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I fist my hands at my side when the guard picks up a contraption that looks like a whip from the medieval times. There are metal spikes at the end of each leather rope.
No.No.No!
Prodi gestures for the guard to start, and when he swings his arm, the force alone makes me jump with fright. The metal spikes rip through Alek’s skin, and I quickly cover my mouth with both my hands to keep myself from screaming and vomiting.
Alek grunts, fisting his hands on his thighs while keeping his chin raised and his eyes locked on Prodi.
God, please stop this horror!
After the first one, the whipping picks up speed, and I swear my soul wails at the sight of Alek’s back being torn to shreds of skin and blood.
I want to scream for them to stop. I want to offer myself up for torture.
But I don’t dare move a muscle or make a sound, fearing Alek will lose a body part.
Fearis no longer a word I’d use to describe what I’m feeling. Neither is horror or terror.
The Bible describes hell as a place where there’s wailing and gnashing of teeth for all eternity. Who would’ve thought it’s a place on Earth.
My soul dies with each blow to Alek’s back until it feels like I’m nothing but a hollow shell. Somewhere in my mind, something snaps, and I start to zone in and out of reality.
Don’t kill him.
Please.
When the whipping stops and Alek is barely able to push himself back into a kneeling position, the last of my hope dies.
My hands drop from where they were covering my mouth, and my voice doesn’t sound like my own when I say, “Torture me.” With my eyes glued to the man I love, I utter the words I’ve feared since day one, “Kill me. Just don’t hurt him anymore.”
I’d rather die than watch the man I love being ripped to shreds.
Laughter bursts from Prodi, a triumphant expression on his face.
“No,” Alek mumbles as he struggles to lift his head.
Prodi gets up from the chair, and pulling his gun from where it’s tucked into the waistband of pants behind his back, he goes to crouch in front of Alek. “Choose who dies.”
Alek shakes his head. “Me.” He struggles to stay upright so he can look at Prodi. “I choose myself.”
I take a step forward, shaking my head. “No. Please! Don’t kill him.” Panic and desperation don’t begin to describe what I’m feeling.
Excruciating anguish.
Crushing defeat.
No. There really are no words.
Prodi sneers at Alek. “Choose, or I’ll kill them both.”
Vincent manages to lift his head, but he can only gargle something illegible.
“Get him up on his feet,” Prodi instructs a guard. “Turn him around so he can watch them die.”
My eyes lock on Alek, so he’ll be the last thing I’ll see.
Prodi walks toward me and raises the gun. When he presses the barrel between my eyes, the trembling in my body stills.
I wait for my life to flash through my mind, but there’s only Alek.
