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I smile up at him, despite the fact that my skin feels like it’s been shredded, now that the endorphins and bursts of dopamine have passed.
“I can handle it,” I whisper. “Only if you believe in me.”
Dessin scoops me up in his arms, cradling me as he leans his back against the wall.
“Until hell freezes over.”
“And even then.”
21. Blasphemous Manipulation
“Good morning.” A deep, scratchy voice rumbles in my ear.
I stir against a warm body, arms acting as my blanket. I breathe in the scent of cedar, soap, and Dessin’s skin. A hum buzzes in my throat, pleased that I’ve slept in his arms again.
“Looks like they left us in here all night,” Dessin muses, running a hand through my hair.
“This place is actually the worst,” I grumble against his arm. They left us to hang like meat in a butcher’s shop.
He snorts. “That it is.” His lips brush against my cheek, tickling like the wings of a butterfly. My eyes flutter open, searching for his face.
“I’m sorry you had to watch that.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. The memory of him yanking at the chains connecting him to the wall like a wild animal.
His jaw twitched. “They injected you with viruses for the priest?”
“Mmm.”
He thinks on this. “After the first lashing, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hold back. I was going to ruin it all. But I knew you’d already paid the price for being here from the priest. Whether it was some type of exorcism or fever injection. Either way, your suffering would all be for nothing…”
“Meridei’s not letting me see Judas. I need to find a way to get his attention.”
“Have you seen Ruth?”
“No.” I drop my head against his shoulder. “Maybe they’re not letting her see me. Maybe they’ve made my room restricted like yours.”
“That’s likely.”
“Then how do I get a hold of him? I want to get this over with.”
“Hm.” He plays with my hair absentmindedly. “You could play on the priest’s beliefs the next time you see him.”
Play on his beliefs? How would that help? But it hits me, knocking into my chest like a swinging door. “Tell him God told me to find Judas.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“That’s—so manipulative.” I smile up at him. “Have I told you lately how brilliant you are?”
“I don’t think you’ve ever said as much.”
“Not true.”
“If you have, it was said as an insult.” His mouth tugs upward, revealing a dimple in his cheek.
“Yeah, that checks out.” We both chuckle, his chest rumbling against my back. “Dessin… who’s the other alter? The one that fronts when you’re about to be tortured.”
He stills, hand pausing in my hair. “Foxem,” he responds. “He split when I started treatments in the asylum. He’s a little younger than me. Twenty, I think. A true masochist. Finds pleasure in his own pain and torture.”
I bite my lip. I gathered as much.
