I didn't mean to make a sound, but the pain was worse than I expected. The last time I'd been beaten like this, I'd been about eight. Papa was back from the war and attempting to take his place as head of the family again. I'd been a willful and stubborn child, something he tried first tried to talk and then to beat out of me. I can't even remember what led us to that point, but I remember the pain. And I remember the anger and the sheer fury that someone was trying to impose his will upon me. I remained tight-lipped, shivering on the straw long after Papa had thrown down his belt and returned to the house.
I remember slowly dressing, still resolute in remaining silent, and I remember walking out of the woodshed and into the woods. It was almost two days before they found me. It had been a miracle I didn't die from exposure or get eaten by an animal. The doctor tended me and three days later, a representative from the State arrived and I left with him, destined for a private school for gifted children. I didn't know that at the time. I thought that I was being sent away, my final punishment for daring to show my will.
There I learned a different sort of pain, at least until I learned to play their game and know what they wanted. And I learned love, not at the soft and gentle hand of a woman, but from the hard, often uncaring hand of a man. And I preferred it. With five younger brothers and sisters, I'd always been the last on the list to receive any attention from my mother. I knew she loved me; she just didn't have time for me. But someone did and I reveled in it, welcoming it, letting it mold and shape me into the man I was destined to become.
When I confronted my parents and told them of my choice, Papa raged and Mama cried. "What did I do wrong?" she sobbed over and over again.
"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you so eagerly shipped me away." It wasn't fair and it wasn't right, but I was still young and arrogant… and very stupid. It took me a long time to mend those fences.
I'd looked Mother Fear in the eye and told her I had no regrets or guilt when it came to my mother. So, perhaps I deserved the beating she gave me for I was most certainly lying about that.
I heard rather than saw Napoleon coming into the cell. To be honest, I hurt too much to care. Even the muscles Mother's whip hadn't licked ached from the beating she'd given me. And I didn't need to see the damage that Napoleon reacted to; I knew it was there, every throbbing bit of it.
What surprised me was Napoleon's gentleness. He moved so carefully, knowing that the slightest touch set my nerves raging with fresh pain, determined to do the best he could to ease my agony. He wanted me to move, I wanted me to move, but my body refused, proving to me who was ultimately in charge.
The cloth he held to my skin was cold, but came away hot and sticky. Mother's left and right hand goons appeared and I was silently delighted. It meant for now I could rest, just like I did in the forest - rest and regroup.
Napoleon paced, immediately attempting to concoct a means of escape. I think it took him nearly a full ten minutes to realize any escape attempt would be without my participation or accompaniment.
He settled back down, rendering what little aid he could. I was taken by both his patience and tenderness. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd patched me up or I him. He knew the bite of a whip and the results. At least he'd been allowed the dignity of being whipped by a man who understood the rules of engagement. It wasn't from anger or insanity, but from a need to demonstrate discipline to all involved. I'd not had that luxury.
"Are you going to be able to travel?" he asked, wringing pink water from the cloth into the sink.
"When the time comes, yes." One way or the other, I'd make my legs cooperate, if nothing more than to plant a slug between that woman's eyes. I don't usually kill in anger or out of vengeance, but for her I'd make the exception.
"Try and get a little sleep." Napoleon helped me stretch out, the movement sending more fire shooting as exposed nerves and tender flesh were stretched. Again, I moaned, without meaning to, without wanting to. The woman had accomplished what very few men before her had - given my pain a voice.
"Shh," Napoleon murmured. He leaned over and blew on my back, cooling the sting down to a manageable state. He draped the cloth over my back again and began to massage my temple. I'd been with many men in my life and more than a few women, but I'd never felt such tenderness before, never felt a touch as loving as his.
"I wish…" I murmured, even before realizing I'd spoken.
"What? What do you wish, Illya?" Napoleon voice was easy, lulling me into a stupor.
"Nothing," I answered, after a long minute, more unconscious than not. But I swore to myself than when time for repayment came, I'd give him what I'd given no other person before. I'd show him just how gentle and compassionate I could be, show him a side of me that I kept safely tucked away and hidden from view. I'd show him love…