I’m not sure if the psychological torture was intentional, but it worked. I was kept in a constant state of dread, wondering if the next time would be the last time. The food he gave me was barely nutritional, and more often than not, expired. But it was food. Every time my stash would start to dwindle, the paranoia would set in. I’d ration my meals down to bites, just in case he didn’t come back before I ran out.
