A man steps in front of me. His heavy boots announce his presence. He grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head up. I squint, trying to place that smell, but my brain feels sluggish, like I’m still a little drugged. There must something in my system, some medicine that’s stopping my brain from working properly.
“Are you ready to confess your sins?” He asks. His voice is harsh, grating. Mechanical, like he too using something to mask it, to alter it.
I manage to find my voice, though it feels stiff, like I haven’t used it in months. “What sins?”
He doesn’t reply, he just takes a step forward and without warning, he slams a fist into my stomach. I double over, gasping for breath.
Pain explodes through my body, and I can feel the bile rising in my throat.
As they stand over me, it’s more than apparent what’s about to happen. Instinct has me curling up, trying to protect myself, but my body won’t cooperate. The first blow lands on my back, sending a shockwave of pain through me.
I scream out, a raw, primal sound that sounds so far removed from that perfect little girl they tried to mould me into so long ago.
“Confess your sins.” One of them shouts.
Sins? What sins do I have? I let out a gurgle, a laugh at the absurdity of this. Are we really back here again, back with this bullshit?
That hard thing comes down again and again, each blow echoing through the room, each impact sending a fresh wave of agony through me.
I can hear the people, I can hear their muffled cheers and jeers. They’re enjoying this. They’re enjoying my pain.
Confess your sins. Confess your sins.
The words echo in my head, becoming a twisted mantra.
But I can’t confess. I don’t know what they want from me. I don’t know what sins they’re talking about.
Do they really think they can break me with this? Do they really think my mind will give in? I laugh more, laugh harder. Do they have any clue who I am, what I’m capable of, what I’ve endured these last god knows how many years.
This is amateur. This is pathetic.
Did they think a few bruises would have me spilling all my secrets?
I’m better than that now, far fucking better. They can hit, and they can beat, and they can break my very bones, but they’ll get nothing from me. Nothing but derision.
Another blow has my back jerking.
Darkness starts to creep in at the edges of my vision. I twist, leaning into it, welcoming it as it numbs the pain, as it takes it all away like the good friend I know it to be.
Oh, these people may think they can beat me, but I know better.
Pain is my ally. Darkness is my friend. I learnt to exist in the places beyond, the slithers of ether between this world and hell itself.
Pailtyn
The world narrows to the sound of my choked, strangled screams and the rush of water invading what feels like every orifice.
I thrash more out of instinct against the restraints that are cutting into my skin.
Only, the water keeps coming. It’s a relentless torrent that fills my lungs, stealing the air I so desperately need.
Time stretches, each second turns into an eternity of suffering. Just when I think my lungs will actually burst, it all stops.
I gasp, coughing up water, choking on the air that now feels foreign. The fabric is ripped from my face, and I blink away the tears and water, as my lungs physically burn.
“Ready to talk yet?” one of the men asks, his voice both cold and detached.
I can imagine the sneer that must be playing on his lips. I try to speak, but all that comes out is a wheezing cough that rips at my bruised throat.
