There’s bloody saliva dripping down her chin, and she has all but folded in on herself. But when she sees how close Dorran’s getting to her, she makes a weak sound of protest. He, of course, ignores it, and once he’s satisfied with the new placement of his chair, he brings the table close as well.
Mom’s eyes widen almost comically at the sight of the pliers. “Don’t do this,” she croaks out. “There’s still time; don’t do this, Dorran.”
“And what, let you go? Forget about what you let happen tonight, and what you’ve been doing to Cignette foryears?” he counters, then cocks his head to the side. “I don’t think so.”
Mom starts sobbing, then flinches when the action causes her pain.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” The question passes through my lips before I can even think about it.
Everyone in the room looks at me, Mom included.
“When you want to cry, but can’t because you know it’ll only hurt more if you do,” I continue. “But those salty tears still fall through, making the bruises on your skinburn…” I swallow against the lump in my throat, and clench my jaw to stop my chin from trembling. “It fuckinghurts, Mom, and it only grows. It breaks you from the inside; traps you in an endless loop of fear – both conscious and otherwise.”
Dorran meets my eyes, and I see recognition there – towards my words, and the meaning they hold to the both of us.
“Cignette…” Mom’s face crumples as she cries. “I’m so…sorry, my sweet. Please forgive me. Forgive me, and I promise to be a better mother to you. Get me out of here, and I swear to you that I’ll change. I’ll do everything you want me to, but just…please, just get me out of here.”
“Are you seriously fucking negotiating with your daughter right now?” Jayce hisses, and makes to step forward, but Alex holds him back.
“I’m asking her forforgiveness,” Mom argues.
“When you’re so close to meeting your end? That’s rich, Miranda,” Alex counters. “Out of all the times you could have apologized, or even talked yourself out of assaulting Cigs, you choosenowto atone for your wrongdoings.”
“I don’t need you, Mom,” I say honestly. “Not after how much you’ve scarred me over the years just to make yourself feel better. You treated me like an enemy, and not like your own flesh and blood – which I fuckingam. You’ve made me feel vulnerable and scared in my own skin, and now you want me to forgive you?” I laugh. “No. Just…no. You deserve everything that’s happening to you right now, and you deserve it because you’re a cruel, narcissistic human being, and you need to pay for all the damage you’ve done to me.”
“I gave you money, a status in our society, a fucking house to live in!” she screams brokenly. “What else could you possibly want from me?”
“The fact that you even have to ask me that is proof enough that you shouldn’t have been a mother to begin with,” I tell her.
She pauses, as if my words have hit her all at once. But then her face contorts just as fast. “Fuck you, you ungrateful littlecunt.”
“Fucking end her before I do it myself, Ledge,” Varsha says. “She’s breathed long enough.”
Dorran sniffs and looks at Mom again, then clocks her in the face, making her groan. “Haven’t I told you before not to speak to Cignette with disrespect?” he says, then slaps her cheek. “Haven’t I?” Another slap. “Fucking answer me!”
She trembles, then gives him a weak nod. “I’m sorry.”
He laughs. “You’re sorry…” He shakes his head a little, then slaps Mom again – harder this time. “Too. Fucking.Late.” He grabs one of the pliers, then presses Mom’s left hand flat against the chair’s armrest.
She tries to push herself back, but it’s of no use.
Dorran opens the plier, then closes it around one of her long nails. Giving her a wink, he pushes the plier back, paying no heed to her screams, and pulls the nail right off her finger.
“You know why I’m doing this?” he asks her, then plucks another one of her nails off, grinning when she begs him to stop. “Because you won’t be needing your nails, not after people find you burnt to a fucking crisp in your own car.”
She shakes her head, then screams when Dorran pulls off her ring finger nail.
“You were on your way to the airport – all by yourself – when your car caught fire,” he continues. “Due to an electrical issue, of course. A few loose wires in the engine, along with some built-up hydrogen, and…boom. Goodbye, Miranda Adler.”
Mom mumbles something, but it’s not clear what she’s saying. She’s barely got any strength in her, let alone a voice.
Dorran throws the plier back into the tray, then leans back in his chair. “I’m bored,” he says plainly, and takes a cigarette out of his jeans pocket. He puts it between his lips, then lights it up with a familiar lighter. The one I had planned on giving him, but hadn’t had a chance to.
DeathNote.
He takes a drag of his cigarette, and runs the pad of his thumb over the golden skull embossed on the lighter, all the while scanning Mom from top to bottom.
“You know, I thought I’d enjoy torturing you,” he tells her. “But you’re not fun enough. You beg for mercy one minute, then curse people in the next. Where the hell is your consistency?” He laughs to himself as he takes a second pull from his cigarette, then brings it in front of him. He twists it left and right as if assessing it, then presses its still-burning tip to the bleeding nailbed of one of Mom’s fingers.
