black eye and a few bruises diagnosis, I was sure my entire face was swollen, like a bouncy castle or something, especially with how sore it felt. I think I might have fractured my jaw, too, but I couldn't be sure. I looked up at Edward, and noticed that he was, also, staring down at me, as if he had no idea what just happened.

"Someone's got a bit of a temper, haven't they?"

My tone was mocking, and sort of muffled as my jaw was inflamed. I was trying to get him off guard, and when I did, I was going to cause his a whole world of pain.

"Shut up! It's your fault! You spat at me, you filthy bitch! You deserved it!"

He was pacing and pulling at his hair, and sort of whispering to himself - I could only make out the odd 'not this way' and 'stupid, stupid'.

I couldn't stop the words as they dripped from my mouth as I screamed out at him, "Nobody deserves this! What is wrong with you?! You sick son of a bitch!"

I was pushing him, and I knew it - I needed him to get angry enough that he'd start making mistakes. An angry unsub is a sloppy one. He froze at my livid tone, and he swivelled around, the air flooded with tension and unresolved anger, and he came at me once more, just more aggressively and violent.

This was going to get ugly, and fast.