Chapter 30 #2
The greyscale tattoo depicts a demon and an angel embracing.
The words TRUE LOVE , in bold lettering, are inked beneath them.
Through the angel’s feathered wings, I can still make out the Sigil of Asmodeus just below the left side of his clavicle.
And despite his vast collection of tattoos, observing him this close up, they don’t hide all the scars…
some worse than others. My gaze traces the distinct V disguised within the large angel and demon piece.
A cut he’s made more than once, judging by the jaggedness of the raised scars left behind.
As I scan his body, I can’t help but wonder if he’s done all of this to himself…
Before my mind is able to imagine what darkness lies behind these scars, Cherry returns with the ice-pack and towel, and we carefully place the makeshift compress on his chest, moving it around his torso every couple of minutes while we change his bandages.
He barely stirs throughout the whole process, only slightly flinching when we move the ice towel.
“If these bruises are still bad in a few days, we can switch to a warm compress. The first few days, ice helps the swelling,” I say, once we’ve finished.
“But warmth will help him heal quicker once it subsides. I guess we’ll see what the vet says about wrapping his ribs or not.
We’ll need the guys to help with that if Legion is still out by the time she gets here. ”
“He’ll probably wake up soon,” Cherry says, collecting the garbage where we discarded the used bandages, packaging, and our gloves.
“I’m going to sit with him for a little while,” I say.
I’m not eager to face off with my husband again, and he’s dealing with whatever MC business he’s got going on in the conference room down the hall, anyway.
“He could use some more time with this ice, and it should be moved every couple of minutes.” I remember Legion once expressed an interest in Reiki, back when we first met, and he showed up at the Ametrine Cauldron a short time after.
Now seems like an appropriate time. There’s not much else I can do to help him.
I wait for Cherry to leave the room before I try to focus on sending him healing energy and carefully place my hand on his bare shoulder, over the half-skull fortune-teller portrait tattoo there.
His skin is alarmingly warm to the touch, now that I’m no longer wearing gloves, and I wonder if it’s a side effect of the antibiotics he was given last night, or something more serious.
Though I try not to think back on specific memories, I do recall running high fevers after Jack’s beatings on a few of the more severe occasions.
I hope Legion’s fever is not indicative of something more serious.
As I hover beside him, my gaze wanders to his face.
Even in a state of drugged sleep, the hint of a pained scowl strains his sharp features, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of his physical condition or if it’s his tormented soul unable to find rest, even now.
The thought distresses me, and I’m suddenly aware of the erratic beating of my heart as a swell of conflicting emotions begin to roil within.
Dean isn’t wrong about anything he’s said.
Legion is the root cause of so much turmoil, and he would have killed the man I love had Dean not gotten through to him.
I can’t deny the fact that Legion is vicious, cunning, and dangerous…
That he’s been a lethal, strategic enemy in the past…
But I’ve experienced his softer side… I know it exists, and I believe him when he says he is remorseful…
that he wants redemption. I shouldn’t trust him…
Yet for some strange reason, I think I always have, to some degree, even before he shot his own brother…
The fact that I do trust Legion feels like I’m betraying Dean.
The weight of this, perhaps not-so-secret admission , feels as though it might crush me, when something that hadn’t occurred to me until this moment flitters into my thoughts…
If I forgive Legion…if I say those words out loud…
would he leave ? Disappear from our lives?
His self-inflicted mission… accomplished?
An odd, quiet dread seeps into my soul…followed by another crushing wave of guilt.
Tears sting my eyes, and I force my mind to imagine what life with Dean and Ace will look like without the looming shadow of Legion’s presence lingering on the perimeter of our lives…
Dean would be elated…and it wouldn’t take Ace long to move on… But I…
I choke back a quiet sob as the very thought of this scenario only elicits a heartbreaking emptiness that shouldn’t exist within me at all… I wanted to share in the relief Dean would feel…but I do feel something for Legion…something I’ve tried to bury deep in a pit of denial and ignore all along.
Shame scorches my heart, pumping turmoil through my veins like a poison.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears to spill and run down my cheeks.
I have to forgive Legion. I have to make him believe I do.
And if he chooses to leave and disappear from my life, at least it will be his choice, and he will be free, too.
I remove my hand from his shoulder to wipe away the tears and move the cold compress from his chest to his lower abdomen. The adjustment causes him to jolt, but he doesn’t awaken.
“ I’m sorry ,” I shakily whisper, unsure if I startled him. “You’re safe, Damien… I’m not going to let anybody hurt you ever again…”
His lips part, releasing a slight groan, then a whimper. He twists his face toward me, perspiration from the fever glistening on his tense brow and upper lip. I gently pat his face with a cool, damp rag, reassuring him once again that he’s safe.
“ Lies…” he whispers, before his jaw clenches and his eyes screw tighter, squeezing out a single tear.
It slips down his chiseled face, and I carefully wipe it away.
“ You knew…” he whispers again…a voice riddled with such pain, I no longer believe it has anything to do with the current state of his physical injuries… “You knew… You did this to us…”
W here the fuck am I…It’s cold…Why can’t I move…
A gritty cement floor scratches my bare knees while rough hands grip my face, squeezing painfully around my clenched jaw. Another rips my head back by my hair.
“Open up, you little bastard… You know this makes everything easier… Loosens you up…”
No… No… What is this? I’ve escaped this… Why am I back here? How?
Fingers continue to dig into my face, and the metallic tinge of blood seeps between my molars, coating the sides of my tongue. I attempt to thrash and jerk away, but my arms are bound tightly behind my back at the biceps and wrists.
I can’t move… I can’t escape… Have I died and gone to Hell?
I jerk my jaw free of the man’s brutal grip and seize the opportunity to glance down at myself on my knees in the mostly dark.
This young, emaciated, un-inked body tressed up in bondage isn’t mine… Not anymore, it isn’t…
Wake up! Wake the fuck up!
Something is pulling me… Some dark force…dragging me deeper into my own tormented subconscious…
“I just need a few goddamned pictures of you in this gear! That’s all!”
But that’s never all…
This went on for years, but I never lost my will to fight back. Besides, he likes me pretty … He won’t break my teeth or cause any physical damage. At least, nothing permanent.
A large, menacing hand pinches my nostrils closed and wrenches my head back again.
I’m in a losing battle. I’m barely fourteen again. Maybe one hundred pounds to his two hundred and fifty. He’ll have his way with me again, but I won’t go down on his terms… I won’t go down without a fight…
Unscrewing my eyes, I glare up at him defiantly from behind the domino mask, clenching my jaw even tighter despite the pain. I’ll hold my breath until I black out just to spite him!
Angered, he forces the rim of the glass between my lips, and it clanks grittily against my teeth.
“Come on! I don’t want to hurt you!”
Lies.
“It’s just a couple of pictures!”
More lies.
Burning pressure builds in my chest as I fight the increasing urge to exhale and gasp for breath.
It’s always dark in this cement dungeon, but my vision is becoming spotty. I can hardly make out the cinderblock walls or the extra camera equipment set up in my peripheral vision anymore.
“Stubborn little asshole,” he grunts, before the toe of his boot slams up into my groin.
Blinding pain causes my jaw to slacken involuntarily.
Wind from my lungs rushes past my lips. Before I can suck in air, he forcibly pours the foul, bitter-tasting liquid into my mouth, then shoves my jaw shut again.
Whatever it is, it burns the small cuts inside my cheeks, and I push as much of it as I can through my teeth with my tongue.
Warm liquid dribbles out of the corners of my mouth, down my throat and the leather-studded collar secured tightly around it.
Angrily, he shoves away from me, storming back toward the cameras.
I choke on what managed to trickle down my esophagus while attempting to catch my breath.
Without him crowding me, I’m able to glance around the basement.
There’s a new piece of strange furniture he’s dragging toward me.
It screeches against the floor. Some kind of wooden bench with leather cuffs at the base of each leg.
He turns back to me, hooking his fingers into the metal ring of my choker, and violently hauls me to my feet, eye level with his sweaty chest. I stagger forward, my legs too weak from lack of circulation, and he shoves me face down onto the bench.
“Don’t move.” The threat of further violence in his tone is unmistakable. He loops another strap across my lower back, tightly securing me to it. “You earned this punishment tonight… And you’re lucky there’s a market for this, too.”