?????? ?? ???? | The Last of Us | Joel Miller

Deyanira enters the basement, a grim look on her face as she kneels in front of Sienna, who's sitting on an old matress. The smell of cheap cleaning supplies and stale cigarette smoke fills the air, making Sienna's stomach churn. She's been here for days, a prisoner to Deyanira's twisted games. Her once bright eyes are now dull with despair, her cheeks hollowed out by a lack of appetite.

But there's something different about Deyanira today. The malicious glint is gone from her eyes, replaced by a softness that Sienna hasn't seen since they moved to Arlington. "You've gotta eat, Sienna," she says, her voice softer than it's been in months. "If not for yourself, do it for your baby."

Sienna looks up at her, the exhaustion evident in her gaze. "What do you care?"

Deyanira's hand reaches out, gently pushing back Sienna's hair. "I care because you're the only one who's ever understood me." Her voice is a whisper, the malice from before gone, replaced by a desperation that tugs at Sienna's heartstrings. "You're still my best friend."

Sienna's eyes narrow slightly, her arms crossing over her chest. "Is that why you did this?" She gestures to the chains and cuff that wrap around one of her ankles. "To show how much you 'care?'"

Deyanira's hand drops, her expression faltering. "It's complicated." She sighs, sitting back on her heels. "You don't get it. I had to do something big, something that would make you realize—"

"Slayer," A new voice echoes through the basement, cutting off Deyanira's attempt to justify her actions. A man, tall, with a mess of unkempt hair and a beard that hadn't seen a razor in weeks, he wears a stained t-shirt and torn jeans that hang off his large frame. He strides over to them, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "You're gettin' all soft on her, Deyanira. She's yours, remember? She might be defiant now, but she'll get used to listenin' to you. Unless she wants that bastard child to die inside her womb."

Deyanira's gaze flickers to Sienna, regret mixing with the lingering anger in her eyes. "Robert, please—"

"You don't get to decide, bitch!" Robert's hand cracks across Deyanira's face, the sound echoing through the small space. Sienna flinches, her eyes wide with horror at the sudden shift in the dynamic between them. "You wnated her, you got her! And unless you want me to turn your ass in, you'll show that whore a firm hand! Do you understand me?!"

Deyanira's cheek burns, and she nods, her eyes downcast. "Yes, Robert," she whispers, the defeat in her voice palpable. Sienna's stomach twists as she watches her friend, the woman she's known for so long, bow to this monster's will.

Is he the reason Deyanira's changed? A man who's been pulling her strings from the shadows?

"Eat, Sienna," Deyanira demands, her voice now a harsh whisper, the softness from before evaporating like mist in the morning sun. She shoves the bag of food closer to Sienna. She can't bring herself to even look at it, her eyes instead fixed on the bruise that's already forming on Deyanira's cheek. "Now."

Robert watches with a sick satisfaction as Sienna's eyes dart between them, her fear palpable. "Good girl," he says, patting Deyanira's head like she's a dog. "Now, let's go upstairs. The bitch'll be fine down here by herself."

Deyanira nods again, her hand tentatively touching her reddened cheek. She stands, avoiding Sienna's gaze, and follows Robert out of the basement. The door slams shut, leaving Sienna in the suffocating silence, her thoughts racing. The situation is more dire than she could have ever imagined. Deyanira isn't in control—She's a puppet to this deranged maniac.

Days pass in a blur of pain, fear, and confusion. Sienna's world has shrunk to the damp, musty basement, and she's lost track of time. The only constant is Deyanira's daily descent, bringing with her a mix of food and threats. Joel's face haunts her thoughts, his gentle touch and reassuring voice echoing through her memory like a distant lullaby. She's lost weight, her once-radiant skin now a pallid mask.