It was neverawayfrom “that nonsense”. But we know how much he hates theus, so we usually mask it around him.
“Who is it today, Grandson?” he snarls, whirling on us. “Which of your unbridled psychoses and fuckingweaknessesam I forced to humor today, hmm?”
Our gaze stays locked straight ahead as he slowly circles around us.
The blow comes without warning, fire exploding across our back, making us hiss and clench our teeth tightly as our spine snaps tight.
“Well?!” Quentin snarls. “Is itthe demon?” he barks with a mirthless laugh. “Or one of your other fabrications.”
“Grandfather—”
The pain comes again, making us hiss viciously through clenched teeth.
“Yes,Demon,” we snarl.
Quentin laughs coldly. “Jesus H. Christ,” he exhales as he walks back around to our front, twirling the leather riding crop in his hand. “The demon without claws, it appears. The demon who still needsmetoGET THINGS DONE!”
We roar in pain as the crop slashes across our chest, then the backs of our arms when we raise them to shield our face.
He stops after a dozen or so strokes, panting as he backs away.
“I made you what you are, boy.”
We nod.
“I know,” we say quietly, swallowing bile as our skin screams in agony.
He turns to face me, the crop at his side.
“Lose the girl,” he murmurs. “She’s a distraction from my goals.”
We nod and look down at the floor.
This is how it always is with Quentin. He’s the one piece of us that refuses to be like the others.
To embrace thewe.
We flinch when he taps the tip of the crop on our chest.
“She’s already too close.”
He drags the crop up to our chin, lifting it with the little strip of leather.
“And for that sin, there must be atonement. Without pain, there is no success.”
He pats our hand.
“You know what has to be done now,” he says gently.
Yes, we do.
We strip off our shirt and drop to our knees on the stone floor. Quentin quietly walks behind us, and we tense when the leather crop traces over old scars on our back.
“You realize I’m doing this for both of us, Grandson.”
“I know,” we choke.
“Count them.”
