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Breathing raggedly, I braced myself for the next round of pain. And the pain would come, of that, I was certain.
Punch after punch assaulted me. I knew my face was a hideous canvas of blues and greens and blacks. Faded bruises mixing with fresh ones.
Still, I had to give myself some credit. I didn’t cry or scream once. Not when they broke each of my fingers. Not when they pressed a knife into my sternum. Not when they showed me pictures of my mother.
“Daddy left me, just as he left you,” I taunted. The man roared, pulling his hand back once more. The second before his fist would’ve connected with my face, he paused. Blinked. Smiled.
I hated that fucking smile. It was a smile that promised pain. Agony. Endless torment. I made a vow, right then and there, that I would never smile again for as long as I lived. If smiling meant pain…
“Where’s your dad, kid?” he asked, tone curt. “We don’t want you. Just your father. Do you get that?” He had a strange accent, this man, but I couldn’t pinpoint the exact location. His skin tone suggested he was middle-eastern, but his lilt hinted at European origins.
He flashed a smile, white teeth flashing.
“All we want is the money your dad stole from us. Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “If I knew, don’t you think I would’ve told you? I have no loyalty to that bastard.” I thought of my mom just then. How he had left her to die. The woman he had promised to love, to protect, had been discarded like yesterday’s trash.
I had tried to protect her, but there was only so much I could do against a dozen grown men with guns.
Tears burned my eyes, but I knew they wouldn’t fall. They never fell.
“What about your grandma?” the man asked, and a wave of ice slithered down my back. Despite the fear gripping my heart, I kept my face blank. Giving nothing away, but taking everything in.
“What about that old bat?” I asked nonchalantly. I spat once more, smirking slightly when the blood landed on his pristine white shoes.
His eyes flickered downward, a scowl on his face, before they rested once more on me.
“If you’re going to be like that,” he muttered, stepping away. I heard, rather than saw, him shuffle through stuff behind me. The ropes dug into my wrists and ankles. Blood matted my hair to my scalp, and my clothing was in tatters. There was only so much the fabric could take when faced with a knife.
The man returned, smiling coldly. In his hands was a container of gasoline.
“What are you doing?” I asked, staring at the object with wide eyes. For the first time, I felt the beginnings of panic burn in my chest. He wasn’t just going to hurt me.
No, we had passed that. The asshole planned tokillme.
“Stop.” I struggled futilely against the bindings. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
The liquid was poured over my head, dousing me immediately. My eyes were wide with panic, and my body trembled. Tears welled, and I didn’t hesitate to let them escape.
Perhaps they could be mistaken as the gasoline.
“One last chance.” The man idly played with his lighter, a brilliant flame emerging before disappearing almost immediately. “Where’s your father?”
“I. Don’t. Know.”
And then it was agony.
* * *
I woke with a gasp,heart hammering and sweat coating my skin.
I must’ve fallen asleep, though the clock showed it was only noon.
And I had the dream, the nightmare, again.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I stared up at the white-painted ceiling.
The same dream. Every night. Every day. Every damn time I closed my eyes.
What the hell did it mean?
