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We’re herded into the hall of the intricate section like cattle that strayed from the farm.
I didn’t realize how it would affect me, being here again, stumbling along the checkerboard tile, hearing the moans through the thick stone walls.
My entire body trembles, because why wouldn’t it? This establishment—this prison—was frightening enough when I conducted the treatments. Now I’ll be a victim of them. I’ll endure the abuse daily, keep my mouth shut until we get what we need from Judas. At least there’s that. If I still have that magic touch, this shouldn’t take long, right? But what if it does? What if I can only speak to Judas on a rare occasion? What if he doesn’t budge?
A knot twists in my stomach, growing thorns that stab vital organs.
I don’t think I will last long. Dessin clearly has alters that front when he can’t take the pain. Like when the Nightamous Horde was going to burn him, torture him, a new alter took his place. An alter that seemed to enjoy the pain.
I’m not armed with that kind of defense. But I can’t let him down. He has to start looking at me like an equal, even though it’s clear that he holds all of the power here, and I’m merely a helpless marionette in this game.
I try to look back at Dessin, but instead I’m greeted with a boot to the back, launching me through the air until my face smacks against the checkerboard tile. A sharp sting vibrates across my cheekbone, pressurizing behind my right eyeball.
“Ugh!” I groan, lying flat like a pancake.
Dessin growls behind me, rattling his chains in protest. “When this is all over,” he snarls. “I’ll make sure I take my time with you. You’ll beg for a quick death.”
There’s a believing silence from our audience. A sense of consideration because they know he is true to his word. They must have a suspicion that he could get out of this.
But they shake it off. “Up! Now!” the guard orders me, snatching a fistful of my honey hair, yanking me to stand upright.
If I thought my body was shaking before, it’s a full-on earthquake now. My teeth are chattering. My intestines burn as we move closer to the twelfth room.
No. I don’t think I can. It’s like—I start panting like a dog—like being locked in a basement. A cold, dark basement. I’m wheezing, looking for an escape, for a way to stall until I’m ready.
“Wait,” I blurt out. “Just wait a second!”
But they only jerk me harder to the door that will be the source of nightmares for me until the day I die.
“Dessin!” I shriek, digging in my heels to buy me some time. “Dessin, I’m scared!”
I only catch a glimpse of his face as they open my door. A look of strength. Perseverance. But also a dark glint of roaring agony.
I’ve got you, he mouths to me before I’m thrown into my new home, chains and all.
The room is dim with flickering sconces, and the iron-framed bed is on the right wall instead of the left. I slump a little. At least we’ll share a wall when we sleep. But how many nights will that be? Only a couple of days? Weeks? Months? I guess that all depends on me. On my ability to learn what Judas knows.
I take another look around. The small bathroom. The rusted sink. The stained white sheets. The crumbling foundation, gray ceiling, unswept floor. It’s exactly like a basement.
But I chose to be here. I chose this.
The knowledge doesn’t stop the tears from spilling over my eyes, staining my cheeks and neck. I don’t hold it back this time. I remove the leash from my grief and allow it to run free, just for tonight. Because I can’t change out of my wet clothes and I’m cold and alone in a room that reminds me of nights locked away, curled in a tight ball at the age of six. I want to go back to the forest. I want to see Asena and Garanthian again.
It’s on this night I allow myself to feel weak and afraid. Like an injured animal, I curl up on my creaky, hard bed, shivering without a warm blanket or dry clothes or the crackling of a fire to soothe me to sleep.
At least Dessin isn’t here to see this. To see me splitting at the seams. To see how weak I really am in comparison to him. He would be better off without me dragging him down. Another sob rattles my body, clutching my rib cage.
I place my damp hand on the wall I share with Dessin. On the other side, I imagine him lying in the small bed parallel to mine. I imagine he’s planning the demise of this hellhole. Plotting the methods of unfathomable torture he’ll use on the guards.
And strangely enough, that brings me comfort.
This will end with his wrath.
~
“I wasn’t aware you were still alive.”
