Hitting the table with his palms, he springs up to his full height and turns to face me. His eyes are black, not only in color, but in rage and pain as well.
“Finish it, or I’ll find someone to do it for me,” he growls.
I take his threat seriously. As much as I hate what he’s asking of me, I hate even more the thought of someone else hurting him. He knows I won’t let anyone else do it. It should be one of my brothers or myself. Grace did it because she was the only one here and he demanded it of her.
“Fuck, Emo.” I smash my teeth together and scrape my fingers through my hair. “You don’t have to do this anymore. You’re back is already torn to shreds.”
“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. It’s not enough.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
“I touched her. I’m the reason she’s dead. Now fuckin’ finish it.”
“Because you had no other choice.” I bellow.
The muscles in his neck bulge as he glares at me.
“I’m still the reason she’s dead, whether or not I hurt her willingly.”
The belt bites into my palm. There’s nothing that my brothers and I can say to ever change his mind. He’s hell bent on destroying himself.
“How many?” He’s leaving me no fucking choice but to give him what he wants.
“Five more.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
We stare at each other for several long moments before I give him a reluctant nod. I hate this shit so damn much. I hate that he’s making me do this. I hate knowing the pain he’s going to be in by my hands. I hate the pain he’s already feeling.
He turns and leans back over the table. The blood that’s dripping down his back reaches his butt and travels down his legs.
When I swing the belt back, it feels ten times heavier than what it is. I grip the leather strap so tight, my joints protest. Swinging it forward, it hits Emo square on the center of his back. I wince at the sound it makes, and I swear I feel the hit myself. Emo doesn’t move an inch. Not a twitch or even a sharp inhale of breath.
“Harder,” he demands harshly.
I grit my teeth as I hit him again with more force. Air whooshes out of my lungs, and I feel like I’ve just run ten miles.
He looks at me over his shoulder with a pissed expression, his black hair falling in his face giving him an evil appearance. “Stop fuckin’ around, JW, and hit me harder.”
I scowl at him as I rear back and slam the belt forward again, making sure to hit him in a new spot. This time, he hisses out a breath, and I spot the slight tightening of his back muscles. His head drops forward.
“Two more.” He grits out, his shoulders stiff. “Make them fuckin’ count.”
“Goddamn you, Emo,” I snarl, baring my teeth, and land a fourth blow against his lower back. Blood beads at the new laceration, trickling down his spine.
I’m sweating and breathing heavily. My head feels like it’s going to explode. And my heart, my damn heart is hammering so hard I hear it in my ears.
I crack the belt down one last time, then immediately drop it to the floor.
My hands go to my hair, and I grip it tight, pulling at the strands.
“Fuck!” I roar out in rage to the ceiling. If I didn’t love the bastard so much, I’d beat the shit out of him for making me hit him like that.
Emo sags against the table, the adrenaline coursing through his body finally running out. When his legs collapse and his knees hit the hard concrete floor, I rush over to him. Blood continues to seep from his wounds and there’s a fine sheen of sweat coating his body. I hoist him up by his arm and toss it over my shoulder.
“You’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself, Emo. It’s slowly killing you,” I tell him as we slowly walk to the stairs.
“You know I can’t, so stop wasting your breath.” He sounds weak and drained. Of not only energy, but life.