This chapter was incredibly hard for me to write. I was crying through half of it.
I hope you all enjoy.
- Teh SadoMasochist.
Alfred's face was stretched into that grin almost as if someone had frozen his face into that position, his hand swinging that pipe down onto my head with a surprisingly strong force behind it and making me fall away from the mirrors with a sickening crack of metal on bone. I can feel the white-hot throb of pain pulsing through me, the wet stickiness of blood slowly dripping from a wound created by that metal pipe and glomming my hair into matted, darkened clumps. He swings the pipe again and again and again, onto my head and back. I feel my nose break for the third time since entering Russia and I can feel the blood coming from my nose and head in small rivulets, but the white-hot needles of pain don't register in my mind as I watch the substance stain his black boots with red.
It's so cold. So much pain courses through my body, leaving me to twitch and shudder on the concrete floor of the windowless room. Fatigue eats at my sanity and all I can muster up the strength to do is curl into a foetal position, hiding my face. Please, no more blows to the face... There are no words for the betrayal, anger, and hurt I feel right now. But even more so than the pain, and the emotions flowing from my subconscious like the blood from my open wounds, is the imminent crushing blow of failure. The sinking anchor of intense shortcomings is what keeps me in position, even more so than the pain and the fatigue and the heaviness of my limbs. "D-dammit!"
The expletive runs raw from my throat, voice hoarse and cracking from the abuse that it's suffered- the abuse that I've suffered. Normally, I'd sit here stoically; bravely taking any and every blow while my teeth tear at the flesh of my lip, keeping any sound behind the pearly enamel of my teeth. It wouldn't do to amuse the bloody Russian bastard. He's been trying to break me for... How long has it been? Days? Weeks? Years? Decades? I've lost track of time.
I've bravely and stubbornly held onto my sanity, all but desperately clinging to the idea of whisking Alfred away from this dark, macabre place. How the Soviet wanker did it, I don't know, but his new "weapon" broke me in two- for the very boy I'd sworn I'd go to hell and back for, was the very cause of my excruciating pain. The energy to even cry out dies in me as, once more, Alfred's steel-toed boots connect with my ribs, my head thrown back and mouth open in a silent, tortured scream, eyes screwed shut. I can hear the groans and protests of my bones, feel the white-hot needles of stabbing pain through me as the cracking runs all the way up my body, resounding in my core.
The will to fight is all but gone... Decimated, as soon as my eyes connect with those damned baby blues.
I can't hurt him.
I could still hear myself screaming, unable to hold the sounds back. Not for Alfred. I vaguely realized just how much his blows were taking out of me, and my mind and body were beginning to disconnect and become different things. I reached for his boots even as the pipe crashed down upon me again, the numbness falling away from me and subjecting me to the deepest pain I had felt in centuries. More screams ripped from my lungs with every blow to my face. I'm going to die, I thought. I'm going to die in this wretched place. And I won't revive… Not being in Russia… No one will bring me back to England and my country will dissolve…
With that thought running through my mind, I fell completely silent. The blows peppering my skin didn't receive any screams, and the sound of hardly disguised laughing echoed through the room from my attacker; one I had loved with all of my heart since I had found him. I had always fought and gotten up and stayed quiet. I had always stoically sat and taken the blows out of a drive to be defiant and strong, but that strength was gone. I could feel the way the blood soaked my clothes and I could feel the way my body ached, but I was detached from myself. I was watching myself from a different point in the room. My entire life was running through my mind's eye as I slowly lost every coherent thought.
I could feel one last connection of the pipe to the back of my head. Tears ran from my eyes in pink-tinged rivulets. Boneless, I rolled onto my back. My eyes were stinging and vision tinged pink with the blood running into my eyes, but I could care less. The most curious sound was echoing through the room; a small, childish giggle that my fuzzy mind pondered the source of. It was different than the giggles Alfred had been emitting. The small disjointed giggles slowly crescendo into full blown cackling, the sound menacing. I wanted to plead for it to stop, gasping for air and arching my back whilst emitting breathless cries and… and laughter. I was the one making the hellish sounds. I was the one making those hellish sounds…
Cackles and cries were spewing from my lips as I fell to pieces, my mind hardly registering the fact that my body was now rocking from side to side. Eventually, I tipped to the right and all I could do was stare at the bloody, happy boy in the mirrors, cackling and crying and looking so, so broken…. The mirrors…. Th-the mirrors….
Due to Arthur still recovering from the stress and trauma of the situation, he asked me to step into this little memoir to continue writing this part in his place. He tells me he can't remember much of the times, and so I'll be going on with my own version of what had happened. You must understand, that as America I had not gone through nearly as much as Arthur had. Being barely 250 years old and hardly living through any of the tougher times that Europe had seen, I am the land of opportunity and optimism. I had never been tortured. I had never been hurt in the ways Arthur and I were being hurt. I had, essentially, foolishly and senselessly holed up inside my own head. Whatever Ivan wanted, Ivan got; it was the only way I could think of to stop the pipe from connecting with my skin. Thinking back on it….
Thinking back on that moment, watching Arthur roll around on the floor as he laughed, I felt an off sense of euphoria. He was one of us now- a Comrade. I had mistaken the desperate and thankless sound for happiness, and that 'happiness' was utterly infectious. Giggles bubbled up from my own gullet as Arthur's loud barks of sound grew in volume. I had turned to stare at the point where Ivan had been standing, but as I did so the laughter coming from me instantly stopped. The corner my Comrade had been standing in was utterly empty, the door closed. My breath hitched and my grip on the pipe slackened, though neither of us made any moves whatsoever at the sound of metal clattering against concrete.
Where was Ivan? That was the first thought that hit my mind. I did exactly as he asked! I did exactly as he wanted and he's not even here to tell me I did well! Ivan had promised me the world, telling me that if I had done as he said today I would be rewarded like no other time. I could feel my heart racing, my chest heaving with shallow breaths as I began to feel an uncomfortable panic wash over me. "No, no, no… No, no, no, no…."
I chanted the word almost as if it were a mantra as my feet moved of their own accord towards the heavy wooden door. I wrapped my fingers around the rusted iron bar attached to the weighted oak and pulled with all my might, but the sound of a chain and padlock rattled from the other side. If possible, my heart sank to the floor and the panic set deeper into my bones, much like as if a thin blanket made of ice was wrapped around me. Harder and harder I yanked, trying my best until I could feel my shoulders groaning in defiance and all the blood drain from the capillaries in my hands as my knuckles turned white. Arthur's laughing grew louder still as I pulled and I lost it, screaming at the door as I tried even harder to open the damned thing. "I did what you said! I was a good boy! I did what you said! Why did you lock me in? Why? I did good! Why am I being punished? I did good! I did good!"
I screamed until my voice was hoarse and tears were pouring down my cheeks in rivulets. The laughing grew louder and more deranged. "Oh, darling, you silly fucking pet! He's left you! He's left you and he'll never come back!"
Disbelief resounded through me and I pulled at the door again. "You're lying! Comrade wouldn't leave me!"
Arthur was lying, I could have sworn on that idea. Arthur was lying because my Comrade told me I would be rewarded for my good behaviour. Why would he abandon me and lock me away? For a moment, the world went silent and I could feel my eyes widen. In the reflection from the light of the room into the unbroken side of my glasses, I could see Arthur crawling brokenly towards the mirrors. I could see his chest heaving with giggles, though I hardly registered what I was seeing at the time and certainly didn't register the sounds bouncing off the walls. I watched as he leaned back, reaching up to the shards and smearing orange-red blood down the glass.
Sound quickly returned to me, like the bad reception on a television, and I dimly realized I was still screaming. The room was lost on me as I flew into a blind rage. All I could hear was my own furious screaming. All I could feel was my desperate pounding at the door. The amount of betrayal I have felt at being forsaken was more than words can describe… After all I had done to please Ivan. My mind had a single thought on replay—What have I done? What the fucking hell have I done? What have I done? What the fucking hell have I done?— I felt nothing but an immense hatred. An immense hatred for myself, an immense hatred for Ivan, an immense— What have I done?— hatred for the situation, and an immense hatred, even, to Arthur, for willingly— What the fucking hell have I done?— getting himself into this mess. The most prominent feeling I had was the hatred for myself, for letting my selfishness lead my actions and allowing myself to hurt him. This was— What have I done?— my fault, and I was damn well deserving of every ache and pain I felt.
My screams continued as I beat at the door— What the fucking hell have I done?— and I hated everyone. I hated myself, as I said, but I hated everyone. I hated, especially, the goddamned commie bastard that had gotten us into this mess. I couldn't stop myself from tearing at the door, some unformed thought somewhere underneath my panic telling me that if I couldn't tear it open then I might as well tear through the wood. The wailing screams continued to come from my lips as I screamed at Ivan and screamed at myself. I screamed, a horrible sound. I hated, a loathsome burn deep within the confines of my stomach. I cried, a pitiful wail that envied those of Arthur's banshees. And, as the wood splintered and began to dig deep scratches and pieces of wood into my hands, I bled. I bled because I deserved to.
The scene playing out behind me was lost, though thinking back on it now I distinctly remember these words being uttered in a shrill, childish voice after the giggles had stopped. "Goodbye, Mr. Mirror Man. May flights of angels bring you through your wake."
I was still reeling as the sound of shattering glass broke my rage if only for a moment. My fingers were on fire, impaled with splinters of wood. My flesh was torn away in chunks from the abuse both to my hands and to the door that I had been dealing— it left me giddy, in an odd sort of way. At least pain did not leave me when I was hurting. I watched shattered mirror rain down (Arthur's face upturned to the glass, smiling at the miniature rainbows they casted). My betrayal still sent thoughts of disjointed, confused and exhausted origins through my mind.
How is it? How is it possible? Did exactly… He left me…. Did exactly what he asked and he… How is it that I did…. I did what Ivan asked…. I did what Comrade asked…. He tossed me… Tossed me like a rag doll…. He left me…. Why? Used so badly… He used me so badly… All the pain… All the humiliation…. Was it for Ivan?... Comrade…. Got what he wanted… So many head games…. So many times…. Couldn't talk from screaming…. Couldn't…. Couldn't...
I slid down the door into a sitting position. My thoughts began to get more clearer as I pulled myself from the proverbial mental pit I had fallen into, gritting my teeth in anger. I beat up Arthur, for Christ's sake! My friend and lover! All for what? An extra meal? A blanket? Praise from someone that forced me here in the first place? Much more, praise from someone I hated with all of my heart? Definitely to get away from the pain. I guess I really was just that desperate to make it stop… But to what price? I could have just killed the only person who matters to me in the entire fucking world!
I tore at my hair with my mutilated hands, sniffling miserably. What kind of monster have I become? This is all because of me….
After this thought hit me, I was painfully aware of something missing from the chaos that was the mirror room. Laughter, it hit me suddenly. I looked up at Arthur, who groaned in pain and sank to a sprawled position across the floor. I don't believe he realized he said it, but the quiet murmur falling from his lips rang across the room clearer than any of his laughter had hit me. "I want my mirror man back…"
My melancholy turned into outright despair at those words and I felt tears course even faster down my face. Arthur, my Arthur, sounded so broken… I stared at the scene that had played out behind me, at first thinking I felt happiness. Nearly instantly after I thought that I squashed it down, the idea ludicrous to me. I could feel my eyes widening as terror hit me deeply in the chest, mixing with the darkest self-loathing as I stared at Arthur's battered body, curled into a foetal position on the floor in a puddle of his own blood and shattered glass.
My body trembled and my eyes ran with moisture as they burnt and swelled at the abuse of the salty water leaking through them. I raked my fingers through my hair, screaming as I brought the bloody digits down my face. No words were formed. Nothing could have been said to describe the anguish and disgust I felt, and so I simply… Screamed. I can't put an amount of time to how long I just sat there, crying and screaming. Hating myself. I hated myself more than I could ever possibly hate anything…
Eventually I calmed enough to decide on taking an action. Wincing, I pressed my palms to the floor. The bloody footprints around the room made my stomach lurch and burn. Oh god… Oh god those boot prints are my size… Oh my god… A-Arthur… I dug my fingers into the dirty concrete floor to keep myself focused, the pain stopping me from falling to the side and puking up what little food I had in my stomach. The pain successfully suppressing the urge to vomit, I began to crawl. I barely noticed the feel of the little glass shards grinding and cutting underneath my knees. That mild discomfort was nothing compared to the dark, acidic feeling eating at my stomach and chest.
Nothing could have been worse than that feeling or the sights I couldn't force myself to look away from.
Sitting back, I brushed my hands along my pants to remove the crumbles of glass from the skin. Not for my own comfort, never for my own; but because I was sitting in Arthur's blood, staring at him. I had to touch him, to see if he was all right. Slowly, so very hesitantly, I reached out and ran my fingers over the sandy, matted hair of Arthur's head. With every brushing touch over his hair I slowly moved myself closer and closer. Soon his head was in my lap and I was running my fingers through his hair and over the swollen discoloured flesh f his face. Every bruise I found brought a new wave of nausea and hatred crashing down over me. Staring at his tired face, I wondered how he could possibly manage to sleep like that— how he was smiling like that after all that I had put him through. I thought his face was stained with tears, but I realized shortly after noticing them that those were only mine as I sobbed above him, never once stopping my touches.
Before I knew it, I was the one with my back to the mirrors. "Arthur… Arthur… Arthur…"
The name became my new mantra as I sobbed over him. The mirrored wall behind me was not for my own support, no. The reason my back was to the mirrors was because I simply couldn't look at myself anymore. I had never stared at anyone with so much hatred. Arthur, stubborn even in his sleep, refused to cooperate with me as I tried to get him to uncurl so that I could further inspect the damage Ivan had done and the damage… I had done. It didn't matter, as I cradled him in my arms and lap so close that I'm sure I felt some semblance of warmth. I buried my face into that matted, dirty blonde hair and wrapped my arms so tightly around him. Even though my arms felt sore, but I wouldn't let him go for the world. The thought of letting him go terrified me. If I let him go, he'll slip away from me… If I let him go, he'll die…
I cradled him into my arms until the energy to cry left me. Sitting there in silence, I held him close as if he could slip away at any moment. Stewing in my anger, I heard my voice crack even as I murmured vows against his bruised cheek. Venom laced every single word that fell from my lips. "This… This is my doing… I c-can't deny my part… I'm so fucking sorry, dammit… But this is all Ivan's fault. This is Ivan's entirely fucking fault! I swear to you, right here and n-now, Arthur… I swear on my own life…. He will never see the light of day again because of what he's caused…"
My being trembled horribly with every word uttered. My rage mounted with each syllable… I had uttered the words not only to come to terms with what I had done, but also to promise that Ivan would pay several times over for what he had done to Arthur— for what he had made me do to Arthur.
There would be hell to pay.