Desperate Lies (Lies 2)

I yank him up by the back of his shirt until he’s standing in front of me. I see the blood on his back, soaking his white T-shirt. That’s why they made him dress in white, so I could see the pain I inflicted on him.

When I look at him, face to face, I realize that he too got instructions somehow. He wouldn’t be staying here if he didn’t. He doesn’t want to lose his challenge, but tears are streaming down his cheeks.

“Welcome to my world,” I mutter sadly. This man would have broken a long time ago if he had to face my life. I’ve had a lifetime of this. He’s endured five minutes.

“Fight me, it will make it easier to take,” I say. That was a lesson I learned too late. I used to grow quiet, meek when my father raged on me. I used to just submit and obey. It took me too long to realize that it didn’t lessen my suffering. It didn’t make him hit me any lighter, and by submitting, I just felt helpless.

My eyes glisten with the truth.

I know he sees it.

He lifts his fists in front of his face, and I know he wants to fight me. But then he immediately drops them.

If I wanted confirmation that this is part of his challenge, I just got it. He’s not allowed to fight. I don’t know what his demons are, but this is part of it.

Jesus Christ.

This is sick.

But it’s him or me. And a twisted part of me knows this is for the greater good. If he were to win the whole game, he wouldn’t be able to take the bastard down. I would. I don’t have a choice but to win.

I ball my hand into a fist, giving him my only warning.

Say your damn safe word, and let’s end this.

He closes his eyes.

I sigh; that will just make his fear worse. His body won’t be prepared for the hit.

I swing with everything I have, aiming for the hinge of his jaw. I hear it crack. He falls back, blood spills from his mouth, and he lands hard on his ass.

I know how painful it is. I’ve broken my jaw before. It was a pain to reset and heal. The best way to do that is to stitch it shut for weeks at a time, not something I was willing to do. I assume that’s why my smile is more crooked than it ever was before.

I wait for him to move, for him to get back up so I can knock him down again. That will mess with his head and soul. That will defeat him quicker than any pain will.

But he doesn’t get back up.

I walk over to him and lean down, putting a finger to his neck.

There’s a pulse, but it’s weak. His breathing is shallow.

His eyes don’t open.

He’s unconscious.

I stand up and look around the room.

The card said to continue until he breaks. Until he uses his safe word.

The sucker is definitely broken, but he won’t be saying his safe word any time soon.

I’m the devil, but I’m not so monstrous that I’ll hit a man when he’s unconscious, especially a man whose sins I don’t know.

I take a deep breath. I’m barely breaking a sweat even though I’m still wearing a suit and living my nightmare.

“Mr. Pearce, you have a five-minute break. You can clear the room while we tend to Mr. Newman. Then we will continue,” the vile motherfucker’s voice says again.

The smoke fills my lungs and burns my eyes as I walk to the door at the back. Even though I can’t see, I walk straight to the door.