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Some days, I had enough power in my arms to feed myself, but most days, after a particularly gruelling persuasion session, I could barely swallow.
Those days were the ones when my father was the kindest.
He’d unstrap me himself. He’d bathe me himself. He’d tuck me into bed and hold up a cup of the sweetest tea to my lips. He’d whisper how wonderful life would be once I woke up to who I truly was. He’d push back my overgrown, tangled hair and murmur just how proud he was of me. Just how far I’d come. And how much further I had to go.
Thanks to the sugar in the tea and the kindness of his touch, those nights I actually slipped into dreams instead of nightmares. I dreamed of standing tall and proud on two legs, not one. I swelled with gratefulness at the fortunes in my bank accounts and the many employees at my beck and call.
I forgot that my empire was built on the blood and bones of others.
That the kingdom I was to inherit was rotten at its core.
I relished in the screams of others because it meant I was no longer the one doing the screaming.
And by morning, I’d shiver and huddle into a ball as insidious thoughts swirled inside my fractured mind.
I am his son.
I am his rightful heir.
I am strong and ruthless and bow to no one.
I’d raise my head, desperate to see Cem striding into my cell, needing his approval, ready to get on my knees and tell him the epiphany I’d had that I belonged to him and I was finally ready, but then my eyes would land on my tattoo, and I’d remember.
A snap.
A slice.
A vision of Neri sparkling in the sea and the delicious taste of her adoring lips.
I’d stroke the inked lion—the symbol of who I used to be—and kiss the siren who used to be mine. In an instant, my heart would kick back into life, refusal would suffocate all the brainwashing and prior convincing, and I’d cling to the truth.
The lies Cem kept feeding me didn’t stand a chance.
As long as I had my tattoo and my love for Neri, he couldn’t break me enough to change me.
I knew who I was.
I’m hers.
I would never forget her. Never forsake my morals or the people who had raised me.
I am good.
I am loved.
I am better than this.
At least Cem didn’t know my dirty secret.
I overheard him muttering to his doctor the other day when I was assessed after a particularly long session. “He should’ve broken and become malleable by now. What’s going on?”
“I cannot say, efendim. Perhaps he is mentally stronger than you think?”
“Perhaps,” Cem whispered. “He is my son, after all. But... I wonder if it’s something else. Some trick he’s employing to erase the suggestions I’m giving him? Why else has he not improved after a year of this?”
A year?
I’d suffocated at the thought.
A full year I’d existed in these caves, howled at their walls, and pissed blood from electricity frying my veins from the inside out.
Two years since I’ve seen Neri.
My heart no longer resembled a normal beat. Even when I was left alone to rest beneath my furs and blankets, it remained confused and skippy. The trips and hiccups made me woozy and breathless. And some days, I was actually grateful to be strapped into the chair and hooked up to the machine because it would sync my heart back into something resembling a regular thrum.
That first shot of stinging current killed me but also reincarnated me.
Once the machine was turned off, I’d suck in a thankful breath, my chest no longer pounding like untuned drums.
But it would only last a few minutes before another crack would whip through me, and my rhythm would screech and scramble with another shock. Another bolt. Another attempt to improve me.
“Aslan?” Cem put his fingers beneath my chin and tipped my head back. My skull cracked against the chair that I’d spent an untold number of hours in. “Did you hear me? You are my son. You are strong and smart and ready to take your place at my side. Do you agree?”
I could feel it.
The tug.
That awful, endless tug to give in.
To repeat what he said.
To believe what he said.
To be what he said.
But my eyes sought salvation and landed on my tattoo.
The sconces around the cave glittered on the black lines in my flesh and I focused all my will, all my soul onto the dreamy face of the siren as she cuddled into the mane of my lion.
She trusted me.
She loved me.
I’m hers, not his.
She’s my master, not him.
She is my home, not this.
My spine slowly straightened, and I looked him in the eyes. The straps against my wrists held me in place, and the quad buckles kept me from shifting, but I didn’t need to run.
