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“Is that … a flower?” my trainer mutters.
I quickly push it back into the wall and cover it with the stone, but I’m not quick enough. My trainer shoves me aside and attempts to break it open. I do the only thing I can think of; I lunge at him.
“What the—You fucking stupid little kid!” he roars, and he pulls out his knife and kicks at me to get me to let go of his leg. “Release me!”
But I refuse.
There is nothing on this earth I wouldn’t do to keep that flower safe.
Because it’s my only reminder of something beyond these walls, these chains, this visceral pain as my trainer shoves the knife into my shoulder.
I roar out loud, releasing him for a second before I shove him aside with everything I’ve got. Then I stand and block the wall where the flower lies.
“You … You dare to defy me?” my trainer says through gritted teeth.
Fellow bunkies watch in awe, clutching their beds like they’re waiting … waiting for me to revolt.
My trainer pulls out his whip too.
“I will only say this once …” my trainer growls. “Get out of my way.”
“No,” I retort.
WHACK!
The whip cracks down on my chest with ease, but the pain is unlike anything else.
“MOVE!” my trainer barks.
But I stay put, guarding the only thing that matters to me in this life of pain.
Again and again, the whip comes down on me until I feel nothing but the burning sizzle of the marks he left on me.
“OBEY!” he roars, each whack harder than the one before.
But I do not relent.
Just like he taught me to in the face of pain.
After a while, he stops, and the gashes feel like smoldering paths left by volcanic ash.
My trainer breathes heavily as he pushes the whip back underneath his belt, only to lift the knife up in the air.
“What’s it worth to you, little shit?” he growls. “A flap of your skin? Your tongue? Your eye?”
I don’t respond.
And the knife slices through my face, all across my eyebrow and cheeks, narrowly missing my eye, only to cut into my skin like butter, splitting my face in two.
I hiss in pain but stand tall, arms still wide, ready to take whatever he needs to give me to make me suffer. To remind me of my place.
When he’s done, blood drips down onto the floor. My blood.
A heavy price to pay.
While his chest rises and falls with every breath, he simply stares at me, his eyes flashing with a peculiar kind of surprise.
“A flower … you are willing to risk it all for a fucking flower?”
