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I blinked back the haze and willed my tongue to work.
This was another one of his games. He said he borrowed the brainwashing tactics from the book 1984. He sounded rather enamoured by that tale and the ministry that managed to convince people of impossible facts and outlandish laws.
“Three,” I gasped, still twitching a little as residual sparks erupted in my veins.
He tutted and curled away the three fingers he’d been holding up. “Again.”
I groaned as another shock slammed into me.
On and on.
Hotter and hotter.
Broiling and defibrillating, flaming me alive.
I slumped as the current stopped.
I couldn’t hold my head up anymore. My bones were noodles. My muscles nothing more than tenderised meat.
My father waited for the electricity to fully leave my system before cupping my chin and raising my eyes to his. “How many fingers am I holding up, Aslan?”
He held up all five.
I blinked and fought the urge to sob.
What the fuck does he want me to say?
I tell him the right number, and he doesn’t accept it.
“Five,” I moaned.
Shaking his head, utmost disappointment clouded his dark stare.
He let me go.
I was able to keep my eyes on him, barely.
Clasping his hands together, he murmured, “I spoke to Neri again last week.”
My scrambled heart hopscotched. I licked my lips. I had questions, so many questions, but I didn’t have the strength to ask any of them.
Is she okay?
Does she still think of me?
Has she moved on?
Cem gave me a sad smile. “She’s killing herself.”
What?
“She can’t accept that you’re gone, and it’s making her mad.”
Neri...
Fuck, I’m so sorry.
“She’s learning Turkish.” He smiled. “She almost sounded native on the phone.”
