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“Please.” I am not above begging, not when it comes to my life.
Fohri throws his head back and laughs. “You’ll be so broken that they won’t be able to put you back together.”
I pull away when he reaches out to touch my breast with his hand.
“I’d take you by force, because that is always fun. Although, right now the only reason I want to break you is out of spite towards my brother. I know it sounds childish, but he should have seen it coming.”
I swallow convulsively when he grips my chin and forces me to look up at him. “Like I said, I’d take you by force. But the only way to really break my brother is to make you beg for it while he watches.”
The first blow lands then. My head rings when he slaps me. The slap is backhanded. After the first few slaps, he balls his hand into a fist. He stops when my nose starts bleeding.
“All you need to do is tell me you want me. Tell me to touch you. To touch you the way my brother has. Then the pain will stop.”
My eyes are swelling shut. My lips have been clawed open by Fohri’s nails and I am sure I have lost at least two teeth already.
Somehow, I find the strength to shake my head.
“Fine.” Fohri sighs. He sounds disappointed, as though I have just told him that we’re out of milk.
I cannot see much, but I hear him walk away from me, and then I hear him walk back to me. I howl with pain when he starts burning me. The smell of cigar smoke reaches me, and I realize that he is smoking in between burning holes onto my chest.
He burns me lower and lower, until he rips my shirt aside, and I am naked in front of him.
Later on – I cannot tell how much time has passed – he pulls me from the chair and throws me onto the floor. I don’t have the strength to get up. And when he starts whipping me, I do not try to fight him.
The whip burns even more than the cigar did. He stops maybe an hour after whipping me.
“Just tell me you want me. I know you can still talk.”
My eyelids flutter open. I move my head from side to side. I do not know what he does after that. All I know is that it hurts.
Somehow, the pain recedes from the front of my mind. I still feel it, but it becomes a nagging ache, instead of a sharp, stabbing ringing. Now, instead of thinking about Fohri, and the pain, I am thinking about my two men.
A shuddering gasp escapes me when I think about the two of them, as Fohri starts rubbing salt into the open wounds on my back.
I scream because I have no choice, but even that pain does not register as much as it should.
Ihohka. Brilyk.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I cannot live without you.
I don’t want to be alive in a world without you.
Please.
Fohri leaves after a while, and I am left, lying in my own blood on the floor.
I am not really thinking. The images that play across my mind are memories, activated by pain and longing. But I did not summon them. They roll through my mind – memories of Ihohka and Brilyk. Memories of falling in love with them.
Memories of wanting them. Memories of the gardens at the Anocne’s. Memories of Agatha. The memories, the images, meld together, until Ihohka, Brilyk, and I are running through a garden that looks very like Vetrin’s gardens.
I know that I am dying when I start shivering.I hope they won’t hate each other after I die. Please don’t hate each other.
