Chapter Five: Pain and Punishment

All the hours in the practice room I'd had to spend were merely a warm-up for the real punishment I would receive, and both Barthez and I knew it.

It was late now, way after the earlier beybattle, which we'd lost, because of me.

I didn't feel ashamed. I felt proud of myself. I felt that I had regained my blader spirit, somewhat.

Cheating was wrong. And if Barthez wanted me to cheat, then my only choice would be to disobey him.

And so I stood, leaning against the wall in Barthez's room, waiting in silence for him to come in.

All the rest of the team had been sent to bed—it would be just him and I, alone, like so many other times.

The moments flashed through my mind. All those times he'd touched me… And I so willingly let him without giving it thought. Was it wrong as well? Was there a connection…

My thoughts were instantly cut short by the swinging open of the door. Barthez then stepped in, closing the door behind him.

He stood so he was a few feet away, directly in front of me. His eyes narrowed as he looked into mine.

"So, Miguel. You know what you have done. What do you have to say for yourself?"

I knew he was giving me a chance to voice my opinion, but I also knew that I now faced a dangerous task. I spoke softly.

"Mister Barthez, I cannot cheat at beybattles anymore."

"So what you're saying is that my strategies aren't good enough for you? I what I plan beneath you?"

A hard question to answer. 'Yes' would be correct, but wrong, and 'No' would put me back to square one with no argument. I had to say yes.

"I'm sorry, sir, but yes—such schemes are beneath me, beneath any decent beyblader!"

I could see anger flaring in his eyes, as he shifted from foot to foot in what was probably an attempt to calm himself.

He said nothing for a second, just thinking. Then, he leaned forward.

"So my plans aren't good enough for you. Does that mean that I'm not good enough for you?"

I gulped lightly. I knew that was coming.

"No, I didn't say that…"

"Then why, Miguel? Why won't you follow my orders anymore?"

I could feel slight tears welling up. I didn't know what to do. So I just said what I felt.

"Because they're wrong. Only the weak and cowardly cheat at beyblading. And you have no right to—"

I was quickly cut off. Not by words, but by the sharp crack of Barthez's fist connecting with my face.

The force caught me by surprise, causing me to knock my head against the wall and slump to my knees.

"Weak and cowardly, huh Miguel? I've had enough of your opinions! I have the right to do whatever I want with my soldiers! And you—are one of them!"

A swift kick to my gut followed. The pain lanced thought my entire body and I fell over to the side, holding my stomach and trying my best to curl into a defensive ball.

It didn't matter though. Barthez smashed his foot into my sides repeatedly, shouting things that were mostly inaudible from all the pain.

When the kicking ceased, I uncurled slightly, hoping that it was over. But then I felt a warm feeling at the top of my head and looked up to see Barthez's fingers in my hair. It was gentle at first, he stroked me almost lovingly.

It didn't last.

Almost immediately after I had gotten used to the stroking, he gripped at my hair with force and yanked me to my feet. Turning me around, all while maintaining a grip on my hair, I now faced the wall. I didn't know what was about to happen.

"This is for being disobedient!" Barthez shouted, and he rammed my face into the wall.

The pain was incredible. At the first contact with the wall I heard a sickening crunch sound, and I prayed that my nose wasn't broken.

I didn't know what was more painful, his jerking my hair, or the blunt crash of the wall against my face—but I did know what was bleeding.

I could feel the blood streaming down from my nose, flooding into my mouth, into my shirt. I was fully crying by now, causing a mix of blood and tears to paint my face in shades of sadness and ache.

But Barthez had not finished. Somewhere along the way to disfiguring my face he'd slipped a hand beneath my shirt, his nails raking into my chest roughly, causing the skin to tear open and new blood to spring forth, causing fine red lines to show on the surface of the shirt.

I could feel myself beginning to black out, and Barthez sensed this, pulling me back from the wall violently and letting me crumple to the floor.

I lay on my back, gasping for breath, when his foot stomped down on my chest, right against the wounds. I couldn't breathe.

"So Miguel… just how weak and cowardly am I now?"

I squirmed, without air I couldn't respond to him, and he knew this. Smiling, stared down at me.

"I hate how you're acting, but really, you are so beautiful Miguel. So beautiful when you submit..."

I nodded weakly, feeling the faint world of the unconscious stealing over me.

Surprisingly, Barthez then removed his foot from me, and picked me up off the floor and propped me against the wall.

"I've got a meeting to go to, it's for all the beyblade team coaches and I'll be gone for a while," he said, leaning in and kissing my bloody lips. Licking his own lips afterwards, he gave a dangerous smile and walked out of the room.

"Be good…" was all I heard as the door to the outside slammed shut.

I was about to leave the room myself when my legs gave out on me. The last thing I felt before fading to black was the rough carpeting irritating my face.