A/N: Short chapter. But this was a fun challenge as I tried to use and avoid certain words and/ or literary techniques. Hope you like it despite the subject matter.
Chapter 10: Finding the Breaking Point
Continuation of the last chapter, "Complication". Warning: Heavily implied torture.
Blood trailed along the cement floor, trickling alongside uneven lumps in the surface, seeping into cracks in the foundation. The maze of warm bloodstain complemented its already eerie, stony environment, contrasting the frigid hues of the floor beneath it. Deathly silence echoed through the confinement aside from the occasional muted thump of perhaps a door opening or closing in an adjacent room, amplifying its 'ambiance' by smothering any solace that might be found in its depths. Quiet, pained breaths whispered unevenly from the center of the room where laid the source of the red fountain.
Sweat and crimson matted dulled blonde to pallid skin. Shallow tears and lacerations blotched what used to be a white over-shirt, now covered in dirt and grime from the extensive time spent on the filthy floor with multiple holes gaping through both of the two shirts, exposing angrily puckered flesh and bloodied welts that mottled the owner's bony torso. A myriad of contusions further marred the pale tissue with brilliant blooms of purple and green, many areas of which were accompanied by generous swelling in response to the abuse endured. And while difficult to ascertain from the surface, there was a morbid certainty that the entire mess housed multiple breaks and fractures, many of which greatly hampered the ability to move and protect from further harm. Not that protection was easy to come by in the first place. Ragged cloth binding the wrists and ankles saw to that, only digging deeper into the already compromised skin with every jerking movement whether voluntary or visceral.
Dimmed green eyes, red with irritation stared blankly at the floor before them, slowly leaking what tears remained. They had cried so much within the past few days, there was hardly anything left. Yet somehow, despite all logic, tears were still produced, exiting their confines anytime a new addition of pain was introduced. But while tears escaped, cries did not. The voice was tired of reasoning, tired of pleading. Tired of screaming. Little good it did anyway, as a wadded cloth stuffed in the cavity of the mouth effectively kept the tongue back, stifling all sound that could be produced to an incoherent mumble. In addition, the location in which the stage was set seemed removed and unknown. A dark secret kept from anything or anyone nearby, and the only pair of ears that could listen to the shouts were turned away, choosing deafness over conscience.
Perhaps if endured long enough, the captor would relent, release their prey in frustration. But that seemed unlikely. The occasional break for a small portion of much needed sustenance was still given, indicating the assailant did not seek death but merely compliance. And the stomach had yet to learn to starve itself, greedily taking in the meager nutrients as quickly as they were provided. Also, if the persuasion ever got too aggressive, care was issued immediately as necessary. On more than one occasion had sutures been administered by one of many possessed lackeys, mindlessly following orders and partially repairing the broken flesh with surprisingly expert skill. However, anesthesia was off the table, leaving the repetitive entrance and exit of the curved needle to elicit raw agony from its recipient. The numbing agent in the antibacterial paste used post procedure was greatly appreciated however, even if its covering bandages felt a little too tightly applied. Taking all things into account, there was little evidence suggesting an early release would occur. Any hope that had been was steadily being reduced to the rubble of broken dreams.
A set of footsteps trod evenly across the hard surface, waking the broken captive from an uneasy, pain induced sleep. Exhausted green eyes looked up to defiantly meet the gray that came to hover above them. The steel cold eyes were framed by an equally unpleasant hood, covering all but the large frown that graced the abuser's lips. Bending down, the masked captor brusquely gripped the victim's blood smeared jaw in a gloved hand before repeating the same refrain issued at the beginning of every meeting. The younger of the two only glared in response, to which the other sighed before thrusting the captive aside, stalking angrily to the edge of the room upon where another instrument of interrogation was procured. Perhaps this time would yield different results.
However,
Both knew otherwise.
A/N: "fluoroid, don't you ever write anything happy?" LOL Not often. Besides. It's labeled angst and rated T. You all knew what you were getting yourselves into. ;) Thanks for reading, hope you're still enjoying the maddening heartbreak, because I'm not done writing it.