Page 25 of Silver Lining (The Diamond Trilogy 3)
“Go fuck yourself.”
He punches me for the pleasure of it. One of my teeth is loose, maybe more, and I don’t have much time before my jaw gets broken. I taste salt and blood.
When Blue Shirt gets close I spit it into his face.
He breaks a rib in return.
There’s a dance to torture. A rhythm.
The rhythm of this torture, it’s fast. You get more information if you draw it out, the same way I drew out playing with Holly’s clit while she rocked on my lap. But this guy doesn’t seem to know the finer points of torture. Or he doesn’t care.
That means I’ll wind up dead sooner rather than later. Small favors.
It takes me a minute to cough the pain and the blood out before I hang limp. I’m tied up with both hands behind my back, wrists wrapped together behind the chair, chest exposed for the beating. I wasn’t wearing a shirt when they grabbed me and I’m not wearing one now.
It’s not an amazing way to go, but it’s about the death I expected.
I always had this coming, from the moment my dad threw me down a well and went to bed to sleep it off. Sometimes he’d come back to see if I survived the night. Sometimes he wouldn’t remember for days. You had to be strong to survive the well, but you knew, you always knew, that it would end in terrible agony.
That’s for guys like me. Not for the Hollys of the world. Only good things for her. A man who stays faithful. Probably a doctor who coaches their kid’s softball team. A long life. And at the end, a peaceful drifting away during sleep.
“Your girl, your pretty little girl, her skin all smooth and white. It’s a beautiful canvas. They’re holding her for me.” The man gives me a small, almost abashed smile, as if he’s a boy proud of a frog he’s brought home to his mother. It’s so disturbing it sends a shiver skating over my skin. “That’s one of the benefits of being senior here. You get to keep the good parts to yourself. And she’s a very, very good part. I commend you on your choice.”
“Don’t you fucking touch her.”
He grins.
My blood goes cold and still, stuttering in my veins, but I don’t let the sharp fear show on my face. I can’t show them fear. I can’t show them how badly I’ve fucked up.
This situation is why I never got close to anyone. This is why I walked away from everyone who ever walked into my life. It’s why I’ve separated myself from my brothers for all these years. It’s why I fought so hard not to fall for Holly.
You can’t fight the demons I fight when you have something to lose.
And finally, with Holly, I have everything to lose.
Everything.
I tried to warn her that this would happen. That the clock on our time together would wind down into the most horrific scenario I can imagine. Not the torture per se. I’ve been on the receiving end of enough of it to know that this isn’t the real hardship. The real hardship is being separated from her while it happens. Not that I want her to see this. As long as she doesn’t see, she won’t have to remember.
My mind wanders to wherever she is. In my head no one ever put their hands on her. She’s still safe and untouched. That’s a fantasy. I’ll allow myself the one while I wait. One turns into another. It doesn’t take long. Her eyes on me. Her hands on me. Her body stretched out against mine, warm and sleepy.
At some point I stop imagining the way things were and start picturing the way things could have been if everything else in my life had gone another way.
But if I had been normal, if I had a family that gave a shit, I might never have met her in the first place. I’d do all of this again if it meant being with her.
They take a minute to gather themselves, my team of assigned torturers. Blood from a cut on my forehead stings my eyes while they circle around me. I don’t bother looking. Their shadows will get closer, and when they do, more damage will come. I flex my hands behind the chair and try to keep circulation moving through them. Pointless tasks to pass the time.
A fist into my gut yanks me back to the present.
“Of course if you tell me everything I want you know,” he continues conversationally, as if he didn’t just strike a fatal blow, as if he isn’t panting and sweating from exertion, “then I won’t have any reason to question her. She’d be safe.”
This is a lie, of course. It’s part of the torture dance. The rhythm.
