Page 17 of A Whisper of Cinders

He shakes his head violently. “I don’t belong here! I need to go home.”

“I understand, I really do, but that isn’t possible right now.” The cry he releases breaks my heart all over again. “Listen, let’s go back to your room. Tomorrow will be a brand-new day. I —”

Heavy footsteps sound from a distance. A voice echoes down the hall, low and on guard. “Who’s there?”

Panic surges through me. I don’t think, I act.

I grab Soren and shove him into the gap between the cabinet and the wall. It’s barely big enough to fit his small body. His wide, tear-filled eyes look up at me, full of fear.

“Stay here, no matter what,” I whisper, pressing a finger to my lips. “Don’t move. Wait until they’re gone, then go straight back to your room. Do not let them see you.” He opens his mouth, but I shake my head. “I’m so sorry Soren, but there is no escaping this place. No matter how much you want to and how unfair it is.”

I don’t give him a chance to argue. I stand up and walk away from the cabinet just as a figure rounds the corner.

I already know who is there, I just wished it was someone else. His beady eyes fix on me instantly, his expression curling into a smug grin. He doesn’t need to ask what I’m doing here. It doesn’t matter.

Technically, I still have time before I need to be in my room. I haven’t broken any rule. But that doesn’t matter to Dom. His lips pull into a slow, cruel smile. “Well, well,” he drawls. “What do we have here?”

I’ve learned a long time ago that with him, remaining silent is sometimes the wiser choice, he loves to hear himself talk.

He prowls closer, the sound of his boots scraping against the floor makes me nauseous, his voice makes bile rise. “Past your bedtime, huh?”

I could argue, point out that I still have time. But I know it will only make things worse.

His fingers flex at his sides, anticipation lighting his eyes. I don’t fight him when he grabs me, his hand a vice around my arm as he drags me through the dim corridors. My feet stumble to keep up, my pulse pounds loudly. I don’t need to ask where we’re going. I already know. It's his favourite place, one I unfortunately know all too well.

The heavy door looms ahead, and dread coils tight in my stomach. My breath comes out in short bursts of air. This is nothing new, I know what’s going to happen. But the fear is like an old friend greeting me every single time. The door groans as it opens and I’m shoved inside.

I inhale the scent of old sweat and copper, the smell so strong it burns my nose, making me sick to my stomach. The room is bare, aside from a desk, a chair and a wall that looks normal at first, but hides his darkest secret.

Except, I don’t really think it’s that much of a secret anymore. Everyone knows about Dom’s favorite practices, and if they don’t, they are some of the lucky ones.

Dominic isn’t smart, that is a fact no one will deny, but he’s an expert in his field. I’m sure Mister Coldarion - the chief of Anima - knows about this, but turns a blind eye for whatever reason. For an institution where care should be the number one priority, it all feels very wrong.

Dom remains silent as he shuts the door behind him. What is there more to say? We both know I didn’t really do anything wrong. Besides, he prefers to…show how disappointed he is.

And I am the biggest disappointment of all.

He pulls the lever that has been expertly hidden behind a painting. The wall on my right changes into what I can only imagine fits in a horror movie.

I stare at the wall in front of me, counting the cracks in the stone, and see the different shades blur together as one. It’s something I try to hold onto when the rest of the world narrows down to this moment.

“Off with it,” Dom says, annoyance covers his tone, he’s in a mood. Lovely. I don’t move fast enough.

Fingers curl around the back of my collar and yank, fabric tearing as he rips the nightshirt clean off my shoulders and it falls to the floor, my only barrier gone. Cold air rushes against my bare skin, raising goosebumps all over my body.

Even with my breasts bare, he wouldn’t look at me like that. He’s disgusted by me, although what he is about to do isn't much better. I know his routine, and I am strong. I try to take my mind elsewhere, but it’s hard when my body remembers.

He moves towards his wall with attributes, and my heart beats irregularly. I think about the snow falling from the sky, my walks with Ami, the moment I had with Noah, how relieved I am that Soren got away.

“Hands flat,” he orders, finally breaking the tense silence.

I place my trembling hands on the wall, ignoring his command would only make things worse. I have tried everything to change his mind, but after five years of trying, you just learn you have to get through it one way or the other. And keeping my dignity is the only thing I can do right now.

A strap uncoils with a slow, deliberate sound, the leather sliding against Dom’s palm. He shifts from one leg to the other, as if he’s the one who’s nervous. But what he feels is not nerves, it’s anticipation. He watches my back, noticing the piece of art he created.

My back tells a story of a woman who got treated poorly because she looks different. Five years, a creation by a man who finds joy in cruelty. The scars are scattered across my back from the nape of my neck down to the base of my spine, not a single patch of skin is left untouched. Some are fine and faded, others thick and uneven, white and purple. But they are unmistakingly there.

My lungs try to fill up with air, but the pressure on my chest makes it hard. The fact that he is taking his time, brings me to the edge of screaming to get this over with. That’s when I hear the whooshing of air and brace myself for the impact.