AVA'S P.O.V
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My heart threatened to pummel its way out of its cage as sweat rained down my neck.
He leisurely sauntered to the chair and plopped into it.
For a while, silence reigned.
It was suffocating, filling me with the dread of the unknown as my executioner bobbed his head to an imaginary beat.
His bare feet thumped against the cemented floor. A broken hum flowed from his lips, and he smiled, his voice rising and rising.
Then he abruptly stopped.
His foot stilled.
Bending over, he reached a pierced hand into the metal trolley and pulled out a steel bat.
My heart crumpled and sank like a stone in a bottomless sea.
"I will only ask this once." He spoke softly, drawing closer and closer.
The bat noisily scraped across the floor and filled the room with dark tension like a cloud ready to burst on a stormy night.
I apprehensively pushed every thought and feeling away in preparation for his question when he swung the bat into my shoulder.
My wounded shoulder.
A scream viciously tore right out of the pits of my stomach and past my bloodied lips.
"Answer me!" He snarled, gums stained with green.
I keeled over, my stomach clenching painfully.
I couldn't feel my arm.
I knew it was there, hanging limply above me, but I couldn't feel it.
Oh, God.
Someone save me.
My chest rose and fell rapidly as the scream died on my lips.
My throat itched, and there were too many people to thank for it.
"Where is your friend?"
"I d-don't know." I gasped.
Something crawled up my throat.
Pashvik chuckled and dropped the bat noisily. "Wrong."
He sauntered to the trolly, his hand dragging over the bald spot at the back of his head, then bent over to pull out a hammer.
Rolling his shoulders, he walked back to me and swiped his hands over his tattered pants.
My reflexes kicked in, and I thrashed.
"I don't know; I don't know," tears spilled as I shook my head, "I swear it, I don't know!"
He looked thoughtful for a second, eyes roaming over my face as his head bobbed.
"Relax. Relax, shhhhh, relax."
Someone save me.
He brushed my tears away, softly smoothing the pads of his fingers over my skin in psychotic silence.
I swallowed, forcing my digested food down.
Grabbing my hand, he laid it flat against the wood and reached for the remaining rope.
I wiggled, trying to wrestle away from his grip, but he squeezed my fingers together, the joints pressing against each other achingly till I cried out.
Pulling the rope tighter, he wrapped it below my knuckles and over my fingernails.
I cried out, trying to plead with the humane side of him if there was one, "please, please, I don't know."
He sighed, finishing the last knot, and turned to me.
His crazed eyes followed the trail of tears tumbling down my cheek and into the remaining wet fabric wrapped around my chest. Then abruptly, he snatched my jaw in his tight grip.
I gasped at the harsh squeeze.
His chipped fingers bit into my cheek, yanking me forward till his hot breath poured over my nose and lips. "You're going to remember. I'll help you."
This time when my lips parted, the scream went into hiding.
<------------------------------------------>
It went on for a week.
The torture.
After several hours, Pashvik would disappear and leave me to wallow in pain.
He wanted me to hurt and feel more, but I was losing the last of what I had.
Whenever he reached for his tools, the shadows of my pain came for me, and I willingly sank into them.
They took me everywhere and nowhere.
They kept me in the dark, where feelings were a mystery and pain was ancient.
Sometimes, the silence was accompanied by thoughts of Andy.
Previously, whenever she came to mind, the prickly vice of betrayal would sting, but then I began to wonder if she had a plan to help.
I knew her like the back of my palm.
She would never betray me. Ever.
I lowered my head as a tear tumbled down my bruised cheek.
She couldn't.
She was scared, yes, she was scared, and after all, she had promised to try to come back when she'd realized both of us couldn't make it over.
Yes, that had to be it.
Gingerly brushing my hand over the grimy wall, I reached for the rusty nail I'd forcefully been given to make tallies, resting on a wooden slip.
It was to add to the bloody collection of stripes on the crusty wall.
A crude way of telling the unfortunate ones who end up here that this was real, that others were here before them, others who never made it out.
I dragged a fifth scraggly, diagonal line across four straight lines.
25 hours without water.
I was so tired.
Pashvik forced me to sleep for five hours every day; if I didn't, he'd punch me somewhere.
But when I did manage to sleep, the torture would seep into my head, and the nightmares left me drained and more exhausted than I'd ever been.
Fatigue, hunger, and pain were constantly on my heels.
I stared at the door, my head hanging, and counted some unexpected shadows dancing past then some.
My droopy eyelids barely touched when I tried to blink.
Two pairs of feet stopped at the door, then six, then ten.
Slowly, it creaked open, letting some light in.
Leslie, Skitty, some other girls from my Section, and a couple of newbies nervously shuffled in, their silky PJs rumpled.
Their eyes roved about to get quick glimpses of the gory designs of the room.
It was Remmie who saw me first.
I counted six seconds before she recognized me, her gasp drawing the attention of the other girls.
One by one, they would startle at finding me, take in my situation then burst into tears.
Lucia and Guila bravely covered their noses with shaky palms before looking away.
At least they could stomach the sight.