3. BLOOD THIRST PART I

If that had just been the first two, how do you think I was half way through? How do you think I was as the day drifted by, not frightened by my loud screams and cries? The sun had continued shinning wherever it was and all outside had patiently and happily waited for their turn to add to my pain.

The only relief I had found was when Roaster had found me too weak to even stare at him. He always found it more fun when I kicked back, always found it more pleasurable when I was able to spit out my insults to him. We always had a good time, his life was too much of a shit, never lacking of what I would spout to him.

His session had been paid but he had not tortured me. He had told them to bring me down which they did. I had fell down like a sack of potatoes, crying even harder because it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done to me. See how bad my life had been, literally crying out because someone did not torture me. What had I become?

I wept so hard, thinking I would get tired but I never got tired. All that had been done to me all day came back with the images gruesome.

The floor pooled with my blood and water. I lay on it, my back pushing up and down with much force. Blood strung to the floor as the tears fell.

My mind was here and there yet felt as if it was being squeezed and crumbled into madness. Each breath was like breathing through a wound. I probably was, I probably was breathing through a punctured hole.

Eazer had waited for the long metal rode to be heated up over a fire before throwing it through my belly. He had waited all his five minutes just for that and I bet it had been worth it because I had screamed so much my vocal chords had torn and the hall had been left so silent it was deafening. My throat was rough even then. He had waited a minute before pulling it out, doing so when the meat had began closing all around the rod, ripping my healed skin and meat all over again.

Just thinking about it had me shiver again, cold to the core. I wanted to get up, wanted to stand on my two feet but I could not. All energy had been drained from me, feeling as if they were milking my soul little by little like sick twisted ghosts.

I tried thinking of something that would keep me sane, a song, a picture but I had none I knew, I had none I treasured, needing something, needing anything to keep me sane but none came to mind.

Back then it used to be Brandon but even thinking of his face brought so much anger I groaned where I was. He had not walked in that day which meant he was close, he was very close.

I did not want him to find me that broken. He loved me when I was just in that state. I did not want him to find me in that state where I felt as worthless as he always called me to be. I would be damned if I gave that bastard more pleasure than I already had by letting him break me apart. He was the broken one, he was the twisted one, finding pleasure in abusing a child. He was the one that needed help.

My hands moved back, pushing my upper body up. My arms seemed as if they would snap. They were littered with scars that would never disappear, scars that would always remind me of the seven years I had slaved in that dungeon.

The door opened, the devil waltzing in as if it was his party. My arms shook even harder, I was holding up by grace. It was funny that after all the years and shit talking, he still had me that scared.

It was funny how after all the torture he had put me through, I was still shaking so bad of what he would do next. He was unpredictable, sick and psycho.

Even that cologne would not hide that awful smell. Each step he took was as if I was being burned, hissing and mentally smacking myself to not make a sound.

He took his time, never cared for it. He could book a whole hour just for me. He used to do it and I would find it so nice, taking a whole hour just to talk to me but when the torture began, he had used all the things I had told him, used all the information I had poured on him to break me down bit by bit. He had known all my secrets, known what had hurt me most, what had took much time to heal from and he had used all that against me.

I hated him, God I hated him.

Even with the effort I had made of sitting up, I crumbled so fast, hitting the floor with my chin, blood filling in my mouth I coughed it out. In my head I was begging, please, please, not even sure what I was begging for.

Look at me crawling away from my tormentor. I felt pathetic as he had said, felt worthless. No matter how much I told myself I was strong, I was not.

I kept crawling from him knowing he was right behind me. I could feel him, could smell him.

“ Why is she naked?” He suddenly asked, his voice leaving chills running up and down my body. It was powerful and strong. It was the demon that hunted me in my dreams, it was as if it’s sole purpose was to drill fear into a person.

Everyone feared him, Wendy and Ashton never could be able to even stare into his eyes.

I heaved, crawling until I reached the wall. My body turned, tired, too tired I thought I would pass out. I slowly turned, falling on my butt and leaning on the wall with my eyes closed.

“Th…” I tried to speak but my throat was too dry yet I had to speak for this. I had to speak for this! My chest moved up and down, hard to breathe. I felt him closer, my eyes pulling open to close, my eye lashes thick with blood, dried and wet blood. They were painful themselves, having taken many hits.

Cold breath fanned my skin, sure he had crunched down. My eyes peeled open, falling on deep red eyes. They were full of the blood he sucked day and night like the filth he was.

My heart could not stop beating hard, as if to tear my chest apart.

His hand came to my face, gripping my chin. He held it up no matter how much I whimpered.

My eyes closed from the pain, hissing and letting it wash over me.

“ Speak little one, tell me why they have left you naked.” He called, his voice low and sweet, coaxing like a siren’s voice, drawing you to damnation. I used to dream about it, used to smile from playing his words over and over again in my head.

His grip slipped away, easing off while his thumb brushed on my skin.

I took a breath in, swallowing. I knew he was a patient person, knew he could wait years just to get what he wanted.

And I would use the last breath I had to answer him. There was nothing that would stop me from spilling out the words. My head tipped up, minutes having passed with me ready to say it out for him. I drew on my retreated wolf, drew all the strength I had because I would not cower before him.

My eyes flung open again, lying on his before my smile spread.