“If I am not showing you any disrespect, you should offer me the same service. I can always refrain from giving you the answers you were desperately searching for,” no, I need to know why this is happening.
Swallowing deeply, I’m shaking my head vigorously, what more can I do. “I have my next question,” I say meekly, I just wish I wouldn’t tremble so much when he’s around.
“Okay, here are the rules. Three chances to ask a question I am willing to answer today. Waste them and I shatter your kneecap with my cricket bat. Get it right and I’ll only dislocate your shoulder, I think that’s fair,” cold hearted monster, that’s what he is.
“That’s hardly a fair trade, but I guess I have to take what I can get. You say they would have gone after my parents, would they have been collateral damage like me or was it something more?” He’s standing up and grabbing the bat, no, no, no. I have two more guesses. He can’t do it yet.
“Change of plans, one last guess,” he says coldly, twirling the bat in his hands.
“That isn’t fair,” I shout, anguish pouring from me like blood from an open wound.
“Life isn’t fair pretty girl and my bosses want me to take away the chance that anyone would ever call you pretty again. Would you class that as unfair as well, but then again it is about you and you are being rather selfish right now.” He’s positioning the bat on the floor and leaning his weight upon it as he stares me down. “Okay, Henleigh I’ll tell you a story and then you can tell me if you think it sounds fair, lie to me and I’ll burn your pretty little face down to the bone. The phantom will have nothing on you.” Pure, unadulterated fear, but worse than that is the curiosity. I want to hear this story. Have I always been this messed up?
“There was a young guy who was born inside a family where love was bought and not earned. Even as a child he had to work for any affection that he desired until he just stopped trying. He tried to impress them by joining the family business, but nothing worked. And then he met someone who gave their affection freely. He was dubious at first, it wasn’t like he knew how to recognise love but after a while this person broke through all of his defences.” He pauses for a second but I don’t think it’s for dramatic effect, more like he’s trying to find the right words. “They fell in love and would have given anything to make the other smile even if for a moment and then they were taken away from him. He watched them die, and he never recovered. Now tell me is that fair?” He stands up and walks off for a moment or two before returning with a candle.
Its flame is dancing and flickering freely, reflecting in his eyes. This is probably the only time I will ever see his eyes alight and it’s nothing more than a mirrored effect.
“None of that is fair, but the same can be said by anyone who isn’t happy with their life. You could say it’s unfair that you’re an unfeeling monster, whereas others may be envious of the reprieve from the pain they feel every day. If the answer is wrong, then fucking burn me, I don’t want to play your game,” I say as tears mingle with the blood still flowing from the cut on my cheek and dripping crimson onto the back of my hand.
“What would you say to the guy who watched the only person who ever gave him love and warmth die, how would you help them?” He’s so transfixed by the movements of the flame that I could probably catch him unaware and strike him hard enough to hurt, but it won’t free me.
“I’d say that although it sucks that he has to live alone once more and be without love, at least he felt it. It could happen again, it wouldn’t be the same, but it would still leave him breathless and help him live within the light once more. Instead of the dark despair I can imagine he’s trapped in, I was there and I escaped it. If I can, why can’t he?” I can’t even look at him, why is it necessary to strip me bare and make my deepest feelings bleed all over the floor. I think I’d rather the physical torture than this.
“Maybe you should have said that to him when you had the chance, but I imagine your eyes were his undoing, poor sod.”
“I have my question,” I don’t care how eager I sound or that he noticed it, I think I’m starting to figure this out.
“The floor is yours,” he says with a sweep of his hand as he squeezes the bat and prepares for his swing. Even going as far to rest it against my knee.
“I’m guessing the guy in your story was Damon and if I’m right in my assumption then the only thing I have to ask is... were Damon and my brother lovers?” Cruel irony if I’m right, the only thing I’m not sure of, will this earn me a dislocated shoulder, or a shattered knee.
He lifts the bat above his head, ahh shit I asked wrong and I’m not even going to get an answer am I?
He brings it down and slams the end of the bat into my shoulder, I can’t help but cry out and he doesn’t stop until he has pulled my arm out of its socket and I’m a quivering, crying wreck.
TWO
A WEEK HAS PASSED and I’ve learnt that my parents aren’t innocent in this and I’m paying for their sins as well, I just don’t know why. I know that Damon and Elliott were together, and they had been planning to do a runner, but
clearly that never came to pass. Dante feels no guilt over what he does and I don’t notice any joy in his actions either. That being said, I prefer having him hurt me than Finley. He came down yesterday and I haven’t recovered, not physically or mentally.
I hurt so much and there’s this dripping noise that won’t cease, it’s driving me crazy. The door is opening again and I cannot take it, the creaking is my very own death song. I can’t stand the way I’m flinching, cowering and whimpering. This isn’t me or at least it wasn’t, they’re destroying me and it’s worse than anything that was thrown at me over in Padstow. Two years compared to one week. Oh yeah that’s how bad this is.
“I suppose Finley got carried away, that’s the problem when emotions rule your actions,” he’s tutting but I can’t bring myself to look at him, I'd rather just shut myself away and become immune to everything else.
His fingers slide beneath my chin and what more can I do but squeeze my eyes closed, I can’t look upon him and I hate the way the tears fall unbidden and refuse to stop or even slow their descent on my cheeks.
His fingers glide across my cheek, I can feel his callouses brushing against my skin but I can’t take his hands around my neck. I’m trying to pull away but he grips my chin, no doubt bruising me in the process.
“Can you talk?” His hand passing over the bruises on my throat, sends chills coursing over me and I croak out a “no,” it hurts too much.
Finley’s handy work, strangling me until I can no longer cry out, slicing my arm until it’s some macabre blood stained tattoo. By the time it heals the scars will probably be thick and ugly, I guess I won’t need to waste money on a tattoo.
“It will be over soon, it’s a shame you can no longer ask your questions but seeing the state you’re in, I’ll give you one for free,” listening to his footsteps as he walks away and I can’t help the exhale that escapes me now that he’s no longer touching me.
I can hear a kettle boiling and more and more whimpers are escaping, he’s going to burn me! Can’t I just have one day where I don’t get broken and bruised? Is that too much to ask, because I do not think it is.
“Relax, it’s just a drink. It should help to soothe your throat a little,” he says, and I have to open my eyes now because his words are not computing in my mind.