So even if it earned me a slap across the face or a bruise on my arm as he yanked me forward, I was still going to defy them, because it was all I could do.
I stopped when I was a foot from him, smelling the stench of days-old sweat surrounding both humans.
A part of me used to feel bad for D, knowing he’d probably been brainwashed, warped and twisted into thinking what he was doing was somehow justifiable. But that pity faded pretty fast with the first hit, with the first snarl of cruel words.
He knew what he was doing to all of us, and he liked it.
“D, stop messing with it,” the other guard said.
It. That was what we were considered to them.
“You know Tore doesn’t want us talking to them.”
D lifted a hand to silence the other man. I saw a muscle tic under his jaw as he continued to stare at me. And then he took his hand and slid it through the bars, crooking his finger.
“Come closer, waif.”
It was my turn to grit my teeth at what he called me. I hated that, after all these years, that derogatory term toward me still got under my skin. But this particular guard liked making me feel like less than the dirt on the bottom of his boots.
I was about to take a step back, make him work for my pain, but before I could move, he leaned another inch, wrapped his meaty hand around my upper arm hard enough a gasp left me, and jerked me forward.
My chest collided with the bars, a cry being ripped from me as all that power surged from the metal and coursed through my frame. He had both my wrists in his hands now, forcing me to wrap my fingers around the bars.
I was helpless, because the pain was too great for me to fight. I was immobile, my entire body tense, tears streaking down my cheeks.
“Jesus Christ, D. Enough. Tore is gonna find out you’re playing with her and reprimand you.” The other guard’s voice was harder than before.
“Shut the fuck up, Q,” D snapped but didn’t look away from me. He kept his hand tightly wrapped around me, kept me pressed to the bars.
“I can’t help it,” D gritted out, low. “There’s something about this one.” His brows pulled together, and I refused to be the one to break eye contact.
Let him get off on my pain. I’d show him that I was still strong. I’m not broken.
He let me go but not before I reached out and grabbed a chunk of his hair, pulling him forward with the little strength I had left. I brought him in until his chest slammed against the bars. He cursed, and his arms shot out through the bars, but I stumbled back, breathing hard and glaring at him.
My cheeks were wet from my tears, my throat raw from the cries.
D’s anger was palpable, and the other guard shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable as he kept glancing down the cell block, as if he expected someone to catch them down here.
“We gotta go now, D.”
I glanced down at my hands, my palms blistered and red, inky black veins snaking up my forearms from the magic that had coursed through my veins.
The pain would fade. It always did, but the memory of it would be forever etched in my brain. It was a scar on me now and forever. Even though it healed, I’d be able to see it, run my fingers over it and feel it.
These moments were now a part of me.
I expected to hear the cell door opening, that his worry had manifested others, but when silence continued to build, I forced myself to look up, to hold D’s gaze.
“Seriously, D. We gotta get out of here. We’re not even supposed to be in this block right now.”
I kept staring, wanting him to see the fire flashing in my eyes. And when his nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw, I knew it worked.
“Look at you,” he murmured in a tone that had me freezing. It held a note of something else, something darker… more malicious.
It was desire.
“I bet you’re so thirsty, aren’t you.” He didn’t phrase it like a question, and he wasn’t speaking about a glass of water for my parched throat.