GHOST OF YOU | BWS

twenty-three.

I have been sitting on a chair in the middle of an empty Mexican restaurant for a good hour, my hands tightly taped to the armrests, and my feet taped together. I tried to get free of the tape but the only thing that got me is sore wrists where the thick tape cuts into my skin. I have watched enough movies to know that letting me wait all alone, fear rising to levels I didn't even know were possible is a power move. Joaquin wants me to know who's in charge here. As if I needed this to know. The wait is part of his torture. Emotional torture can be as horrific as physical torture, trust me. I sit here, my eyes closed, listening to the noise coming from the street. I hear cars driving by, loud honks echoing from time to time. Life goes on outside of this place while no one knows what's happening, or is about to happen in this restaurant. Will people be able to hear me scream? Will someone come help? Considering the type of neighbourhood we're in, I highly doubt it. Plus, I don't think anyone will be brave enough to come against Joaquin's gang.

The clock hanging above the bar area in front of me seems to be nagging me. Tic toc. The minutes pass, atrociously slowly, and not a sound resonates in the restaurant beside that of the minutes passing and my heavy breathing.

After another hour, I start to wish he'd put an end to all of this already. The wait is killing me. Not knowing what's in store for me, and imagining all the things he might do to me is driving me insane.
I've never really known pain. A twisted ankle when I was a kid, or a superficial cut from trying to be healthy and cutting fresh veggies myself is basically the extent of physical pain I've known in my life. Until Joaquin broke my nose. I had never felt such pain before. A pain so intense you not only feel it in the injured area, but also everywhere around it and down to the pit of your stomach. I swallow hard at the thought that what's about to happen to me is going to be at least 10 times worse, if not more. Joaquin will make sure of it, I have no doubt on that.

By the time the clock reaches the three hour mark, my wrists are raw from my vain attempts at freeing myself. Drops of blood are dripping down onto the tiled floor, ending their course in a small puddle on each side of the chair. It hurts, but the adrenaline of knowing it's getting closer to the moment Joaquin arrives eases the pain. He ought to arrive at any moment now, right? Is that a question or a prayer?, I think to myself.

It's only after I've been sitting here for over four hours that I hear noise coming from the back of the restaurant behind me. Doors suddenly open and footsteps echo in the room. From the sound of the footsteps and the voices, I'd say there's four people coming towards me. My entire body tenses up as my heart starts to race in my chest again and my stomach tightens. My breathing is far less steady now that I'm no longer alone.

It doesn't take long for the group to reach me and I am soon faced with not four by five heavily tattooed guys. I recognize most of them from the few times I hung out with Joaquin. They all look like they're fresh out of prison with their tattooed faces and dirty looks. Not really the type of bad tattooed guy you'd fantasize about. Except if you have a thing for torture and pain I guess.

Joaquin grabs a chair and places it with the back of it facing me, and straddles it, resting his arms on the back of the chair. The four other guys just stand there next to him. I fight to keep my gaze focused on Joaquin despite my instincts screaming at me to look at the floor. He sits there without saying a word for a moment, simply looking at me with a smile worthy of a psychopath. I bite my cheeks in order to stop my teeth from shaking. As if he didn't already know how terrified I am.

"Hi pretty face", he eventually says, bringing his chair closer to me. (A/N: If you haven't seen the 'Hi mama' scene from Good Girl, Google it and you'll know what Joaquin sounds like at this moment - and you're welcome)

My heart is pounding in my chest, and I wouldn't be surprised if all of them can hear it.

"Wanna tell me why you lied to me?", he asks, his tone flat and calm.