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My pleas for mercy fall upon deaf ears as he brings the rod down. It hits my shoulder so hard that I’m surprised my arm is still attached. I yelp in pain. In between screams, I hear his maniacal laughter as he raises the rod again, swinging it down on various spots along my body.
I’ve no hope of fighting back against a minotaur. Each time he hits me, I pray it’s his last but it just keeps going for what seems like hours. Tossing his weapon aside, he grabs me by the neck and hurls me across the room. I land on the floor, spitting out blood.
He stomps over, panting and breathless from the beating he’s dishing out. Mosar rears his foot back and kicks me hard in the ribs. He then rains down fist after fist until my body is black and blue with bruises. I’m on the verge of passing out by the time he decides I’ve been tortured enough.
“You’re lucky I barely touched your face,” he growls. “Next time, I’ll carve my initials on it. Consider this a warning.”
He spits on me and delivers a final kick to my ribs, flipping me onto my back as I squirm in pain.
“Clean up this mess you’ve caused. If I come out again and see even a drop of blood, you’re done for.”
With that, he turns and stomps away. I hear his door shut. It takes me a few minutes to catch my breath as I come onto all fours, crawling toward the counter. There, I take a rag and begin mopping up my blood as I do. Each twist and turn of my body ignites a burning wave of pain. I’m still crying by the time I’m back on my feet.
Hobbling over to the sink, I squeeze out the cloth, releasing my blood down the drain. Rinsing it out, I then use the cloth to wipe my face before throwing it in the trash. Each step feels like dragging my feet through mud as I make my way back to my room.
I keep a hand on the wall for support, eventually stumbling through my doorway. Closing the door behind me, I collapse onto my bed where the pain finally begins to somewhat subside.
I have to get the fuck out of here, no matter what,I think, taking deep breaths.I don’t know where the fuck I’m going to go once this contract is broken but fuck it. Anywhere is better than being locked up with this psycho.
12
KYRA
Ijolt awake by the sensation of a stinging pain shooting up my back. Breathing intensely through my teeth, I carefully anchor my arms down and push myself up, resting my body against the bed frame. Beneath me, I spot dried blood on my pillow, causing me to throw a hand to my face where I feel more of it on my cheeks.
Not an ideal way to wake up.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “How much did I bleed during the night? I better not let Mosar catch sight of it, gods know what he’ll do if he does…”
Slowly, I swing each leg out of the bed. I rise to my feet but only a second later, the back pain from before reignites, causing me to yelp in pain. The air is seized from my lungs as I throw a hand to the wall for support. Breathing deeply, I move ever so carefully as I draw myself up once more.
Getting dressed takes me three times the amount of time it normally does. Each movement is planned and executed like a game of chess, even then I’m still not careful enough to avoid the wincing pains spreading across every part of my body. I’m pulling a shirt over my head when I hear Mosar’s shrill voice call to me from the hallway.
“Kyra! Kyra, are you awake yet?” he yells.
Frozen in place from the fear, I almost say nothing but that would only cause him to barge in.
“Y-Yes sir!”
“Well then get your ass out here and come cook me some breakfast, I’m starving!” he barks.
Fucking lazy bastard, why don’t you ever cook for yourself?I think in frustration as I finish getting dressed. I couldn’t help but feel lied to and cheated by the Indenture contract system. What was supposed to have been an apprenticeship of sorts to work for seven years and get my freedom instead had me slaving away for some abusive asshole.
Aren’t these fuckers supposed to be honorable folk?
I open the door to the hallway, treading down it as I shake with dread. Coming around the corner, Mosar is seated at the kitchen table, working on some sort of accounting for his shop. He looks up with a threatening gaze, as if he’s a predator who’s just spotted his next meal.
“Not a speck of blood to be found on the floor, well done!” he says, praising me like a child. “Now get to it, I’m hungry.”
What a psychopath,I think to myself.There’s no chance I’m going to stay with this piece of shit for the next five years.
I go to the pantry where I pull out some gallus eggs, some bread, and dripir sausages. I’m so on edge with my back turned to Mosar, feeling as though at any moment, he could creep up and do something to me. Goosebumps run from my wrists to my shoulders as I get to work cooking.
After serving him his food, I get straight to cleaning. Fear has snapped the appetite to eat from my body. As I wash the dishes, I hear the loud smacking and chewing coming from his mouth, a sound that makes my stomach turn with disgust.
It takes so much effort not to groan and wince from the pains still plaguing my body as I clean. At some points, I have to wipe away stray tears escaping from my eyes. I freeze as his footsteps come closer before his arm emergers from the corner of my eye, placing down an empty plate.
“I’m heading to the shop now. Make sure you’re back on time tonight, or there’ll be trouble coming your way,” he snarls.
