You aren’t happy about his degrading remarks, but at the same time you can’t deny how bad your situation is. You say nothing and avert your gaze a little. He pats your cheek, pleased by this weak look of yours. “Good girl,” he praises.
You hear him rummaging around for something, but you don’t bother looking up… until you feel a painful prick in your arm. You jerk from the light pain and look at your arm; it's bleeding a little. He’s holding a sharp, thin piece of wood, like a toothpick. Just seconds later, you begin to feel lightheaded and sleepy… You try to ask what he’s done, but it comes out as a pitiful moan. The last thing you’re aware of is him scratching gently at your hair as you lose consciousness.
