Chapter 19
Damien
The Next Day
I thrash as hard as these restraints will let me.
The metal piece holding the back of my neck bites at every twitch, and the rag being held against my mouth doesn’t allow me to lift my head.
It burns. I can’t fucking breathe. Water continues to pour over my mouth and nose, causing the fire to explode in every nerve.
I’ve lost count, but I believe this is the fifth bucket they’ve poured, and I’m starting to daze.
Everything feels so heavy, like gravity was adjustable and someone turned the knob all the way up.
It’s intense to the point where everything hurts, yet the inside of my head didn’t get the memo.
I’m moving. Slowly, in circles, I’m spinning.
Swimming. Screams echo in my head over and over again, and past them all is that booming laughter.
The rag is finally removed from my mouth, and I fly forward, coughing and sputtering. My lungs expand and stretch painfully with every pull. I’m gasping for breath, and the room moves with me. My head is pounding and the rush of blood over my ears doesn’t help with the sway of the room. I’m fading.
A firm hand lands on my chest to force me back, and I scream out at the pain.
Cinque’s hand pushes on my new tattoo, and it’s almost as if I can feel it pop on contact.
Over the past…I’m not even sure how many days, I haven’t been able to get a very good look at it, but it burns and pulls like it’s infected.
I’m almost positive I’ve had a fever, but that could be because of the torture and whatever they’ve been sticking in my neck.
I know it’s some kind of drug. I’m assuming it’s to keep me weak, because after every stick, I get lethargic and end up passing out.
Cinque holds my head up and to the side, only for DeLuca to deliver another pinch that I knew was coming.
The now-familiar burn snakes its way through my veins, and the room spins a little faster.
Everything goes black as footsteps recede, but a voice keeps me semi-conscious.
“Damien?” Ashia pulls me further from the void.
I try to lift my head, but it suddenly weighs a ton.
Every limb is twitching in pain, and the muscles in my abdomen cramp, like if I were to stretch out, they’d tear to shreds.
“Baby, where are you?” Her voice echoes just a little, and it sounds like it’s getting closer.
She’s shaking, and it shows in her words.
I open my mouth, desperate to speak to her, but nothing comes out.
“Damien, please come home.” She cries right next to my ear, and I fling my head up forcefully.
I groan out in pain and let my head fall to the side.
My eyes threaten to close again, and I almost let them.
I'll hear her then. She's in every dream, calling to me in the only way she can.
With every shock, I saw her in the flashes.
A part of me wishes I would slip into the afterlife, but only long enough to see her.
The unwavering need to lay my own eyes on her is rapidly growing, and if I don't see her soon, I’ll slip into limbo anyway.
The room continues to spin as I attempt to lift my head once again.
It sways violently, and nausea overtakes my senses.
I heard them walk away. There shouldn't be anyone else in this room, but I see someone in front of me.
From the brief glance between swirling stones, this person is tall and burly, like lifting heavy weights is a favorite pastime.
My chest tightens, and I attempt to slip back into the void, but then this person speaks—keeping me conscious.
“Damn, D. You look like shit.”
The breath flees from my lungs, and the back of my head tingles slightly. I haven’t heard that voice in so long. It’s haunting. I’ve tried for months to hear just a glimpse of him, and now, his voice both heals and kills me all at once. What is he doing here?
“Henry?” I manage to choke out through my swollen throat, fully opening my eyes. It is him. He’s standing there in the same clothes, same dark hair, same amused grin, and I can’t help but feel a small relief. “What the hell is this?”
“I don’t know, D. You tell me.” He walks a few steps to my left and crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes smile for him, just like they always used to, and my stomach churns.
“You died…” I shake my head, but then stop when the room starts to spin faster again.
“Yeah, I did.” He chuckles a little and I can’t help but grin. I’ve missed that laugh. Sometimes, I think I hear it mixed in with my own, but hearing it now is better than anything I could imagine.
“Come on, man. Get me out of here. I have to go home…” I look back up at him, and my face falls. His features have softened, and suddenly, he looks paler. There’s a small splotch of red in the middle of his chest, that I’m not sure was there before.
“We both know I can’t do that,” he says lowly, like he regrets it. His eyes leave mine and fall down to look at his hand. The wedding ring on his finger seems to glow under the shitty lighting. “I can’t go home either.”
My heart sinks, and I feel a sting in my eyes. The red spot on his chest only grows, and I realize now that it’s blood. His blood. My throat tightens even more. Coughs and gags rise as I try to swallow, but I force them down before I speak.
“Henry… I’m so fucking sorry. It’s all my fault.
Fuck, I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry, man…
” I try to get it all out before I pass back out.
I don’t know if he heard me that night. The words ‘I’m sorry’ flew out of my mouth over and over, and I prayed that he did, but of course, I’ll never know that.
“Who are you talking to?” A different female voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I look over to see dark blue eyes staring at me cautiously.
I jerk my head back to Henry, only to see that he’s vanished.
The air around me is sucked out like a vacuum.
My chest feels empty another time, like I’ve lost him once again.
I needed another chance. I had so much to say.
My attention is brought back to Victoria as she walks up to me with a needle in hand, and I thrash, silently willing these shackles to break.
I try to get away, even though I still can’t fucking move.
My hands are numb from the restraints, and I can barely move my fingers.
I haven’t tried to move my legs in a couple of days, and they’re so heavy that I’m not sure I can.
Her nails dig into my cheeks as she holds my head up, leaning in close to my ear.
“If you don’t stay still, the needle will break, and you need this antibiotic,” she whispers, and I freeze.
Her face comes back into a static-like view, and then a harsh pinch punches right into my chest. I grit my teeth and groan, but she shushes me.
“Shut the fuck up! They can hear us through the door,” she whisper-yells and looks back towards the entryway, like she’s afraid someone will come in.
I bite the inside of my cheeks instead, to shut myself up, and blood instantly coats my tongue.
Once she’s done, she stands back up and pockets the needle.
I let my head hang down to look at my tattoo.
The skin is angry and red. It’s so dry that it’s cracking, and pus leaks out from it.
Even in its damaged state, it's a perfect offering.
This one piece of art shows a thousand ways to describe how much I love her, because sometimes, words alone aren't enough.
They'll have to kill me if they want to remove it.
It may be beyond repair by the time I escape, but my wife will see it. I swear it.
“What kind of game are you playing?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“I’m not playing games. Your tattoo is badly infected. You’ll die without that.”
“I see. Keep me alive just to torture another day. Makes sense…”
“I don’t have much time, and I can listen to you whine later.” She walks up to me and grips my hair in her hands. Her nails dig into my scalp as she forces me to look at her. “Do not react. The camera only has visuals. So, they can’t hear us, but they can see us. Blink once if you understand.”
I’m taken aback by a moment, but I blink.
Even if she’s fucking with me, what could it hurt to play along for a moment?
At this point, I need to placate them until I have a real chance to escape.
As long as I’m drugged up and restrained like this, any attempt I make won’t be worth a damn.
So, it’s better to hang back until I get my bearings.
She takes a knife out of her pocket and presses it to my chest. Not on my tattoo, thankfully, but she’s forceful enough to make a cut.
“I need your help,” she whispers, and I snarl.
“I’m a little indisposed at the moment. Why don’t you ask your partners?”
She thrust my head back and my neck lands on the metal bar again. I hiss in pain as she drags the knife down my chest.
“I am not their partner. I’m nothing like them,” she seethes, and then she picks my head back up.
“My father has my sister, and I need to get her back. But I can’t do that without help, and you might be the only one that can.
” She presses the knife to my throat. “I’ll get you out of here if you swear to help me once we’re both out.
” Her voice is shaky, and her eyes keep darting to the side like she’s truly afraid someone will catch her.
Tingling surges through my body, and a wave of curiosity wades on the surface.
“Where are we?” I ask, needing to test her answer.
“I don’t know,” she replies with a straight face.
“You really want me to believe that?”
“Believe what you want. They never tell me where we are. They’ve drugged me, just as they’re doing to you, and if you think I’m treated any better than this, you’re mistaken,” she argues back through a clenched jaw, and that fire behind her eyes flickers once again.