3. Queenie
I’m unsure how long I have been here. My whole body hurts. Each breath I take feels like agony. My right eye must have swollen shut because I can’t open it anymore, and it hurts terribly and throbs. The left eye isn’t doing much better. My eyebrow needs stitches. The blood from it isn’t stopping and flows directly into my eye, which stings and burns. I keep trying to shift my head differently, but it’s useless. Each movement hurts with my arms out of their sockets, but I can’t dwell on that. At some point, I stopped fighting everything. I close my eyes and picture the one person I want. Every masked man has become Joker. At some point, it brings me pleasure rather than pain. However, I cannot tell if it’s blood or semen that is dripping down my butt crack.
Little did I know that this would end up working to my advantage. They didn’t enjoy me finding pleasure in their torture. So I turned into their punching bag from frustration, which has me wheezing with every breath I take. That thought makes me smile, making my dry, cracked lips bleed. Maybe they will kill me because I want to die. I no longer have the will to fight any longer. They have accomplished it. They have broken me.
I believe I am close to accomplishing my goal. The last guy got so frustrated with me that two others had to come to pull him off of me. It didn’t help that I might have made fun of him because his cock couldn’t get hard. It was the only way I could think of to arrange my death. This isn’t my ideal way or place to die, but it doesn’t matter. My opinion doesn’t matter and isn’t even being taken into consideration.
All I can do is hope that someone will avenge me. However, it makes me pause that my brothers and Joker won’t even know what happened to me. We were disposable, and we all knew there were risks with any mission we went on. My mother will act like something with the mission went horribly wrong. Then, there is no blood on her hands. It is hard to fathom that a mother could do this to her child, let alone arrange it. There is not one doubt in my mind about who orchestrated this mission. This is a worst-case scenario for a female agent. This is the type of torture men do to those smaller and weaker than themselves. Insert dominance over them. It isn’t as much for pleasure as proving who is weaker. Right now, I am the weakest.
Even if I get out of here, I will never tell my brothers everything that happened to me. Most of these details will stay inside of me. A lady must have her secrets. Sure, I will tell 25% to get them on board for killing her. She is going to die, and I can’t wait to arrange the meeting between her and the devil, here to hoping that he shoves his pitchfork up her ass. The thought of cutting her up piece by piece motivates me to stay alive. Once again, that thought makes me smile, and I laugh slightly, coughing and screaming out in pain. The cough wins, and I spit out blood and hope that it’s just from my mouth and not my lungs, but I have doubts.
Does one go through stages of grief with one’s own demise? Denial-check, anger-check, bargaining-check, depression-check, and now I have made it to acceptance. I accept the fact that this is the end. I am stuck looking up at the rain-stained ceiling chained to a bed. Maybe I can ask them to take me to the window in my last moments. There is probably a sewage facility or something equally terrible outside the window. That would be my luck. I laugh once more because how could it not be?
A small part of me still stays hopeful, making my plans if I get out. That voice is getting quieter with time, though. However, if she thought I would keep quiet and not tell my brothers, she underestimated me unless she thought of a way to keep me quiet. I don’t doubt that. She is the master at winning. Maybe I could pretend until I could get close enough to kill her. She better sleep with one eye open. “Yeah, I am going to dagger it,” I say to nobody, but it helps morale.
I don’t remember falling asleep. My good eye shoots open when I hear the sounds of screams coming from the distance. I grin. Someone is my avenging angel, and I know who it is in my heart. My heart pounds loudly in my chest with my growing excitement, and I smile as the door opens. I can barely see him. My vision is distorted, and I don’t know if I am imagining him. Maybe it’s just death coming to collect me, and the clever asshole knows how to get me to go with him willingly.
A moment later, Joker stands there leaning over me. Blood covers his face and body. My bloodied, avenging angel is here. He strokes my face with his bloody fingertips, and it makes me smile. “I got you.” He tries to be gentle with the cuffs, but I know there is no easy way to go about it. He releases my right arm first, and it jerks my left arm, and I cry out in pain. My wheezing gets worse, but then blackness takes over.
When my eyes reopen, I blink the best I can to ensure I see things correctly. J is now carrying me bridal style over dead, bloody bodies. I pretend he gifted them to me as a present. “Best fucking present ever.” I think the words, but clearly, I said them out loud because his eyes were on me.
“Queen, let’s get you home.” I am covered in blood, sweat, and cum, but his eyes on me soften, and I feel beautiful for a second or at least treasured as he cradles me to his chest. I lift my arm weakly, noticing he must have popped it in place. It hurts to move it, but I don’t care. He stops, and we take each other in as my hand reaches up and strokes his face and beard. Somehow, the blood of my enemies that covers them makes me smile even bigger.
He truly is here, and I sigh in relief. “Don’t let them see me. I don’t want them to see me like this.” My voice comes out so quietly that I’m unsure if he hears me. Every word I speak hurts my throat like I swallowed shards of glass. I cough again, and I try not to wince in pain.
“I got you.” He holds me tighter, and I smile and close my eyes, knowing he won’t let anything happen to me.
I startle awake when I feel the cold tile against my cheek. I look up to see Joker stripped down to his boxers. As he adjusts the temperature, steam comes from in front of him. His back shouldn’t be sexy, but it is muscular, scarred, and tattooed. He turns around and looks at me with his eyes softening. As he walks over, he gathers me back into his arms and sits down, holding me on the tiled shower floor and placing me under the running water. He washes me with a gentleness that I didn’t know Joker could possess, treating me like I am made of glass. Normally, I would hate it. Right now, I love it and close my eyes as I relax against him.
As fucked up as it is, it is a perfect first shower under the circumstances. He sits me between his legs, my head on his chest. His heartbeat anchors me, calming me. I could be happy if this is my afterlife and not real life. The pain keeps me from believing I’m dead. He lathers soap with one hand before running the suds down my body, not using a washcloth or loofah, but skin on skin. He checks every spot while washing their touches off me with soap and his hands, only moving me to rinse my hair.
He leans me against the steamy tiled wall. I watch him through the steamy glass as he pulls off his wet boxers. Of course, the steam blocks my view of his cock. The universe is the ultimate cock-block. I’ve always wondered what Joker is packing. Would it be as intimidating as he is? It would be a great disservice to womankind if he had a Tiktak cock. I hate the thought of him with anyone else. They probably don’t appreciate how lucky they are. Why am I thinking about his dick, anyway? Dick should turn me off after what happened, right?
He comes back inside the shower wearing sweats and a light grey t-shirt. In his hands, he holds a fluffy grey towel. Joker turns off the water and softly dries my body. I feel blood or water still trickling from me. I can feel it when he has me stand as it runs down my legs. When he pulls one of his t-shirts over my head and the towel drops, I look down and see blood. The pain was terrible before, but I think every step is making it worse. I cough once more and cover my mouth. When I pull it back, blood drips between my fingertips. His eyes widen, yet I feel calm as I hold out my fingers. “Something wrong…” I frown as I look down at my legs and the floor to see the blood flowing more freely. My body sways, and my vision distorts.
“Oh, fuck.” Joker catches me as I fall, scooping me up in his arms before he takes off running. “Stay awake, Queen.” My eyes flutter, and I try to focus. “Damnit, Queen, fight it!”
I try with all my might, but I cannot stay awake. With one eye still unable to open, my good eye works overtime, trying to stay open and awake. However, it doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. I want one more look at his face before my time’s up. At least I got to say goodbye once more.