Page 609 of End Game

His eyes open.

Wet.

Gray gone almost silver under the basement lights.

“I have you.”

His mouth trembles once.

I step away.

The next strike lands lower.

He cries silently now.

No sobbing.

No pleading.

Tears simply run down his face while he keeps his hands exactly where I placed them.

I reduce the pace rather than the intensity.

Give his nervous system time to process between each one.

His responses change gradually.

Less bracing.

Less anticipation.

His shoulders no longer tense before impact.

He receives it instead of preparing to survive it.

That is what I have been waiting for.

“Color?”

A pause.

“Green.”

Another.

His knees soften.

“Who decides?”

Micah's mouth opens.

Nothing comes out.

I wait.

Then another strike.

His forehead lowers to his arms.