Page 36 of My Dark Divine
I started by gouging out his eyes, carefully, one at a time. After years of practice, the process felt like second nature. I never wanted him to die instantly, but I made sure he would remain blind for the rest of his suffering. Remembering his vile intentions, I moved to his hands and severed each finger. It had been a while since I’d worked on hands, and I’d forgotten just how messy it could get.
No regrets, though.
Now comes the best part. I’m not sure how much longer he’ll last—I’m surprised by his endurance—but judging by the look on his face and the cracks in his voice, I can tell he’s close to breaking.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Senator,” I say, my voice as composed as ever, though it’s nearly impossible to ignore the thrill that courses through me. Torture has always been my favorite pastime—the only thing that truly lifts my spirits—and this one surpasses every experience I’ve had before.
Because it feels too fucking personal.
“I just—” My words falter as a surge of searing anger clashes with the buzz from the coke, my face twitching uncontrollably. Then, with deliberate ease, I straighten, a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I need to ask you one question. What kind of animal are you?”
He freezes mid-breath, his wild, exhausted eyes boring into mine as confusion clouds his face. “What?” he rasps. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “There are different kinds of creatures in the world,” I begin. “Swans, wolves, penguins—they’re loyal, forming bondsthat last a lifetime. Then, we’ve got the lions and chimps, playing the field, mating freely. And the third, unpredictable kind, like mice, who thrive on chaos and promiscuity.” I take a step closer, locking eyes with him. “Now, Senator, which one are you?”
He jerks his head, confusion etched on his bloodied face, his attempted scowl faltering. “What the fuck is this?! Talking about fucking mice and wolves, West, what the actual fuck?!”
He spits on himself, struggling to get free as his emotions take hold. I ask because I want to know why, despite having a family, his eyes wander. But it’s clear I won’t get any answers. Frankly, I’m starting to lose interest.
“Suit yourself,” I mutter unemotionally. His body stiffens as he realizes what’s coming next.
“Oh, fuck. Please, please,” he pleads, choking on a mixture of blood, sweat, and tears—a sight not for the faint of heart, as unpleasant as the smell. This is his true nature—an image of the disgusting, disrespectful pig he is. “I’m begging you?—”
“I’m begging you,” I mock, my voice taking on a squeaky, ridiculous tone as I mirror his expression, even though he can no longer see me. He’s lost both eyes, after all. “Youchoseto look at her, Heyes. You’re lucky I haven’t grabbed a leucotome to scramble all your fantasies out of your dumb fucking brain.”
Regret fills me the instant the words leave my mouth.
Fuck. Why hadn’t I thought of that sooner?
“I’m so sorry,” he whines, clinging desperately to the edge of his pathetic existence. “I’m so, so?—”
“I don’t forgive you,” I cut him off, closing the distance between us in a few strides. “And while I want to prolong this as much as possible, for you, it’s finally over.”
He squirms in his chair like a helpless worm as I bring the pliers to his lips and force his mouth wide open with my other hand. I know he’ll die from blood loss after I cut off his tongue.
Ignoring his desperate struggles and the splatters of fluid from his mouth and body, I complete the job. He twitches and shifts, becoming a wreck both inside and out until his system fails and his body finally locks in place. An odd emptiness settles deep in my stomach as I look at him, unsettling thoughts creeping in from all corners of my mind.
Why does it feel like Venetia deserves so much more than these couple of hours I’ve given him?
Shit.
Still, it’s done. If I could bring the bastard back, I’d do it without hesitation. But my job is over, and pretty soon I’ll have to deal with the consequences—no doubt, they’ll be far from fucking pleasant.
My head jerksto the side, smashing into the wooden wall with a sickening crack that pierces the air. My skull feels seconds away from exploding—one more hit, and the pressure will squash my fucking brains out.
I didn’t plan on him finding out—at least not so quickly—but with my fucking luck, he walked in just when I was done dealing with body parts, all covered in Heyes’s blood. Now comes the best part.
“You fucking moron!” Dad screams, delivering another powerful blow to my face, this time targeting the other side. “Do you have any idea what the fuck you’ve done?!”
I served justice. Restored some respect for both Venetia and myself. Released a lot of stress, too.
The phrases swirl on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back—literally—when his knee connects with my solar plexus.Reflexively, I wrap my arms around it, bending over in pain, and he takes the opportunity to drive his foot into my hip. When I crash to the floor, he continues to rain blows down on me, but all the agony fades into nothing more than background noise.
I don’t feel shit.
Years of this have forced my body to adapt and accept the pain. I know there’s nothing I can do to change it, so my brain has created an invisible shield of nonchalance, keeping me teetering on the edge of death. For a normal person, beatings like this would be both mentally and physically devastating. For me, it’s routine, one I’m perfectly accustomed to.
Though, at times, it feels a little fucking humiliating to realize that an adult man can’t do anything when his father turns him into his personal punching bag. But I know better than to push back. I wanted to when I was young and even tried, but eventually, something clicked inside, and I came to accept it. It’s now part of the fucked-up routine that shaped me into the unbreakable person I am.
