The city never slept, and neither did I, though I sure as hell tried. My apartment was a mess of half-empty beer cans, crumpled takeout bags, and the lingering scent of regret. The dim glow of a single lamp cast long shadows across the room, barely illuminating the cracked plaster walls. Outside, the faint hum of traffic and distant sirens seeped through the sliver of open window, a reminder that life went on whether I gave a damn or not. I was slouched on my ancient, sagging couch, nursing a cheap beer that tasted more like piss than barley, when the shrill ring of my phone sliced through the monotony like a knife.
I glared at the offending device on the coffee table, its screen flashing an unknown number. “Who the hell calls at this hour?” I muttered, half-tempted to let it go to voicemail. But boredom—and maybe a flicker of curiosity—won out. I snatched it up, thumbing the answer button with a grunt.
“Yeah, what?” My voice was rough, laced with the kind of irritation that comes from too many lonely nights.
There was a pause on the other end, a crackle of static, and then a voice I hadn’t heard in years slithered through the line. “Ethan? Is that you?”
My grip on the phone tightened, the beer in my other hand forgotten. Mila. That honeyed tone, sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous, hadn’t changed a bit. I could still picture her—curves that could stop traffic, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and those piercing green eyes that had gutted me with a single glance when she walked out of my life. She’d dumped me like I was yesterday’s trash, a dismissive flick of her wrist as she’d sauntered off to bigger, better things. Or so she thought.
“Well, well,” I drawled, leaning back against the couch with a smirk she couldn’t see. “If it isn’t the queen herself. To what do I owe the pleasure, Mila? Run out of hearts to break?”
Her laugh was brittle, a fractured thing that didn’t match the confident vixen I remembered. “Oh, Ethan, always so charming. I... I need to talk to someone. Anyone. And you were the first person I thought of.”
“Lucky me,” I shot back, taking a swig of my beer. “What’s the matter, princess? Sugar daddy kick you to the curb? Or did you finally realize I’m irreplaceable?”
Another pause, longer this time, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled with something I couldn’t quite place—desperation, maybe, or resignation. “It’s not like that. I’m... I’m in trouble, Ethan. Real trouble. I don’t even know where to start.”
I rolled my eyes, though a prickle of unease crept up my spine. “Spit it out, Mila. I’m not in the mood for games. Never was, if you recall.”
She exhaled sharply, and then the words tumbled out, raw and unflinching, like she’d been holding them in for years. “I’m not free anymore. Haven’t been for a long time. My parents... they sold me, Ethan. To a tribe of giants. I’m their... their property. Their toy. They use me however they want, whenever they want. I’ve got no say in it. None.”
I froze, the beer halfway to my lips. Giants? Sold? My brain struggled to process the absurdity, but her tone—cracked, hollow—told me she wasn’t joking. “You’re shitting me,” I said, though my voice lacked its usual bite. “This some kind of sick prank?”
“I wish it was,” she whispered. “Every day, it’s the same. They force me to... to breed. They milk me like I’m some damn cow, Ethan. My chest, it’s... it’s raw from their punishments. They whip me there, stretch me until I can’t even scream anymore. And when I’m not servicing them, they shove a pacifier in my mouth to keep me quiet, like I’m a child. A broken, pathetic child.”
My stomach churned, a mix of morbid fascination and something darker—bitter satisfaction—stirring in my chest. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, the phone pressed hard against my ear. “Sounds like a real fairy tale, Mila. Guess karma’s got a hell of a swing. You break my heart, and now you’re getting yours broken—literally. Poetic, don’t you think?”
Her sob was sharp, cutting through the line. “I knew you’d say something like that. I deserve it, don’t I? For what I did to you. But I’m not calling for pity. I just... I needed to hear a familiar voice. Before I lose myself completely. They’ve already got me begging for it, Ethan. I’ve submitted. I’ve got no fight left. If I don’t play their game, they’ll mutilate me—turn me into something even worse. A helpless plaything. And God help me, I think I’m already there.”
I snorted, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “Well, damn, Mila. Didn’t think you’d ever stoop this low. Guess you’ve found your true calling, huh? From breaking hearts to breaking... well, everything else.”
“Fuck you, Ethan,” she snapped, her old fire flaring for a brief moment before it fizzled out into a broken laugh. “Maybe I have. Maybe this is what I was always meant for. A milking whore for monsters. You’d love to see it, wouldn’t you? Bet it’d make your day.”
I opened my mouth to fire back, but before I could, a loud crash echoed through the phone, followed by a guttural roar that didn’t sound human. Mila gasped, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper. “They’re here. Oh God, they’re—”
The sharp crack of a whip cut her off, the sound so vivid I could almost feel the sting myself. Her scream tore through the line, raw and desperate, but it morphed into something else—something twisted, pleading. “Please... more... I’ll be good, I swear...”
I sat there, frozen, listening to the sickening rhythm of leather against flesh, her sobs turning into degrading whimpers as she begged for mercy—or worse, for more. My grip on the phone was white-knuckled, a storm of emotions I didn’t want to name churning inside me. Disgust. Anger. And yeah, a cold, cruel satisfaction that the woman who’d shattered me was now shattered herself.
“Well, Mila,” I said finally, my voice low and mocking, a smirk curling my lips as I spoke into the receiver. “Looks like you’ve finally found your place in the world. A milking whore, huh? Gotta say, it suits you.”
Her response was a muffled, pitiful moan, barely audible over the distant sounds of her torment. The line crackled once more, and then it went dead, leaving me alone with the hum of the city and the bitter aftertaste of my own words.
I tossed the phone onto the couch, draining the last of my beer in one long gulp. The night stretched on, darker than ever, and I couldn’t shake the echo of her cries—or the smirk that lingered on my face.
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