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“Oh, do you now? Someone suddenly wants to be a good boy. I wonder why.” The guy glances in my direction.
“No,” I say, pulling against my chains, hating how they offer limited range of motion and prevent me from punching the guy’s face in. My heart lurches in my chest and I can't breathe.
“Sit back down, asshole, or your next food will be my cum.”
I grind my teeth, my jaw tightening. “You know what? I think I'll kill you first.”
“Sure you will, big guy,” he says between spills of laughter. He unhooks Ignacio from the chains and shoves him forward. “Move.”
Ignacio slowly moves one foot in front of the other, the bottoms dragging against the concrete. I collapse on the floor, anger burning my insides and my blood boiling. The darkness of the room swallows me whole and my eyes sting, the pressure of the oncoming tears becoming harder to push back.
My head aches, but the pain isn't enough. I need more. Especially when what Ignacio is going through is much worse.
Screams come through the walls and I fall to my side, closing my eyes tight, letting the loud agonizing sounds take over my brain. The more they fuel my hate for them, the harder I'll fight to get away and the easier it'll be to allow my inner rage to take over.
Ignacio's pain shakes me to my core, his sounds calling to me.“Save me,”they say.“Do what you couldn't do a year ago.”
I dig my nails into my wrist, tearing open my skin. Blood drips as I rip the other side open with my teeth. I don't stop until blood is covering the floor.
The shouting continues, followed by loud cries.“Help me,”they say again.“Set me free.”
I drag my longest nail across my chest, clenching my teeth at the stinging, and I glance at the door, my mouth slowly moving. “I will. If it's the last thing I do.”
I lean against the wall, my body covered in scratches and tears from my own doing as I wait for the door to open again. When it finally does, a man walks in holding a plastic bowl and cup. “Brought you some sustenance. Like I said, the boss wants you alive.”
He sets everything on the floor, the white mush mocking me. A delicious steak could be placed in front of me right now and I still wouldn't touch it, my appetite nowhere in sight. Ignacio's screams live in my head rent free, and at this point I don't even deserve to breathe.
“What the fuck,” the man says, bending forward. “What did you do?”
He turns on another light and the room grows brighter. “Oh shit. You're bleeding everywhere. What the hell is wrong with you? Already trying to check out? The boss won't like this.”
He reaches for my arm and I shake him away. I wrap my arms around myself and curl up against the floor, shivering, not bothering to use the blanket underneath me to cover up.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? Why did you do this to yourself?” He sighs in frustration, stomping his foot against the floor.
“Looks like we'll have to get you cleaned up. Can't have you getting an infection and stinking the place up even more. If you're going to suffer pain, it will be from us and no one else. You hurt when we're fucking ready for you to.” He shakes his head, tugging at his mask. “Man, what a fucking mess.”
“Where's Ignacio?” I ask.
“Oh, don't worry about him, he's being very well taken care of.”
My skin heats and I can't wait to end this guy. I'll make sure I take my time, too. “The more you hurt him, the longer you suffer when I finally get my hands on you.”
He scoffs and folds his arms. “Yeah, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night. I'm going to get the first aid kit. Don't go making it worse than it already is or the boy won't be coming back at all.”
“You won't kill him.”
“No, you're right. We won't. After getting money out of his uncle and anything else we want, we'll send him to an auction and set the price super low. Keep your shit up and he will continue to suffer for your actions. Don't you think you've caused him enough hell as it is?”
I don't say anything and my eyes move from his face to my blood-covered hands.
“Yeah, that's what I thought.” He leaves the room and doesn't bother to close the door. The loud sound of boots comes from outside the door and the man is back, holding a white box in his hand and a white rag. The door stays open and he bends down to the floor. “Don't try anything. No one likes a hero,” he says, inching closer.
The rough towel scrubs against my chest, the dripping water wetting my skin as he presses it tighter to my wounds. I wince. He drags the rough material up and down my arms and chest, being anything but gentle. He wants to remind me of what I did. I mumble something and his hand stops.
“What was that?”
My words come out unintelligible again and I point to my groin.
