Dorian’s got to be on the verge of a panic attack right about now. And Cambria, fuck; I don’t think he hit an artery, but they can’t expect her to easily walk inside. She wasn’t cuffed, and if she fights back, they might shoot her again. She wouldn’t, she’s smarter than that.
He called her a witch though, with complete and utter loathing. So he doesn’t know what she is, but knows what she can do. Fuck, just what are we dealing with here? If someone wanted them dead, why the theatrics?
There’s a scuff of shoes against pavement as another man approaches. He grips my upper arm and drags me alongside them until we’re inside, and I’m shoved down into a metal chair. My legs are swiftly banded to the chair with rope, followed by my torso. There’s the sound of zip ties being drawn tight between my handcuffs and the rattle of a chain, weighing down on my wrists a moment later. Soon, I can’t budge so much as an inch, not that I attempt it.
I don’t bother begging or pleading, because there’s clearly no point. They shot Cambria without hesitation and I can only imagine how much worse it will be if we start screaming at them. Better off biding our time, trying to catch them off guard, and find an opportunity as soon as one arises.
I’m left alone for so long that I’m beginning to sweat with nerves. Just countless hours, stretching into even more.
Does that mean they’re working their way through us, one person at a time? What are they doing to the others?
My stomach roils, countless horrors playing through my mind to keep me company. There’s nothing to do besides run through one horrific scenario after another, each more gruesome than the last. I run down my mental checklist of every person I’ve ever dealt with, starting with the most likely contenders and working my way down to the most unassuming. Anything that once flagged me as unusual, I begin to overanalyze. Because if I can just figure out the who and why, maybe I can think of a way to negotiate our way out of this before anyone winds up dead.
As the hours continue to tick by in endless silence, I feel more like my father with every passing minute. The quiet is so absolute, leaving me with nothing but my morbid thoughts for company, that it makes me want to scream. For once, I actually miss the obnoxious place we first found Cambria in, the obscenely loud music enough to drive out every thought before it could even form. You couldn’t so much as hear yourself think in there, and fuck, what I wouldn’t give for that right now. Or at leastsomething.
An evil villain monologue would be incredibly helpful right about now.
Still, I don’t devolve into a state of madness like he did. I take slow breaths in through my nose and exhale from my mouth, keeping a perceived state of calm indifference. For all I know there’s someone watching me right now, just waiting for a sign that I’m starting to crack.
They can look for weakness all they like, but I won’t give them the satisfaction of watching me break. They made it clear they’re aware that the way to keep me in line is by leveraging the others, so I’m not sure what point they’re trying to make here. They have a surefire way to ensure compliance, and instead, I’m sitting alone in the dark without anyone telling me what they even want from me.
By the time the growing need to piss takes over the forefront of my mind, I finally hear footsteps. Still, I wait, knowing they won’t speak before they’re ready and pleading will just make them draw it out for more twisted enjoyment.
That is, until I hear the sharp smack and Atlas’ familiar cursing. Another blow and grunt and I’m seething, all my previous conviction fading away in the face of my anger.
“I’m the one you want, right? So hit me; get it all out if it’ll make you feel better.”
But no one responds, and I end up biting my tongue until I draw blood. The metallic taste keeps me grounded as Atlas tries to temper his reactions, them doing only gods know what to him. The coppery scent of blood and sweat fills the room quickly, but Atlas doesn’t beg for mercy. He takes each blow with nothing more than pained grunts, sharp hisses of breath, or some cursing.
I’m stuck bound and blind, completely helpless to do a single thing to help the people I care about.
There’s a scuff of feet dragging across the floor, but Atlas has long since fallen silent. I grit my teeth, but no matter how desperately I try, I can’t think of a way out of this. I can’t break loose, and it isn’t like I’m holding out on them, refusing to cave.
“Just tell me what you want!” My voice bounces off of the walls, yet no one responds. “Information? Just fucking ask me; enough with the show.”
Not a peep, and I’m not even sure if there’s anyone around to hear me. There isn’t so much as the stray muttering of guards conversing or footsteps in the distance, so best guess is the room’s soundproof. They could torture all of us as much as they’d like, without ever worrying about someone overhearing.
The creak of the door is quickly swallowed by the sound of Dorian’s pained cry, sending my frayed nerves into overdrive.
“Just tell me what you want!”
Yet still, my shouts fall on deaf ears. Each blow that he takes, I count, promising to myself that I’ll return double. I refuse to believe I’m deluding myself, despite my current position. They think they’re so high and mighty, hiding behind the safety of anonymity. But it won’t matter.
Even if it kills me, they’ll suffer. I will drag them to the grave with me if it comes down to it, but I’ll be damned if I go down without taking at least one of them with me.
The world might be unfair, but I refuse to believe it could be this imbalanced. We’ve had too much cruelty thrown at us in our lives; we deserve something good at least once. And if the only good thing we’re able to get our hands on is revenge, so fucking be it. But I refuse to believe this is it, that we’ll leave this place down a man or more.
“Motherfucker!” Dorian shouts, the curse ending on a hiss of pain.
The sound of a whip splitting flesh meets my ears, and I wince on his behalf, head jerking to the side as if I can hide from reality. Blow after blow comes, and I curse myself for hating the silence. I’ll take the madness inducing oblivion any day if I don’t have to hear this anymore, listen in as Dorian’s flesh is split apart.
And it’s all because of me. It’s my fault, whether or not I’ve worked out why. But there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that this has been designed to be my own personal Hell, to make me suffer in a way nothing else could manage.
Dorian’s shouts taper off and I have a flicker of panic, desperately praying that he just passed out. At least then he’d be spared the pain, but if it was because of anything else...
I couldn’t bear it. There are very few things in my life I couldn’t adapt to living without, but the three people dragged here by my side are it. I can’t imagine a life without each of them in it, nor do I want to. I’ve kept a wall between myself and the world for exactly this goddamn reason, and now it’s tumbling down in a bleeding mess of regret.
I don’t regret loving them, but I regret being born into a world where I have to fear someone exploiting it.
