The reality of beauty's beast.
Chapter one
He was cold, feeling anything anymore had become a luxury long since lost to him. At first he was certain that it could not have been a good sing to lose all feeling with in one's body, however overtime and after multiple Severe beating one learns not to look a gift hours in its fucking mouth. You took the bad with what little good you could and you were grateful that you were a lot such a small reprieve from the trauma your body was desperately trying to sort through, catalog and inform you about all at once. God but one you ask if life could get any worse it is not supposed to take it as a challenge and show you. I can assure you I was quite aware of life's ability to screw you over. When life gives you lemons chances are hey are poisoned as well.
Shivering so hard his teeth clanked together they threatened to shatter from the harsh treatment, he coughed. Great not only could he feel the cold but he probably had one as well, ribs attempting not to snap under such volatile convolutions he tried to calm his breathing in hopes of stopping the coughing fit. Lungs desperately trying to supple the body with the much needed oxygen they were less then cooperative with his desire to calm down and slow its intake of living supplying air. Well ain't that the ironic twist inside an oxymoron for you. He needed his body to calm own and listen to him so it can breathe and relax and all his body could do was panic and convulse in the most unhelpful manner it could think of. Finally calming his coughing fit enough to breathe he turned his focus to assessing the damage done to his body this time.
With a shuddering inhale of foul tasting thick air he took note of what hurt and why. Pushing passed the cold numbing his body he could feel ever hit, break, tear, cut and burn inflicted into and onto his person. It was too much all at once everything swirled inside his head making him dizzy and nauseated, he knew he had to hurl but where? He was lying on his left side his shoulder dislocated and he was pretty sure his wrist was broken, with three cracked ribs on his right and a broken leg that he was pretty sure had the bone sticking out but did not want to think about. How was he supposed to throw up and not end up laying in it? He had been through hell and he could admit he was defeated but he was NOT going to be reduced to laying upon his on filth. Feeling the bile burn as is slowly, so agonizingly slow, made its way up his esophagus he waited until it was right at the back of his throat. Gathering what little fight he had left inside himself and what strength his body could offer he lifted his head up and over five inches and allowed his stomach to expel it protest to the pain. It was far enough, after he was sure he had nothing left to give he coughed and shuddered as he allowed his body to fall over and back. His head made a small thud as it hit the stone floor.
Well hell in a hand basket, this was turning into quit the picnic and he could not wait for the fun to end. Thinking that all this movement and coughing could not be good for his lungs or broken ribs, turning on to his back seemed the logical decision, unless a punctured lung sounded like the cherry toping event to push this theme park ride over the edge. He was of the opinion that no, it just seemed to anticlimactic to die by punctured lung so he would stick around a while if you don't mind. After all droning in one's blood was just so cliché, he would just have to wait to die preferable in a more dramatic and heroic fashion after all if he was going to die he wanted to take the basterd responsible for all this down with him. Focusing what little movement he still had on rolling his body he started pushing with his left arm and leg and screamed, he did not even know that he could still yell let alone scream in complete agony and desperation. He guessed a shattered left leg and a broken right one could still produce such a reaction out of any one regardless of their state of being. He knew that asshole had done some damage to his right leg with that damned hammer of his but the left was a surprise, it explained why could had not felt anything from it though. It was completely decimated he could tell because it was his whole leg from the tips of his toes to his hip bone that told him he was holding nothing but fragments of college and calcium. God was he ever glade he could not see for he was sure the site of his leg being no more than a saggy bag randomly bulging this way and that with torn muscle, fluid and other pieces of himself would have made him sick all over again.
So it seemed as if moving at all for whatever reason, life threatening or not, was a no go. Oddly enough (and call him crazy) he was just dandy with that. Right about now that punctured lung was looking pretty promising now if only he could have that happen after he passed out from pain it would be a perfect solution. Well call him cynical but here's to hoping, if he had not felt his hole left leg when it was so destroyed what else could he not feel? Think. Think. Think god dammit think! Besides the hammer, there was the whips (yes plural), the bamboo canes (he would love to take one of those monstrosities to that ever loving basterds face), the knives and the… oh my lord. How could he have forgot the hot iron rods? That monster wanted to know how long it took to burn though a half demons flesh to the bone. Three red hot rod had been lined up on his back so clinically and expertly done so as if he was simply rearranging his personal belongings for decoration. That lunatic had laughed so jovially as he watch his precious toy scream and squirm.
That had been so long ago now. How long ago was that? He did not know he could not see and he was left to himself for a certain amount of time to heal and then taken out to "play" again. Nothing was timed or scheduled so he could not have followed the passage of time even if he could see past the pin long enough to try. He did know it had taken five full minutes for those rods to melt his flesh though, because when he passed out from the pain he ever so loving caregiver had kicked his jaw out and told him so with some distain. As if the time it took was not nearly long enough to his liking. He also knew that his dislocated jaw had taken fifteen minutes to heal because satins long lost son had found that fascinating and had spent, in his humble opinion, too much time breaking his body in every possible way he could and recording his healing time. Funny thing was his back never heal to his knowledge, he knew that after the rods his movements were even more limited but he could not tell why and for that he gave thanks. If his body could not protect him from everything he went through at least it could stop him from experiencing that pain as it tried to heal. He was positive that those rods had melted him down to his spine so being ignorant of that healing was a small gift from whatever god looked upon him with pity.
He was starting to go know and he knew that was not a good thing but her could not help feeling grateful for that. He was just so tired and wanted to sleep just a bit, even if that meant he might never wake up again. He was ok with dying he was almost desperate for death to embrace him as a loved one would and give him the peace he had so longed for since his childhood. He never understood why people where so afraid of dying, it meant nothing could hurt you any more, it meant you did not have to try anymore. It was a gift, the god's way of apologizing to you for making you live life. How could you fear the ultimate salvation? Well he guessed it did not matter in the end because regardless on your feelings on the subject everything could and would die eventually. Maybe he would finally get lucky and would not heal this time, maybe he would bleed out and finally sleep the eternal slumber. If he was lucky.
He started to feel a warmth spread throughout his being. it was warm and rich like hot chocolate during a snowstorm, it felt right and comforting. It worked a steady pules in his blood stream and it made his heat beat with a strong, thump, thump, thump. It made him feel like his wish would be granted if he just reach out for this warm feeling to embrace him outside as well as in. his head felt foggy but he knew it was trying so hard to tell him something about this warm rhythmic pulse. He felt his body tingle and his brain tried to remember what it wanted him to know, but he did not care he just wanted whatever gift this warm electric thrumming seemed to promise him. He took one deep breath and let that feeling wrap around his cold skin and throbbing skull. He started to feel sleep and his breathing felt heavier and slower, each intake needing more effort than the last. That was ok though because nothing felt bad anymore he was not even cold. Deep in his subconscious he could hear a deep rough voice growl its protests, he knew that voice it was always with him keeping him safe. What was it again? Taking one last heavy breath he remembered, that's right it was his demon.
In the deep recesses of his foggy mind his demon howled with the deepest rage and fullest sorrow because he knew they were finally dead.
