Every cell cowered, my blood dried up, my heart stopped beating.
Melting to the tiled floor, I went one step further in begging. I didn’t bow with my chin tucked and shoulders rolled. I threw myself entirely on the ground with my arms outstretched as I’d seen monks do in deep prayer, pleading for mercy but knowing I wouldn’t get any.
“That won’t save you this time, bitch.” My breath caught as he stomped on my left hand, twisting his foot so my skin pinched and did its best to spiral-fold.
I screamed in my head.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain!
My silent scream was so loud it made my eardrums bleed.
“You liked him touching you, didn’t you!? Don’t fucking deny it. I know the truth.” He trampled harder on my hand, putting his entire weight on the tiny, breakable bones. “You think I didn’t notice? That I wouldn’t see the way you looked at him? Fuck, Pimlico you’re mine!”
I screamed again, drowning myself in the gonging sound of agony, but the room remained silent while he stomped again and again, doing his best to shatter delicate fingers.
“Just because you won’t talk doesn’t mean I don’t fucking know when you’re lying to me!”
Turn it off!
Now!
Fighting a rush of overwhelming nausea, I forced every nerve ending to withdraw deep inside. I did what my body had taught me. A mantra filled my head while the pain receptors in my hand switched off.
After all, that was what pain was. A siren to tell me all was not well and that action had to be taken to avoid worse damage. No shit, not all was well. I got that message loud and clear. I didn’t need to hear it over and over.
On or off.
Click.
Off.
It didn’t mean I could ignore the throbbing, bellowing agony ricocheting up my arm. It merely allowed me to compartmentalise and stay alert so I could pre-empt what came next.
His shoe lifted from my hand only to pull back and jab sharply into my ribs.
I fought the urge to curl around the new flare. It didn’t matter that he’d kicked me only hours ago. It didn’t matter that my previous bruises would become new bruises, which would bleed beneath my skin.
All I could do was remain straight and prone for his abuse. I would blanket myself in whatever numbness I could and accept two things: either I’d survive this, in which case I could nurse my wounds in private and finally give in to building sobs, or he’d kill me and then none of it would matter anyway.
Kill me, get it over with.
“Why won’t you motherfucking speak?!” He kicked me again, going for my hip, painting me with livid colours. “Talk, goddammit.” His sharp shoe stabbed my upper thigh, then my knee, calf, and ankle. “Say one word and I’ll stop.”
No.
Never.
This battle was not new. I’d endured it many times before. However, he was more vicious tonight, all because of Mr. Prest.
Damn him.
Curse him.
Never come back.
Don’t you ever come back.
Turning his attention from my left side, he angled himself on my right, kicking my ankle, calf, thigh, and rib. At least my bruises would match. A Morse code dotting my flesh. Would it blare a plea for help? Or would it repeat the knowledge that I was his to do what he wanted?
“You won’t speak to me, but you spoke to him.”
What?
“You spoke to that fucking asshole who thinks he’s better than me.”
No!
“You think you can lie to me? Even your silence drips with the fucking truth.”
What truth?
There is no truth!
He kicked me with every remaining energy, landing squarely on my lower back and earning a deep-seated groan I couldn’t control.
“Ah, sweet victory. You do make a noise.” Crouching beside me, he wrenched my head, forcing me to look at him. “You wanted him, didn’t you, Pim? You wanted his cock over mine. You wanted that sick fuck because he let you sit at the table and eat like a human. Because he permitted you on the couch like a woman.”
Shaking me, he spat in my face. “You aren’t a woman. You’re mine to be what I tell you to be. If I say you’re a fucking flamingo, you stand on one leg. If I tell you you’re a dog, you get on all fours and wait to be mounted. Do you get that? Do you!?”
I flinched, disgusted as warm, oozing saliva flowed over my chin.
I am a woman.
And I’m not yours.
No matter how long you own me, I’ll never be yours.
“Those gifts weren’t his to give.” Yanking me to my feet, he used my hair as a leash, guiding me from my room to his.
I stumbled beside him, breathing hard, tears streaming that I didn’t remember crying, all while holding my mangled hand. Every step felt as if I’d shatter into a billion pieces. I wanted to shatter. Perhaps then the agony would stop.