"Ahhhhh!" My voice doesn't sound like my own, not having used it in hours because of the soreness in my throat.
Tears stream down my face as she twists the instrument first, then proceeds to use them for the intended procedure. She spreads the skin apart, locking the clamp in place. Scream after scream bursts from my lungs as she does the same on my other arm. Halfway through it, I bend over and begin to retch. I haven't eaten since dinner last night, so my stomach holds nothing I could throw up. A sour taste fills my mouth between crying and gagging.
Mara says something, but the rushing in my ears makes it impossible to understand. A palm impacts my cheek, my head flinging to the side. I have nothing left. I can't lift my gaze to hers.
Muted shouts register in my mind. "I asked you how you were, you little cunt."
Another slap. This time, my head lolls in the other direction.
"You are no fun."
My last conscious thought is wondering if she just stomped her foot.
The numbingvoid begins to lift, and I want to sob for being thrust back into my torture chamber.
Unmoving, I strain my ears. My spine feels about to snap from being in this contorted state for however long I was out. When there's no sound, I slowly blink. The floor comes into view first, dried blood staining the white and making it look pink where the glossy surface shines through.
What a pretty color.
Pretty? I've lost my mind. This is my blood. I lift my head enough to see that no one is near me—at least, not in the front.
My stomach rolls, and my mouth is too dry. At the same time, I can't bring myself to worry about dehydration. I let the weight of my neck fall forward again. My spine cracks, but its pain is less than the strain of keeping my head upright. With my eyes still open, I notice that the spreaders are gone, and the two wounds are halfheartedly taped up.
Probably to stop me from bleeding out slowly.
Too soon, the sound of footsteps registers, and I hold my breath, making the familiar burn spread through me. Never in my life did I want to die. Not once. Even when I pushed myself to the limits underwater, refusing to resurface. I don't know how much I can endure, though.
Her heels come into view, and she taps her foot. "I know you're awake. I saw you move on the camera."
A wretched snort escapes me.Surveillance really runs in Lilly's family.With the little rational thinking I have left, I'm aware of how ridiculous this epiphany is.
"I thought I'd let you choose what we play with next," Mara chirps. Fingers touch under my chin and lift it. I want to rip out of her grasp, but her nails dig into my jaw, and I have no strength left. When my eyes land on hers, the comprehension that I will die at her hands slams into me. My parched lips begin to tremble, and a crease forms between her brows.
"Can't you fight a little more? I see your resignation. How pathetic are you?" she huffs and drops my chin.
Her feet disappear from my vision, and I hear the umph sound of the chair when she drops herself into it. "I guess we'll wait until you regain some energy. I've been looking forward to this for years."
I peer up and see her pulling out her cell phone. She scrolls and types, scrolls some more. Occasionally, she comments with, "Oh, that's nice."
Is she…shopping?
Time has no meaning anymore. I could've been listening to her for five minutes or hours when a new voice fills the room. "Mara Turner."
Surprise makes my head snap up, and I see Mara stare at something behind me with shock. Someone. She looks…afraid?
Who is there?
I can't turn my head. I used my last bit of strength to lift it forward. Slow steps come closer, calculated and confident.
"You know who I am?" the male voice asks.
"Yes." The woman who threatened to carve my face off has gone pale, and my adrenaline level rises slow but steady.
DoIneed to be afraid?
"Good." The voice stops beside me. In my peripheral vision, I see him pivot. He crouches down with his forearms propped on his knees. Tilting his head, he scrutinizes me. "Did you do this to her?" He doesn't look at Mara but continues to study me with a disturbing type of interest.
The newcomer is young. Probably a few years younger than me. He has the face of an angel and the eyes of a demon. Where Mara is cold, he is…dead. There is nothing, no empathy for what he found in this room, yet I know he is not here to harm me. Mara on the other hand…