The Way to a Man's Heart

My eyes feel as if they weigh one hundred pounds. I pry them open to reveal the same dingy room I’ve been trapped in for the past few weeks. If you can even call it a room; it’s more like a prison cell.

I hoist myself partially off the floor, the chains around my wrist clanking against the floor as I move. I have enough length to stand and move about a foot forward before I’ve maxed their full length.

I can’t reach any of the furniture that surrounds me. Everything is pushed against the walls. I had a chair for a while, but when I tried to use it to break the chains, Myra took it away.

She’s the psychopath keeping me here. She snatched me up from a bar one night. I was drunk, and she was enticing. She offered me to go home with her, which I gladly accepted. I never expected not to leave.

Footsteps echo outside the door. She must be coming in. I try standing, I don’t want to appear weak, in a ball on the floor. My legs shake as I push myself up, barely holding my weight—and I’ve lost a lot.

Myra opens the door, gliding in with the same smile she always wears. She’s carrying a tray, some sort of food hiding underneath the platter’s lid.

I have been refusing to eat. A hunger strike, if you will.

“Hello, darling. I see you’re standing today,” she purrs, her voice almost soothing. “You know, it would be easier for you if you ate some of the food I brought you.”

She lifts the lid, revealing a chocolate cake. The icing shines in the low light, tiny swirls spaced out along the top edge. Everything about it done to perfection.

“I don’t want your food. I don’t want to be here,” I groan. Speaking takes almost all my energy.

Myra pouts, her lips full and crimson. I can’t deny she’s beautiful, but that’s the trap, that’s how they get you. She’s a monster, a creature we didn’t think existed. A succubus.

“That’s a pity,” she continues pouting as she cuts a slice of cake. “I spend my time making you these delicious meals, and you hurt my feelings by refusing them.”

I snarl at her. “Good.”

Keeping up the charade of being sad, she turns to me, holding a slice of chocolate cake. She drags over a small table, and sets down the plate, leaning on the table toward me.

I consider lunging at her, I’ve tried it before, but she’s out of my reach. She knows the safe distances, and she stays within them. Honestly, I don’t know if I even have the strength to try anything.

“I’m going to go grab you a fork, my darling, I seem to have forgotten it.” She tilts her head as she speaks, leaning in slightly more. “Or I could hand feed it to you. I’m more than willing.”

She’s trying to entice me again, just like she managed to do all those weeks ago. It seems as if I’ve been in here forever. I’ve lost track of the days.

“I won’t fall for your tricks again,” I say through gritted teeth.

She laughs, slowly standing straight again. “You did once, and for your survival, you will again.”

She turns and heads to the door, leaving the slice of cake in front of me. She pauses at the door, leaning on the frame and looking over her shoulder at me.

“You realize I’m offering you a great life if you would only accept it,” she calls out sweetly. “If you would only accept me, I wouldn’t have to keep you in here, all alone.”

I don’t say anything, I just stare at her. The way she leans enhances her body’s natural curves, a pose that would work on nearly any man.

She takes my silence as a no, pouting at me before she leaves the room. She’ll be back though. I don’t have much time to consider my options.

She left the knife on the table with the cake, but it’s out of my reach. I may be able to use the fork she’s getting. That is, if she decides to leave it with me.

Maybe she’ll bring the cake and knife over if I dump the table with my slice. With all my might, I lift my leg and kick the table.

The movement sends me to the floor along with it when my other leg gives out on me. The chains clash against the floor, the cuffs around my wrists digging into my skin.

Myra appears in the door quickly, a fork in hand. She narrows her eyes as she looks at the scene—me on the floor with the table flipped, her plate and cake slice in many pieces.

“What were you trying to accomplish?” she inquires, setting the fork by the cake.

She struts over, picking the table up and frowning at the broken porcelain pieces. She turns her attention to me, widening her eyes and putting on a concerned expression.

“Are you alright, my darling?” Myra coos, getting close enough to run a gentle hand down my cheek.

I don’t have any energy to try and grab her. Even if I did, what good would it do? Nobody knows where I am. If I killed her, I’d starve to death.

Hell, I’m already dying of starvation. I’m a dead man, regardless. My eyes go to the cake in the corner of the room. It makes my mouth water.

“I was trying to get some cake, but I fell,” I lie, panting like a dog for my breath.

She leaves the room, this time coming back quickly, with a new plate. She cuts another slice, this one slightly bigger than the last. Picking up the fork, she walks over to me.

“Let me help you, my darling. Please, eat some cake, you need strength.” Myra gives me puppy-dog eyes as she squats in front of me.

She puts a bite of the cake on the fork, extending it out to me. My mouth opens, drool trickles down my chin. I desperately want that cake, to taste its rich flavor and sweet accents.

I fear the consequences though. I’ve heard succubi use food to get men to fall for them when their natural charm doesn’t work, or their true nature is exposed.

I figured it out the morning after our night at the bar. My parents always warned me, telling tales of succubus women. They claimed some of their friends had gone missing, and they believed succubi were responsible.

Even still, I’ll die if I don’t eat something soon. It’s not like Myra isn’t beautiful either. Her offers of staying with her and being happy seem more and more desirable.

“Paul? Would you like the bite of cake?” Myra snaps my attention back to her.

My eyes don’t linger long on her though, they flick right back to the cake she has hovering in front of me. She moves the fork closer, practically touching it to my lips.

“Yes,” I whisper, succumbing to the temptation and hunger. “Please.”

I see her smile out of the corner of my eyes, as she guides the fork between my parted lips. My mouth waters as the flavors explode on my tongue; it’s sweet and moist, baked to perfection.

She offers me another bite, and I can’t resist taking it. I don’t want to refuse it; it tastes too amazing to pass up.

Before I know it, the slice of cake is gone. I look at Myra, making eye contact with her. She seems to glow, her beauty as radiant as the sun I so dearly miss seeing. Everything about her makes me want her.

I am fully enchanted by the works of her. I lean toward her, the chains stopping me, an inch from her face. I pull against the chains, begging them to let me get one bit closer.

She puts her forehead against mine, dragging her fingertips down the sides of my face and resting her hand on the side of my neck.

With a devilish and breathtaking smile, she whispers, “See? Wasn’t that a piece of cake?”