From Murder to Dust

44 - Broken

It had been a week since I broke, and Ink seemed to hurt me more after it happened than before; he just enjoyed my pain, and it was apparently more enjoyable to him when I was begging him to stop. I told him how my code was broken and about my lost abilities, but I managed to refrain from telling him anything else; I couldn't have held back for long, though. My clothes looked like they had always been red, and my bones did, too; I was in constant agony even when Ink wasn't in the room - it hurt more when he was, though. My bones were either broken or going to be; I wasn't escaping on my own. My determination was hiding in the back of my soul, being discouraged from trying to come out. Whenever a guard had to venture into the room, they would more often than not break down crying or try to get some of the paint off of me; it wouldn't help, but it was nice to know somebody cared. At the moment, Ink wasn't in the room, but I was still in agony - scratch that: Ink had just entered the room. His footsteps sent shivers down my thankfully unbroken spine.

"Good morning, Dust!" Ink sat on the floor next to me. "How are you feeling today?"

I just whimpered, lying on the floor and starting to cry, knowing what would come next.

"Aw, there's no need to feel down! Especially when we can play a nice game with eachother!"

"P-please..don't.." I begged.

"Oh, you don't want to play?"

"Please.."

"Well, that's too bad, because I'd love to play with you."

I cried; I didn't want him to hurt me more.

"Sir, am I interrupting s-something?" A guard was in the room, trying not to look at me; he would have cried if he did.

"Not really." Ink stood for a moment. "What is it?"

"It seems another at-attempt is being made." 

"I see; foil it."

"Y-yes, Sir."

"Now leave me."

"Yes, Sir."

The guard quickly ran out of the room before he started crying, obviously distressed by my condition. They hadn't told me what these 'attempts' were, but Ink seemed angry about them. He didn't seem angry when he turned back to me, unsheathing his paintbrush; it was tipped with red - it was always tipped with red. I hated the color red. 

"Let us get back to our game, shall we?" Ink knelt down to my broken figure, receiving more whimpers. "You'll feel better after this."

He almost always said that; he didn't mean I would feel better as in good - he meant I would feel the pain better than I did before, and he was right: it always felt worse. When he started battering me and letting more paint fly, I always felt it better. When he finished this torture session, I had gained more broken bones, and a new layer of paint covered my clothes and body; he stepped back to admire his work, just like he always did.

"Now, that felt good, didn't it?" Ink grinned.

I was shaking in pain and whimpering.

"Answer me!"

"Y-yes.." I replied; he would have hurt me more if I said no.

"Good! You know, I think you might have dodged something today; did you?"

"N-no.."

"Are you sure about that?"

"N-n-no?"