66. Leandra
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
I scream those words in my head, I think I scream them out loud too.
Pain is everywhere. Radiating from my back, searing through my nerves like a wildfire.
My skin feels like it’s been stripped away entirely.
I try to move, but my wrists and ankles are bound too tightly, and the ropes have cut into my flesh so much that they’re covered in blood.
My breath comes in shallow gasps, each inhale sending a fresh wave of agony through my body.
I blink, and my vision is blurred by both tears and sweat.
The room is dimly lit, the flickering light of candles casting grotesque shadows on the walls. The air is thick with the scent of incense that almost suffocates me with the intensity.
“Water,” I croak, my throat dry and cracked. “Please… water.”
Zayn’s voice cuts through the haze of pain, cold and unfeeling. “No.”
I turn my head slightly, my neck stiff and aching. Zayn sits in his wheelchair beside me, his massive frame looming over me. His dark eyes are fixed on my face, devoid of any sympathy.
“Christ was not permitted a drink during his trials,” he says, his voice like gravel. “Neither shall you.”
I grit my teeth, anger flaring through the pain. “Fuck you,” I rasp, my voice trembling. “Fuck you, and your twisted fucking rituals.”
Zayn doesn’t react. He just watches me, his expression impassive.
Behind me, I hear movement. The soft shuffle of feet, the rustle of fabric. My heart pounds in my chest, panic rises like a tidal wave.
“Gabriel,” Zayn says, his voice calm. “Continue.”
I tense, my body instinctively bracing for what’s coming.
The first strike lands on my back with a sickening crack. Pain explodes through me, white-hot and blinding. I scream, my voice raw and desperate.
“Stop!” I beg, tears streaming down my face. “Please, stop!”
Gabriel doesn’t respond. The second strike comes, and I feel something sharp tearing into my flesh. Thorns. The flogger is embedded with thorns, ripping through my already flayed and burnt skin.
I scream again, my body pulling desperately against the restraints. Blood trickles down my sides, warm and sticky, pooling beneath me on the cold stone.
“You’re doing well,” Zayn says, his voice almost soothing. “You’re proving yourself.”
“Go to hell!” I shriek, my voice breaking. “Both of you, go to fucking hell!”
Gabriel tuts softly, his voice calm and detached. “Such language,” he says. “You must learn humility, Leandra.”
The third strike lands, and I feel my skin splitting open, the thorns digging deep into my flesh. I scream until my throat is raw, my body trembling uncontrollably.
“Please,” I sob, my voice barely a whisper. “Please, stop…”
Zayn leans closer, his face inches from mine. His breath is hot against my cheek, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “This is your test,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “Your soul must be purified.”
I shake my head, tears streaming down my face. “I can’t… I can’t do this…”
“You can,” Zayn says, his voice firm. “And you will.”
Gabriel strikes again, and I feel my body arching against the restraints, my muscles straining against the pain. The thorns tear through my flesh, leaving jagged wounds that burn like fire.
“Please,” I beg, my voice hoarse. “Please, just… water…”
Zayn shakes his head. “No.”
I scream again, my voice breaking. The pain is unbearable, consuming every inch of my being. I feel like I’m drowning in it, like it’s pulling me under, suffocating me.
Gabriel continues to flog me, each strike sending fresh waves of agony through my body. I lose count of how many times he hits me, the pain blurring together into one endless torment.
“You’re strong,” Zayn says, his voice almost approving. “Stronger than you realize.”
“Fuck you,” I rasp, my voice trembling. “Fuck…”
Gabriel strikes again, and I feel my muscles spasming uncontrollably. Blood trickles down my back, pooling beneath me on the cold stone, but they don’t stop. None of it stops.
I lie there, unable to do anything but take one strike after another. Unable to do anything but beg, plead, and cry for mercy that I know they will not grant me.