“And Elior?”
“Y-yes—” My voice cracked.
“If you lie even once more… I will bleed the sin from your body myself.”
Strike.
It didn’t land on my back. Not yet.
It snapped across my upper arm, making me yell out from pain.
“Who is leading you astray?” Father asked.
“I-I’m not—”
The second strike came instantly, lashing the other arm, tearing the skin there.
I sobbed.
“Again,” he said. “Truth.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. My arms trembled violently from both the pain and the effort of keeping them lifted.
“There is—no one,” I shouted, voice breaking. “Father, there’s—there’s no one.”
The third strike caused a pain so intense that my whole body jerked.
My breath came in gasps. My thoughts began blurring at the edges. The pain wasn’t the worst part—the worst part was knowing he would keep going.
Knowing he would not stop until I broke or gave him something.
And I couldn’t give him anything.
Father leaned close behind me, his breath like cold steam against my neck. “You are trying to run from me,” he murmured. “But I will not let you go.”
“I’m not—I’m not running, Father,” I begged. “I would never!”
He raised the cane again.
“Last chance, Elior.”
“P-p-please—”
The cane struck across my cheek, narrowly avoiding my eyes. The pain and shock brought up acid from my stomach, and I gagged, spitting it out on the floor beside me. I couldn’t tell if my face was bleeding. Everything felt numb.
Distantly, I heard a door opening, then the pounding of urgent footsteps. Father raised the cane, about to strike again, when the door to his office slammed open.
Father’s hand froze mid-air.
I collapsed onto the floor.
“Father! Something’s happening—you need to come. Now,” the man, maybe Brother Paul—I couldn’t tell with my ears ringing and my eyes closed—shouted in panic.
“What? What are you talking about?” Father hissed, the aggravation clear in his voice.
Whoever it was ignored my presence. I curled into the floor, ignoring the intense stinging in the arm pressed to the ground. I hugged myself.
“I think it’s the police—”
