Chapter 9 #2
Something appears into my outstretched palm—as if I’d been the one asking for it. It’s a smooth handle followed by an elastic chord that ends in a ribbed wooden shaft. A whip of sorts, but one that is much more cruel and vicious.
“Good boy,” she says softly. “You know what to do with it, don’t you?”
I nod even though my mind is blank.
“Then do it. Do it and tell me everything. All your woes. Every ugly thought you keep buried.”
I nod fervently—anything to please her.
The first strike lands before I realize I’ve moved.
Pain explodes across my back, sharp and immediate, tearing a gasp from my throat. I flinch, but my arm lifts again, and the whip cracks through the air once more.
The ribbed bar strikes against my skin, tearing it open. It only takes a couple of strikes for blood to surge forth, erupting down my back like a volcano.
“Tell me,” she repeats, her voice filled with an odd excitement.
“I was never meant to exist,” I choke out, the words ripping free as another strike follows. “I should have died at birth. My mother should have killed me.”
“Good,” she purrs. “Do you feel regret that you survived?”
“Yes.” Another strike. “If I’d died… Everything would be so much easier. My father would be alive and—”
I don’t even realize when my eyes start tearing up. The flesh wounds are but an afterthought as the emotional ones are viciously torn open.
“My father…” I repeat, remembering his face; how he’d looked at me that last time. He sacrificed everything because he believed in me. He saw me as something more than a curse, a prophecy of doom. He saw me.
But what did I do to repay his efforts?
“I have no power.” Another lash. My sobs become louder.
“I’m useless. So damn useless. I’m a waste of air. A waste of space.” The words spill faster now, tumbling out of me without restraint, dragged from somewhere deep and festering. “I’ve done nothing with my life. Nothing. I’ve just hidden here like a coward and…”
Tears blur my vision, hot and relentless. The whip falls again and again, each strike loosening something inside me, unraveling me piece by piece.
“I hate it. I hate myself. I hate everything about myself. I—”
My voice breaks entirely, collapsing into sobs as the whip slips from my hand. I don’t know how many strikes I’ve endured. I don’t feel them physically as much as I feel them seared in my soul.
“Ah, such a good boy. Tell me more,” she purrs.
“My mother… she should… kill me… once and for all…”
My body gives out from beneath me. My knees hit the ground as I start trembling uncontrollably. “Stop…” I gulp down. “Please stop this. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” I beg, my voice raw, desperate. “Please. Make me stop, Make it stop…”
She laughs. Blood and tears fall to the ground, dripping to the floor, yet the only echo in the room is that of her laughter.
It starts softly, almost amused, but then it grows into something sharp, something cruel that cuts deeper than the whip ever did.
Suddenly, her hand cups my face, tilting it upward.
I’m too weak to resist or protest.
Her gloved fingers brush beneath my eyes, collecting the tears spilling on my cheeks.
“Pathetic,” she murmurs.
She studies the moisture on her fingertip for a moment, then lifts it to her mouth and licks it clean. It’s a slow and deliberate movement. Her attention is focused on me; on the way my knees wobble, my body so close to collapse.
A faint shudder runs through her before it turns into a full-body laughter.
“I love the taste of your torment,” she whispers.
“Why—”
“That face, right there.” She chuckles. “You look so pathetic, Nykander. Why don’t you beg me some more? Who knows, I might take pity on you.”
I nod fervently. I crawl toward her, grabbing onto the material of her skirt.
“Please…” I whisper again, though I no longer know what I’m asking for.
She watches me, disinterested, and then exhales a quiet sigh.
“I’m bored.”
The words land with a hollow finality.
“What?”
“Boring. You are so boring. Always the same begging, the same theatrics. Why can’t you come up with something new?” She clicks her tongue against her teeth and shakes her head.
“I don’t understa—”
“Let’s try something different, shall we?”
I frown in confusion, not understanding what she means. But then I freeze. My breath catches as my vision warps.
Her red gown—no, it’s not a gown; not anymore. Something about it shifts. The fabric darkens, thickens, clinging to her body in a way that feels wrong.
Wet.
It drips slowly, melting into the floor.
Blood.
Is it mine? Is it hers?
Her veil trembles as if having a life of its own. The crown of thorns becomes darker, sharper, as if it, too, has come alive.
“I—” My tongue becomes tied in my mouth.
She moves, faster than I can follow. Then there’s a sudden pressure in my chest. It’s not painful at first; there’s only a sense of pressure without relief. Something hits at my chest, forcing its way through flesh and bone.
It’s as fast as a projectile. Within seconds, my chest gives with a sickening wet sound.
Empty… The word echoes in my head, though I can’t make sense of it.
She pulls back.
That’s when I see it. In her hand. Her palm squeezes it tightly.
My heart.
I stare at it, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing. It beats steadily, impossibly, each pulse echoing in my ears. My pulse.
“What…” I whisper in shock.
She lifts her veil.
For the first time, I see her. Strange and alluring.
With a smirk, she bites into it.
Her teeth sink into my heart with a grotesque crunch.
Heartless and yet still possessing of a heart, I feel that bite to the core of my being; as if something is seeking to consume me from within.
Another bite.
The pain resounds in my soul.
She’s not eating just my physical heart. She’s consuming my essence.
Just as the pain reaches the point of no return, the ground beneath me shifts. A wave of thick, viscous liquid crashes onto me before spilling outward in all directions, swallowing the floor, the walls, everything.
A river forms, thick and endless, rising rapidly and engulfing everything around me.
It soaks into my skin, cold and suffocating as it climbs higher, dragging me down with it. Into the abyss.
The last thing is see is her silhouette reflected above the surface, untouched by the rising flood, watching me as I sink.
Smiling.
“Pathetic.”