Suddenly, a bright red dot flashed.
"Was I asleep?" flashed through his mind. His thoughts were confused, and only occasionally there were bright flashes, to which His mind clung, as if trying to get out of a deep fog in which it was immersed.
It was impossible to look around and understand what position you were in. He raised his hands and rubbed his eyes.
4:59 a.m. — the blood-red numbers, as if on a huge electronic clock, flashed for a split second.
"I don't understand..." flashed through his head. He tried to focus and remember what had happened. "My hands are numb..." — clenching his fists and trying to bend his legs, he realized that he was lying down. Standing up and exhaling with relief, he took a few hesitant steps and stretched out his hand, hoping to stumble upon an obstacle.
"I'm blind..." he said anxiously. It had been a few minutes, and there was still the same black picture in front of his eyes. Suddenly, he froze, realizing that he couldn't hear his own words. "What's wrong with me? Hey!" he said louder. But there was absolute silence all around.
He felt uneasy. He waved his arms in front of him and shouted in exasperation: "Stop it!" He hoped that he would be able to touch something, but each time he fell into darkness. He couldn't see his own hands in the dark, and everything around him was insensitive.
"It's a very strange Meth. I've never been in this shit before. I hope I'm not blind, deaf, or dead. Maybe this is what Hell looks like?" he mused, trying to examine himself. Because of his numb limbs, it was difficult for him to sit or lie down, but he still sat on the floor, as it seemed to him. However, so far everything has not been noticeable.
After getting used to the darkness a little, he tried to recall recent events that might explain how he ended up here. An image of a hand holding out a bag of white powder flashed through his mind, and it instantly angered him, "What did you mix there?" He turned mentally to the invisible man who might have given him the drugs. However, he couldn't remember whose hand it was. It was always easy to get drugs in prison, but their quality left much to be desired.
"If I'm high, it won't last long," he thought.
Sitting on the floor, he decided to wait patiently until he recovered from the drug intoxication and returned to reality. He didn't know how long it would take. Sometimes the recovery process could take several hours, and sometimes several days. Time passed, but he didn't realize exactly how much time had passed while he was lying there. Therefore, he could only wait.
Memories of life in and out of prison surfaced in his mind. He could hear snatches of conversations on the phone, women's voices, but everything seemed fuzzy and unreal.
It was a little unpleasant not to feel his legs and arms, but it's probably the effects of this powder too. It was amazing that he could think and speak, even though he couldn't hear his own voice. This effect was quite frightening, and he wanted it to end as soon as possible.
He got up and walked around the room to stretch his legs. It was incredibly difficult to navigate in space. Time passed, but nothing changed. To pass such a long visit. The man began to think about the future and plan how he would live in DR without a tablet and phone. The total isolation without means of communication terrified him.
He noticed that he did not feel hungry and did not notice the temperature in the room. It's probably only been a couple of hours, he thought.
One thought followed another, and the memories became clearer and clearer. Fragments of memories raced through his head: here was a girl begging to be released, screaming, "Damn Freak!" And here he was holding another girl by the waist and forcefully entering her from behind, making her scream in pain. This thought causes a tremor in the pit of his stomach, and the desire to repeat wakes up in him.
It's as if he sees his hands from the outside — they're holding someone by the throat, as if controlling life. Parties, drugs, sex, jail—it all goes around in circles. He was already tired of this rather meager set of memories.
He got a little tired of himself and started getting angry. "They'll find me sooner or later, if it's an overdose, they'll pump me out."… But last time it was different."
Closing his eyes, he tried to fall asleep, but growing restlessness would not let him rest. Gradually, the darkness began to dissipate, and he could make out the outline of his hand. Exhaling with relief, the man stood up and looked around. The walls of the room were still not visible.
However, the room was already beginning to take shape. Raising his head, he staggered back: two huge black eyes with red whites were looking at him from above. Thick black hair framed a thick face, on which gray skin hung in shreds. The smiling mouth was filled with brown, rotten, sharp teeth, and instead of a nose, there was a hole, as if it had been cut off.
"Liar," he heard the creature's hoarse voice.
The man swallowed nervously and stepped back. But the creature was getting closer, looming over and repeating louder and louder:
"Liar." "What happens to liars, You know?"
He frantically searched with his eyes for a way to escape, but there was only darkness around, and only the whites of his eyes and the outlines of a terrible grimace hung over him.
Go away! — he shouted into the void, but, as before, he did not hear his voice.- You don't exist, no!
Then he tried to grab or hit the apparition, but it just laughed, making gurgling noises.
I'm right here in front of you, Wade Wilson! You're a liar! Do you know what happens to people like you? The creature's foul breath surrounded him, making him feel sick. "I'll show you!"
The creature was slowly approaching, coming out of the shadows. Wade wasn't a coward, but right now his heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest. He had no weapon, and he couldn't even feel his hands. There was nothing to defend against this creature.
"Look what I'm going to do to you!" With these words, the creature raised its hands to its rotting mouth. Long, gnarled fingers began to tear it in half, exposing a blood-red mess. Only half of his head remained on his neck, and blood and mucus trickled down his fingers. The halves of the mouth laughed maliciously.
— Did you like it? — it stretched out its dirty fingers to his face.
Wade screamed in panic, trying to retreat, but the vast darkness stretched behind him, as if swallowing him. He felt cold fingers touching his face and began to suffocate.
"Liar!" the hoarse, ominous voice rang out again, and at the same moment Wade lost consciousness.

—Hey!" someone called out to him. "Get up, you fucking shit!» The voice sounded very far away.
He finally breathed a sigh of relief.

A sudden pain shot through his head. He was shaking from the vision of the creature tearing his mouth open.
Wade screamed and reflexively squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hide from the blinding light.
Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to endure the unpleasant sensations.
—Damn it! He cursed, realizing that he had never woken up with such difficulty before. "Oh, shit! He covered his eyes with his hand, hoping to ease the pain a little.
After a few minutes, slowly opening his eyelids, he saw a completely white wall in front of him, from which a bluish cold light was reflected, blinding him.
—Turn off that damn light!" he shouted in exasperation, and at that moment his heart stopped in horror.
He saw himself lying on his back, and the white wall turned out to be the ceiling. His heart began to beat wildly. In a growing panic, he realized that he had never gotten up, walked or sat on the floor — all this was happening only in his head.
He couldn't see if he had any arms or legs, he could only see the edge of the collar of the white T-shirt he was wearing most of the time he spent in the cell. In desperation, he tried to turn his head, but it didn't lead to anything. Panting, he shouted obscenities, interspersed with questions.:
"What's going on? What have they done to me?" But, as before, he did not hear his own voice — only dead silence answered him.
The light was blinding, his eyes were watering, but his hands wouldn't obey, and he couldn't wipe them. The blood was throbbing in his temples, and Wade didn't understand what was happening to him. "Maybe the creature got to me after all and mutilated me?" a disturbing thought flashed through his mind.
He tried to look around, examine his camera, but his eyes hurt even more from trying. He only saw a snow-white surface illuminated by a bright light.
He was breathing so fast, it was like he was running a marathon. All he could control now were his eyes.
Suddenly, he smelled an unpleasant smell, which brought him out of his state of panic. This smell quickly spread around, causing nausea. "What a stink! Joy flashed by. "I can smell it!" But the delight turned to horror.: it was the smell of excrement, acrid and stinging to the eyes.
He held his breath, but it didn't help for long. The constant lack of oxygen made his head spin. The white pall above him did not change, hanging over him like a veil that covers a body in a coffin. As he passed out, he was still trying not to inhale that awful smell.
His throat was dry. When he regained consciousness, he couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. He couldn't remember the last time he had drunk or eaten, or how long it had been going on.
He was surrounded by a pungent odor that corroded the mucous membrane of his eyes, making them red, and even blinking was painful. He couldn't feel his body and had difficulty keeping his mind clear. When he opened his eyes, he hoped it was just a bad dream. He imagined waking up in a cell with a slightly sore head, throwing up, but everything would be as before.
Only by forcing myself to disconnect from what I saw, clutching at the memories, was there a chance not to go crazy.
—Please wake me up!" Stop it! — he begged, repeating the request in silence. His family was religious and attended church every Sunday, but he couldn't remember a single prayer. There was still silence, and Wade wasn't sure if he could hear anything anymore.

There was black sticky darkness all around again.
He had never wanted to scream so much before. His mind was getting more and more confused, and it was difficult to concentrate. He tried to fall asleep, but the terrible smell made it impossible. You just switch off and regain consciousness from the stench and fear. Once again, tiredly opening his eyelids, the man felt a presence. "Who are you?" He asked out of inertia, but immediately groaned in disappointment. No voice, no mouth.
"No voice, No mouth," he said.
A soft sound was heard right in front of him. Like a clock measuring the time that was lost to him.
Terror seized him again, and in the thick silence He heard the sound of his heart beating.
Which started beating so fast, threatening to stop simply by wearing out the entire resource.
The feeling of someone else's presence in the room grew. And in the excitement that everything was about to end, he began to breathe more often, not even noticing the smell around him, which, as he had already realized, was coming from him. He was the one who had shit himself and now he was in it, unable to even get up.
Not after a minute, not after 10, as he thought, No One appeared. He stopped counting time long ago. I counted the seconds and minutes from the beginning, but I got lost and started over. He counted the beats of his heart, the pulse in his temples. I just counted up to 1,000 to 10,000, got lost and started again. Having already gotten used to the smell, which sometimes intensified, he managed to fall asleep without dreams. In between, he talked to the girl, and she answered him, laughing and joking that they would go to the dentist tomorrow and get his teeth done. "I love you, baby," he heard her say. But more often he tried to talk to the girl he met at the bar, but she didn't answer, She looked at him with eyes full of hatred, and he only heard her screaming and begging to stop.
And now he's begging, but no one will hear him.

He quickly gave up and was completely exhausted, there was no longer any fear, no anger, nothing inside was already responding to save his mind. If he could smile, laughing at himself, he would do it. It was getting harder to breathe, and his throat was so dry that I couldn't saliva anymore. Knock, knock. The sound slowed down and sometimes even faded away. It was still dark all around. Lying in a pool of his own urine, helpless, Wade just waited for him to die so it would be over. Now he had no control over anything, not his life, not his mind, not his body.

A clicking sound pulled Wade out of the fog. His tortured consciousness carefully followed the sound out of the darkness. It took a few minutes for the edge to catch and wake up. His eyelids were stuck together, and it was getting harder to open his eyes. The clicks were getting louder and His ears began to ring. his brain, which had adapted to the silence, was not ready for the sudden sharp sound.

Abruptly opening his red tired eyes, he tried to see the source without noticing what was around him. Wade had already accepted that he could be anywhere. Running away from reality, he hid in the depths of his memories, just trying not to go crazy.
Looking up, he froze. A wooden ceiling with dark beams could be seen high above him. Sighing, Wade closed his eyes wearily again, knowing that this was just another hallucination. The games of his mind.
But the clicks didn't stop. He'd heard it in movies, like an old projector was working. Slightly opening his eyelids, his gaze caught on a red dot.
She was right above him.
But then he was abruptly doused with water. Thirsty, Wade groaned in frustration. And again. He did not feel the temperature of the water, he did not feel relief. He was waiting for when he would wake up again and there would be the same darkness and stench all around.

And he was not mistaken.
"Not again," he whispered, afraid to open his eyes. The darkness enveloped him, squeezing him tighter, as if destroying him from the inside out. He had no arms, no legs, no voice. He knew what kind of punishment it was. He got what he deserved. And no one could save him. There was no way to deceive, hide your thoughts or manipulations. You can't be sexy and charming to survive, you can't pretend that everything is fine to survive. No one will see him here.
These were different rules of the game.
Wade swallowed nervously, emotions surged, but he couldn't destroy the one who was bullying him. I couldn't yet....

"Can you torture someone else?"
"No, I've already chosen you...

When he opened his eyes, it was dark, but not as dark as before. It was as if something heavy had been thrown over his eyes. Squinting, he could make out the barely discernible villi.
"A towel!?" he thought excitedly. Have I completely lost my mind? He thought. "Someone put it over his eyes." His mind clung to the slightest glimmer of hope, which seemed to have been lost for a long time.
The projector clicked in the silence, but the smell was still in the air. Through these clicks, Wade tried to catch the footsteps, at least some movement of the one who put a towel over his eyes. However, his tired brain couldn't focus.
Suddenly, his mouth filled with water, and he almost choked with excitement. He took a long drink and gulped down each portion greedily, not feeling the taste, but thirst tormented him no less than everything else.
"Are you scared?" There was a whisper, and he flinched when he heard it. — Oh, yes! You're really scared. You will die the way you deserve to die. But not immediately, but gradually. I'll cut you off piece by piece until there's nothing left of you... — someone gently ran a hand over his cheek, straightening a lock of hair from his forehead. — It's wonderful! The voice exclaimed with obvious amusement, walking away.
The towel slowly slid off his eyes, revealing a red dot on the wooden ceiling. However, the sound of the projector faded, and Wade was relieved to realize that he had not lost his mind and could no longer hear the blood flowing through his veins. But he remained motionless, terrified of the unknown.: what else can happen after what has already happened.

"Are you ready?" a female voice asked. "If you hear and see a picture, please send emoticons with a picture of poo! He loves it!"
— Wade thought, not quite realizing what was happening around him due to the limited angle of vision.
"Today is the second part, as I promised. Thank you to everyone who has been watching us all this time! You guys are amazing! Please feel free to send him comments and reactions. I love you!" —
It sounds like the intro to a horror movie, he thought.
The red light became brighter. The camera pointed at him has been continuously shooting content for two weeks now.
Laughter rang out in the corner of the room. Men and women were laughing, some were exclaiming with satisfaction — hundreds of voices filled the space. The loud noises hurt in Wade's head, and he squeezed his eyes shut and frowned.
Gradually, the unintelligible phrases began to become clearer, and Wade was shaking at the sound of his own voice. It was a clip from his shameful calls with women that he made while awaiting trial. He wasn't ashamed, but the sound of his voice, the accelerated speech due to drugs, the sounds of him jerking off, which he made while talking to women on the phone. It was disgusting to hear all this.
People laughed at his plucked phrases, peppered with laughter and comments from the video hosting site. They read out his quotes, called him various ridiculous nicknames, discussed the size of his penis, his orientation and who he had sex with, his penchant for perversion and a reverent love of anal sex. They commented on his whole life, pulling out all his photos and creating memes. Some of the cuts were full of death wishes for his crimes, anger, and a thirst for revenge.
Wade was aware of his popularity, but he saw only one side—his attractiveness. However, right now he looked like a fucked-up bastard to the whole world. A murderer, a fraud, and a rapist.
They got too deep under his skin and pulled everything out by spreading the information on social media. He had nothing personal left, just that helpless look, staring at nothing.
Everything was quiet for a moment, but then a loud scream rang out. A sobbing female voice begged for mercy.
Wade swallowed hard. He recognized the voice and wanted to leave, covering his ears to muffle the sounds. But he was unable to move and just lay there staring at the red dot.
He endured the torture for many hours, hearing the screams of his victims. He couldn't fall asleep because as soon as he closed his eyes, a sharp pain shot through his brain, forcing him to stay awake and hear those voices over and over again.
How much can a person stand without sleep?

The aroma of Cherries. Subtle, barely perceptible. Wade could feel it through the foul stench.
Suddenly, the girl's face bent over him. It was so unexpected that he stopped breathing.
"Beautiful" was the first thing he thought. The girl tilted her head to the side, examining him.
"Don't cry, honey. You'll need tears later. It's not worth spending them all now. - Wade realized that his eyes had been wiped with a towel, a white fluffy towel, probably soft, but he didn't feel anything.
She leaned closer, adjusting the pillow. A gold pendant in the shape of a human heart on a long chain almost grazed him. The stranger's footsteps were receding, which meant he was alone again. Alone with myself. He hated being with himself.
Wade was staring at the ceiling and didn't notice when they put headphones on him. What he heard almost stopped his heart.
"Mom..." If he could close his eyes so he couldn't see, he couldn't cover his ears.
"Enough!" He silently shouted, demanding that the recording be stopped. But there was no one around.
The wall that had been holding him all this time collapsed and he began to cry, choking and sobbing heavily. The whole time he was listening, it was his foster mother's voice.

"What is it?" There were a lot of questions in the chat.

"Guys, what he listens to is confidential, I can't broadcast it to you, but I made a clip of his vivid emotions for you. Enjoy your viewing. Don't forget your comments. Today He will cry for you!" - the girl got up from the table and went to the window and pulled a cigarette out of the pack.

The monitors behind him broadcast a full-length picture of a guy lying on a bed and his tear-filled eyes more closely. The live broadcast had been going on for 2 weeks and 4 days.

Wade did not notice how she came, wiped his face again, leaned over to him and smiled. The recording continued. He begged with his eyes to stop, to turn it off.
The girl, fiddling with the pendant, tilted her head again, examining it.
—Do you love me, Wade?" she mimicked his voice and intonation. Tell me that you love me? But-you can't talk... the "Joker" had his chatty mouth sewn shut-her laughter horrified Wade. "Are we getting married when you get out?" Eh? In 1.5 years?- she made a face, parodying the calls. "You want to kill me?" I can see what you want-it was unbearable to hear it. And it's impossible not to hear.
The glass lens of the camera, aimed directly into his black soul, reflected the Tattoos on the face of the "Joker", which faded against the background of large dark glazed eyes.

A song was playing from the corner of the room:
"Save me from myself"

It didn't matter how many times he lost consciousness.
Every time he closed his eyes, huge red numbers appeared in his mind. He was going crazy because the clock was counting down the time, seconds, but 5:00 did not come.
The scent of cherries brought him back to reality.
He expected that this smell would bring him new torments, but even more he wanted to die. Even on death row, he could feel, walk, laugh, and talk. He wasn't alone there. The cold metal, the taste of food, the shower—he doesn't have all that anymore. He was left alone with his thoughts.
He couldn't even kill himself because maybe he didn't have arms and legs. He couldn't see them, much less feel them.
It had already been forever for him, and the thought of how much more was ahead was killing him.


Someone was taking care of him while he was being tortured.

He sighed regretfully and involuntarily licked his dry lips. His heart skipped a beat, and at that moment he bit his tongue, feeling the pain and the metallic taste of blood.
A wave of heat and panic swept over him. He had never been so happy about pain before.
Raising his hand and clenching his fist weakly, he tried to bend his leg at the knee. Then he bit his lip again to wake up. His nightmares had plunged him into the illusion of reality many times before, and then brought him back to the dark room.
Wade shuddered and carefully lowered his foot to the floor. Feeling the cold floor with his feet, he covered his face with weak hands and could not stop the hysteria that gripped him. He screamed, his voice breaking, like an animal trapped in a cage from which he would never be able to escape.
A song was playing from the corner of the room:
"Save me from myself," a woman's voice sang.

He was struggling to breathe, coughing and trying to sit up. His lungs, which were used to being in a supine position, had not yet fully expanded. His arms and legs tingled, but he could feel them. He could taste the blood in his mouth and the cold in the room.
He was alive.
"Get up!" It just hurts to look at you. A disdainful female voice rang out from behind him.
As if waking up from a dream, Wade turned around and felt a surge of rage. He jumped out of bed, but couldn't take a single step. His numb and weak legs wouldn't obey him.
Grabbing the headboard of the bed and almost falling over, he hissed angrily:
"I'm going to kill you, bitch!" Do you hear? What have you done to me? There were a lot of questions in his head, but he couldn't find an answer to any of them.
—First of all, I got you out of jail, asshole. I didn't let you die of an overdose in your own excrement. Continue the list? She walked past him, undeterred by the fact that a ruthless killer was standing next to her, ready to attack.
"You're going to die!" — He said threateningly.
—Stop it, Wade! Everyone knows you're capable of murder. I can be dangerous too, as you can see. Let's play a game of "Who's who"? I love you, baby," she sang with a slight smile and giggled as she stood in the doorway.

It was terrible. Her voice, her intonation... She was insane. Even crazier than him.
She had long blonde hair, delicate features, and a red gloss on her lips, as if she had just drunk blood from a goblet. She didn't seem physically strong enough to handle him. Wade was under two meters tall, and all the girls seemed small to him, and this one was no exception.
He tried to take a step again. Then another one. With each movement, the blood circulated faster in the cramped limbs.
In a few steps, he was a meter away from her. If he reached out his hand, she would be finished. He stared at her, motionless, and waited.
"You stink,— the girl grimaced.
"Indeed,— thought Wade, who immediately felt it.
"Can I take a shower?" — he said and froze. “what? Am I asking for permission?" — he was indignant from himself. "Fuck."
"You can," she replied, and, gesturing to the side, she went deeper into the house.
His body still wasn't responding. In order not to fall, he grabbed onto something and saw that there were several ivs around the bed, and he was holding onto one of them. The monitors were also visible, like in a hospital.
The room was dirty and smelled unpleasant. He carefully turned his head and saw the same huge red numbers on the wall. his head was spinning.


He wanted to leave this room as soon as possible.
Leaning on the wall, Wade moved down the dark corridor. The bathroom door was open, and he went inside. The room was bright and spacious. The shower room was so big that it could accommodate two of his prison cells. "It's amazing that you can measure space in this way," he thought with a grin.
Wade approached the mirror, but he was overcome with fear at the sight of his reflection. He didn't know what other changes had happened to him while he was paralyzed.
He was scared.
After resting against the sink and standing for a while, he gathered his courage and raised his head. His hair was neatly trimmed and his temples shaved, revealing tattoos, all tattoos done so impulsively and thoughtlessly, while under the influence of substances or just to distract himself from loneliness. He ran a hand through his hair and over his face, which was also carefully shaved.
Someone was taking care of him while he was being tortured.
Standing up to his full height, he noted with relief that the ceiling in this room was high enough to avoid unnecessary discomfort. The golden faucet on the sink reflected the warm rays of light. Wade turned on the faucet and turned on the water. He dipped his hands into the water, which had already turned hot, and looked at his palms with pleasure. He wanted to feel even more reality, as if he was really awake.
There was a toothbrush and toothpaste next to the sink. Wade carefully squeezed out the paste and grimaced: brushing his teeth had been causing him pain lately. One tooth was already loose, it was broken, as were several others. But when he opened his mouth in front of the mirror, he froze. His teeth were perfect! He opened his mouth wider, trying to look at them more closely, and couldn't believe what he was seeing. For several years he felt like a freak, but now he was happy to regain his appearance.
However, the fleeting joy was quickly replaced by a feeling of emptiness. He felt cold and disgusted to look at himself in the mirror. Images of his prison photos and memes came back to mind.
Pulling off his dirty T-shirt and red prison robe, he turned on the hot water. With his hands against the wall, he stood under the warm jets, and tears began to flow from his eyes again. He felt humiliated, exhausted, and devastated. The drops of water washed the dirt off his body, but the dirt on his soul couldn't be washed away.
After everything that had happened to him, his best way to recover was to fall into a detached state. He did it best under…

To the soft music he could hear over the roar of the water.
"You can't run away from what's on your mind," the voice sang.
Every word of this song was already scratched in his head with blood.

He seemed to have spent several hours in the shower, as if enjoying the feeling of water on his skin for the last time. Wrapped in a soft towel, he went out into the hallway, not knowing what to do next. Going back to the room where he'd spent weeks, and the very sight of it made him shudder?
She came out from the opposite side of the hallway, holding a stack of clothes in her hands. Coming closer, but keeping her distance, She threw the clothes at him.
"Get dressed and go to the living room, you freak."
Wade was unable to answer. He took his things and returned to the bathroom. Changing into a soft, dry tracksuit and socks, he felt microscopic pleasure from touching dry clothes to his body. Looking at himself in the mirror, he noticed that the "Joker" was looking at him, smiling slightly. But Wade Wilson wasn't smiling.

The living room was amazing in its size. The ceilings seemed to reach at least six meters, and the tall cabinets were filled with books. A lit fireplace created a cozy atmosphere, surrounded by leather armchairs, blankets and tables. Magazines were scattered on the floor. The scent of wood and smoke filled the air.
"I've never seen anything like it,— he whispered, in awe.
"Where are you going, a homeless man and a drug addict,— the girl said with slight irony, sitting in a deep armchair with her legs crossed like a yogi's. She was sipping something from a glass.
His eyes flashed, but then went out. He had no energy left for emotions, he had already poured out everything he could.
"What's your name?" - he asked.
The girl frowned and tilted her head to the side, as if debating whether to tell him her name.
"Grace, which means Graceful," she said, smiling broadly and running a hand through her hair.
"Graceful in torture?" Wade tried to joke.
— And in them too. Do you want anything?" Coke or whatever you like to crack. Oh! Or maybe kill someone?
—That's enough! — He snapped. "Can I have a cigarette?"
Grace glanced at the table, where there were several packs of cigarettes and a thick book "KUBARK - A Manual on torture" with a lot of bookmarks and stickers. Wade took the first pack at random, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag. A feeling of euphoria swept over him, and he fell onto a soft sofa, smoking a cigarette in just three puffs.
"Is that all?" Grace asked, raising an eyebrow as she continued to study him. He was uncomfortable with that look. And from this book, from this house.
The pause dragged on. Wade fiddled with his lighter. He was hungry, but this was the lair of the Beast. There may be something in the food that will either kill him or make him helpless again. He couldn't think of anything to hook her with, because she wasn't afraid of him.

"Is there someone else here?"
"Of course, asshole. You don't think I'm going to mess with you alone, do you?
"Tell me what happened." Wade didn't expect an answer, but he tried anyway. He sat on the edge of the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees, as if ready to attack at any second.
—Well,— Grace said, closing her eyes, as if remembering. — In short, I got bored. And here you are so popular, with a fan club. Your phone calls amused me, but your actions didn't. Her face changed instantly. "And you really would have died in jail." But documentaries are not made for everyone, and I also want my moment of glory. Just a little money, and you can even arrange a kidnapping from a maximum security prison, for a while, but still, not an appeal, as you hoped — funny, isn't it? Grace laughed, taking a sip from her glass. "But I had to clean up a few more, but they're just murderers, just like you."
Her evil cold eyes glared at him. The girl's changing emotions confused Wade.
"Rich and sick, that's the whole answer," he thought. And only now did he realize that he was free. Even with a crazy girl, it was never a problem for him.

"We've cleaned you up,— she continued. — By the way, it's impossible to escape from here. But if you want, you can leave. It's about -25 degrees outside, and you'll last a maximum of half an hour," Grace said with a smile, as if reading his mind. — And so I met you, and you met Xanax mixed with wonderful drugs. You like drugs, don't you? And they love you," she laughed.
The girl easily jumped off the chair and went to the window. It was almost dark, and it was snowing outside.
Grace breathed on the glass and drew a heart with her finger. Then W + G. And there's a sad smiley face next to it.
Wade wanted to leave. Into the night, into the snow, anywhere but here. He wasn't afraid of her, but he sensed danger in the air.
After all, a monster always recognizes a monster.
— How much money did you spend? - he asked.
—A lot, Wade, a lot. It was worth the price.
"You're definitely crazy." - He laughed. He was so happy to smile again, like before, when dimples appeared on his cheeks from a wide and cheerful smile. Women all over the world were ready to give him their hearts. Tall and athletic, he could conquer any of them.
However, neither women nor drugs could fill the void that lived in his soul. He used everyone who got in his way just to satisfy his basic needs: shelter, food, money, and drugs. His life was empty, empty inside. He was a living trash, all his life trying to find balance and adapt to constantly changing circumstances.



"What you won't do for..." she said, not finishing her sentence. "Let's go eat." Otherwise, I'll get drunk, and it's better not for you to see it," she sang and, throwing on a long cardigan, headed for the kitchen. Wade followed her. He quickly came to his senses, and this also seemed strange to him.
The kitchen was huge, just like all the other rooms in the house. There was a granite table in the center, and the furniture looked as if it had been there for centuries and would last for as long.
Grace opened the refrigerator, but there wasn't much food. It was obvious that they were not preparing for a long stay here. She took out a container of sandwiches, juice, and a box of vegetables.
Wade reached for the box, but Grace put her hand on top. The warmth of her skin seemed to pierce his hand, and he remembered how she had run her hand over his cheek, but he had felt nothing. For a split second, a scream from the recording flashed through his head.
Grace dropped a large bag on the table.
— It's a surprise! Grace exclaimed, opening the box. Inside were several boxes of burgers and French fries. From another compartment, she took out the melted ice cream and put it in the refrigerator.
Wade was silent, as if he had swallowed his tongue.
"What are you waiting for?" Until everything cools down? Shipping here cost more than five thousand dollars! You are a very dear boy! Grace said with a touch of irony.
His stomach rumbled. The smell of cheap McDonald's burgers seemed to him the most delicious right now. "I sold out for it then," he thought.
He devoured the food greedily, but his stomach ached from the long hunger. Grace stood to the side and looked at him carefully again. She left the room and returned a few minutes later with two glasses. Handing one of them to Wade, she picked up hers.:
— Here's to you, Baby! I love you!
He was hurt by the taunt again. Endless taunts, her every word was laced with poison.
—I love you too!" he joked, forcing a smile, and gulped down the contents of the glass.


A fire crackled in the fireplace.
They didn't talk much, just sat across from each other in silence. Grace sipped her cocktail, but Wade's glass remained untouched.
Wade found himself thinking that what was happening around him seemed like something out of a movie. It's like he's living two different lives: one full of pain, loneliness, addictions, and terrible things, and the other here, condensed into a few days. Even with all the trials he had gone through, it was more pleasant to be here than lying on a dirty floor in someone else's house, stoned on methamphetamine, or killing.
But there was nothing Wade could do about it. The drugs burned out what was left of his personality. Standing in front of the window on which the heart was painted, he erased the remnants of the drawing.
"I'm sorry,— he whispered.
"Really?" And someone has to believe it? Grace was standing behind him, reflected in the glass. She watched his every move carefully.
"There's something in those eyes," a high—pitched female voice sang.
"Did you switch the song?" — he turned around with a question.
"But someone will have to take over" - the melody sounded louder and louder.
Only now did Wade notice the blue eyes of the girl, who were staring at him with her head slightly tilted.
—As you can see..." she said softly. Running her hand over his cheek. He could feel her warm, delicate skin in every cell. It was as if a flame had flared up inside Wade at that touch, but it was immediately compressed by surging emotions. Without thinking about the consequences, he cupped her face in his hands and pulled her to him, biting into her lips. Grace only moaned softly in response, sinking into the abyss of this insane connection.


He gently kissed her neck, face, and eyes, as if to the beat of the music. She could feel his jugular vein throbbing while there was still life in him. It wasn't just a kiss, but a sense of danger as they both held close, simultaneously preparing to pull away and re-engage in an invisible confrontation.
"I want you, Grace," Wade said, his breath burning her. She trembled in his arms, her pupils dilating with a rush of adrenaline. "Tell me you want me too..." he had never asked any woman about it before. He usually just took what he wanted, sometimes resorting to force and violence, but this was different. Their confrontation with each other was turning into something more.
"Tell me... that you want me too..."
Grace kissed him back, leaving burns on his hot skin. He lifted her up by her hips, and she threaded her fingers through his dark, thick hair. The touch made Wade moan, and goosebumps ran down his spine.
Now that she was taller than him, Grace pulled back, catching her breath. She froze for a moment, looking at the "Joker" again, so close that the irises of his black eyes were visible.
—I have to kill you, Wade..." she hesitated, deliberately tormenting him even now.
—I know...— he whispered slowly, as if regretting. "I know… Tell me, Grace, now!
"I want you, Joker!" Now! She whispered against Wade's lips.


"There's no one around to take your place."

He carried her through the house, afraid to break away and break the connection. Releasing the girl in the hallway, Wade pressed her against the wall. Grace could feel every beat of his heart, he was so close.
Now...
They burst into the room, getting rid of their clothes as they went. It seemed like their bodies could melt all the snow on this mountain range. Touching her, Wade inhaled the scent of her skin, exploring every inch of her body. He kissed her breasts, sinking lower and lower, until Grace arched and moaned when she felt his tongue.
She squirmed in his arms, but he held her tight until her moans grew louder. She felt so good at that moment, but it wasn't enough. Pulling the guy's hair, she brought his lips back to hers. The kisses became even deeper, the breathing became more frequent, even more intermittent.
His size bothered her for a moment, but Wade wasn't being violent today. He covered her with his body and slowly entered her, allowing her to take him completely. A jolt of pleasure ran down her spine like a fever. She lost her breath with every movement. Closing her eyes, Grace immersed herself in this destructive connection.
She wanted him from the first minute. Having bought this boy for herself, she will do whatever she wants with him. Fuck, kill, torture to death. He would be her toy for as long as she got tired of him.
"Don't stop, Wade! She moaned beneath him.
Wade was on the verge of madness, emotions raging inside him that he had never experienced before. His whole past life seemed meaningless to him. He gently ran his fingers over her face, lips, and slender neck, trying to capture every feature in his memory. Her pleasure turned him on to the point where he wished it would never end. His movements became more frequent until Grace dug her nails into his shoulders, leaving marks.
Grabbing her by the waist, he rolled onto his back and sat her on top. The girl arched from how deep he entered. Wade closed his eyes and seemed to stop breathing, completely surrendering to her.
Grace moved her hips, making Wade moan. He had never shown such emotions before, had never been like this.
Her fingers, like a vise, squeezed his neck, making it difficult to breathe. She accelerated the rhythm by pressing it into the pillow. Wade, grabbing her wrists, did not try to remove her hands from his neck, but he knew that it would not end just like that. He held her hands, and she held his gaze. It went on like this for a long time, until, closing her eyes, she exploded just like Wade a moment later.
"Don't stop!" Please don't stop! He begged, not letting go of her thighs, leaving purple marks on them. Grace, pushing back her wet hair and exposing her neck, continued to move, small beads of sweat rolled down her naked body. Her every movement was so sensitive to him that he shuddered and breathed raggedly. The second time was even brighter than the first, his chest turned red, and he moaned, letting the impulses pass through him.
Staying in this moment forever was what he wanted. He could love her for real, not like the nonsense he told all the "Wives".

There was silence in the room. The storm had just died down, leaving the bed in disarray and some accidentally dropped objects.
He passed out. But not like in the last 2 weeks. Not in agony or agony, but in the soft, warm embrace of Grace, who, along with millions of viewers, was watching him.

Wade still didn't know what time it was, but he assumed it was early morning. The digital clock on the wall read 4:59, and two dots counted down the seconds, but for him, time seemed to have stopped. He took a last drag and stubbed out his cigarette.
Standing in the living room and looking at the smoldering coals in the fireplace, which were almost cold and scattered, he understood what would happen next. The song was no longer playing in the living room, it was playing in his head, mixing with the crying of the lives he had destroyed.
The events of the past day flashed through his mind like slides. It was his last day, so expertly crafted for him.
Get him out of jail, torture him for weeks, fuck him, only to kill him. What for? To hasten his death? So that he doesn't have to wait for years, having fun at the kiosk?
It sounded like nonsense. But it was She who gave him real life during those hours. He realized that he was capable of true love and longing for his family, that he could have sex in a different way, with different feelings, that he could even appreciate the warmth of water and the taste of food. One step away from death, he understood everything.
It was a scary Show. Cameras filmed him, and every minute of his agony was broadcast online. It was as if they were turning his soul inside out, destroying his personality. Even if he had any diseases that were discussed at the trial, he did not realize them. And Grace humiliated him, tormented him. It was a sophisticated and cruel revenge, without pain or blood, but inflicting deep wounds that would never heal.
Revenge for everything he had done.



"That's what everyone wants, Wade. Sooner or later it would have happened, but in a different way," a harsh voice said from behind him.
"You too?" - looking at her with eyes full of sadness, is that what you want too, Grace? "What is it?" he whispered, clinging to his last hope. "Then why all this?" He gestured towards the bedroom.
"From the beginning, Baby, did you really think it was serious?" That you can be loved? You're a violent psychopath, useless as trash by the side of the road, and you fuck the same way. — She was standing on the step with wet hair, holding a towel in her hands. A floral fragrance emanated from her skin and hair. She was pure evil, and every word she said pierced his heart like a knife. "You're dead inside and you've been rotting for a long time," she hissed. "Now you want to kill me?" Grace asked provocatively, coming closer.
At the same moment, Wade grabbed her by the throat and lifted her up. The girl wheezed, gasping for air.
"Stop playing these games with me! You ask that question too often, honey! "he was becoming that Monster again. "I don't want to die." Not now... — he was afraid of the unknown about his death. How will he die? Has he already been poisoned or something? Why wasn't she afraid of him? He could have broken her neck in the blink of an eye, but the fear of what would happen after that stopped him. They're not alone here.…
He tossed her aside. Her laughter, through her coughing, terrified him.
"After all, something got out of you that I didn't finish," Grace said with a smile, getting up from the floor. But there's always tomorrow.…
Suddenly, he felt a heavy blow on his back. It was followed by a second blow to the head.
Dark, thick blood was slowly spreading on the carpet.
The red dot on the ceiling went out.

"Was I really asleep?"— this thought haunted Wade. His head was pounding from the pain, and it was difficult for him to open his eyes.
But as soon as he succeeded, a bright light blinded him. A wave of panic swept over him. He began to move his arms and legs convulsively, trying to scream, but strangely enough, all his senses were heightened. His hands and feet were cold, and he felt a chilling chill permeating his entire body, which was tightly bound to the table.
Trying to look around, Wade turned his head as much as possible. His heart skipped a beat—he was in the same room where he had been held for several weeks.
There was a big red digital clock on the wall, counting down the seconds: 4:59.
"I wasn't killed. I'm alive," Wade thought with joy and, closing his eyes, laughed.
Footsteps in the hallway made him uneasy again. He looked at the entrance, and his heart began to beat faster. Wade breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Grace.
She was beautiful: long blonde hair framed her pretty face, her skin seemed to glow, and her figure was accentuated by a tight-fitting white suit.
Grace! "What is it?" he exclaimed. "Grace, baby, what's all this about?" I've learned my lesson. Why don't you just untie me and we can talk?
The girl casually glanced at Wade, without saying a word, rolled up a metal table covered with a white napkin. Something that looked like plastic was rustling under her feet. She carefully folded the napkin and, as if choosing from a multitude of sparkling blades, examined the scalpels.
No! No! No! Don't scare me, darling! There was growing alarm in Wade's voice. He looked for the red dot with his eyes to ask for salvation, but there was no light anymore. "It's not funny, damn it!"
Grace, I wasn't planning on talking to him. She tore off a piece of adhesive gray tape with her teeth and covered his mouth.
And now it's going to really hurt..." she said with a smile, and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

— 31 days, no more, do you understand me? A stout man asked with a stern look, unbuttoning a large bag and checking its contents. He took out several bundles of banknotes and nodded approvingly. — Tomorrow at 3 a.m., from the morgue. Time has passed since that moment. And, slamming the cars door, he disappeared around the bend.
The two burly men returned to the large black tinted car.
"Did he take the money?" "What is it?" the girl asked, sitting comfortably in the back seat and smoking one cigarette after another. — Of course I took it, dear! They're corrupt. — Great, Dad! So let's play! She immediately perked up and fidgeted with impatience.
"Hello everyone! I am pleased to inform you that the money you have raised has been successfully invested in creating the best Show. We will start in 3 days at 4:59 Pacific time!" she wrote on the social network. And immediately there were reposts and comments from those who were already looking forward to the beginning of the performance.
"What did they say? Did he get poisoned?" four masked men wondered as they flipped through papers at the black gate of the morgue. - "Disciplinary violations. He won't be in touch for a month. They won't let you out of the cell. Everyone will forget about him," one of them grinned, and everyone laughed.

"No tin, Grace, please!" — the man asked.
"Dad, it's getting late. You've seen that people are waiting. They raised almost three million dollars to kill him. How quickly people slip from love to their animal nature," the girl thought for a moment. But she immediately smiled, kissed her father on the cheek and ran to the plane.
"And now it's going to really hurt..." she said with a smile, and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
She grabbed a random object from the table and slammed it into Wade's shoulder, causing him to scream, but the Band-Aid muffled the scream.
His senses were too acute, and the pain was so intense that he almost fainted.
Trying to pull away, he jerked his hand sharply, and the needle attached to his vein came off.
His heart was pounding in his chest. There was a scalpel in his shoulder, and the blood was trickling down his arm to the floor, forming a small puddle. Grace, smiling contentedly, took a few steps back, as if enjoying the sight.
"You don't have to worry. You're officially dead. I killed you two days ago. — she shoved a smartphone screen under his nose with a recording of the broadcast, where hundreds of thousands of people rejoiced against the background of him lying face down on the carpet with a punctured head, rejoicing at the accomplished revenge.
The second scalpel, blade flashing, plunged into Wade's other shoulder, causing him to scream so loudly that the sticky tape covering his mouth came off. He started shouting curses and pleas.
—Get some rest, Wade, we still have a lot of time,— she said, walking away.