Chapter 7 #2
The fourth lash crosses the same spot as the first hit, tearing open skin that’s already raw. A strangled silent noise escapes my throat before I can stop it.
Dom chuckles. “There we go.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, I won’t give him more, I won’t allow it.
The time between strikes gets smaller with every hit. He really gets into his stride now. The inside of my cheeks is already raw from biting down, so my teeth sink into my lip instead. The taste of copper makes my head spin. Or maybe that’s because of the pain.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
At this point, I don’t really feel it anymore. My back is numb and I’m balancing on the edge of consciousness. Dom sighs, as if this is some tiresome activity he must complete.
The next lash snaps across my spine and everything goes black for a moment. I don’t know how much time passes, could be minutes or hours, but when the next hit lands, my knees buckle.
I catch myself before I fall, but the room tilts dangerously. My breath is shallow, coming out too fast, making me even more dizzy. The pain is constant now, sharp and raw, setting every nerve on fire.
And he’s just getting started.
The hits keep coming.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I lose count at this point.
My body sways, sweat dripping down my back, stinging where the skin has split open. The room is too hot, too cold.
Dom steps closer, the heat of him prickling against my raw, bare skin. He walks around me, fingers gripping my chin, forcing my head up. I keep my eyes on the wall, refusing to meet his gaze.
He isn’t pleased by that. “Look at me,” he yells and I almost flinch. Almost. Instead, I finally move my eyes to him. I keep my expression blank, empty. He doesn’t like that either.
He lets go of my chin, and the relief I feel is short termed, as his hand cracks across my cheek, fire spreads where his palm meets my skin. “Get out,” he snaps.
I force my legs to move, but every step sends fire lashing through my body. I don’t know how I’m walking, let alone standing upright. The moment of complete numbness is long gone, unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
I carefully lower myself to the ground, holding the wall for support and grab my nightgown piled at my feet. Putting it on is nearly impossible, but I manage, sucking in air as the fabric touches the open wounds.
I drag myself forward, commanding my legs to move one foot in front of the other. I’ve nearly reached the hallway when his voice halts me. “If I catch you again,” he says, voice full of threat. “I won’t be so lenient.”
Lenient.
Right
I swallow down the bile rising in my throat and drag myself forward. Blood oozes from the wounds where my skin got ripped off my back. My nightshirt clings to them and I can’t contain a whimper.
The infirmary isn’t too far from Dom’s practice area, but in my current state, I don’t know if I’ll make it.
The hallway spins around me and I nearly triple over my own feet on multiple occasions.
Every step feels like a mile, my back and shoulders are bent forward, trying to relieve some of the tension on my wounded skin.
After what feels like forever, the door to the infirmary comes into sight. Whenever an accident happens at night, they call Doctor Herbert and she arrives within less than five minutes.
I know the code that opens the doors, Doctor Herbert left it out on her desk one day.
She did it deliberately, I’m certain. She is too smart to leave things like that out in the open for anyone to read.
The fact that I still have to go through Dom’s…
special treatment, means Doctor Herbert’s hands are tied and Dom can bend the rules to how he wants it one way or another.
With shaky fingers, I enter the code. The little screen turns green and the door clicks open. I stumble inside, not sure if I want to sit down or take something to ease the pain first. Since the edges of my vision start to go dark, the former might be a good idea to begin with.
I reach the examination room closest to me and lower the table until it’s my height. I should’ve learned by now, that sitting down is not a good idea, nothing really is when your back’s been shredded. I’m not even surprised when I have to hurry to the closest trashcan and vomit.
I retch until there's nothing left, the violent convulsions slowly coming to an end. I’m a trembling, sweaty mess. I wipe my mouth clean with the back of my hand and carefully sit down on the table, counting my breaths.
I got this. I’ve been through this before. I can do this.
I hold onto the table and carefully turn my neck to look across my shoulder, lowering my nightgown until it’s around my waist, biting through the fabric that sticks into the wounds, and see the damage that has been done.
It could be a sickly coincidence, but there stands a mirror right in my line of sight.
Heatwaves flush through me. I think I’m going to be sick. Again.
Shit.
This looks bad. And that is an understatement.
I have gone through the motions a hundred times at least, but this? He’s never gone this far. Calling Doctor Herbert would be the wisest idea, but I have to try it on my own first.