"I'll going to have that attitude beaten right out of you, kitten," he seethes, pulling Amyra's body flush against his chest, "and then, you would be begging me for mercy," he whispers lowly.
.
.
.
"Antony?" Amyra asks in a questioning tone...
Her eyes fall shut as her breaths mellow down. Her figure falls limp in my arms, and I stroke her head, a recently familiar kindness enveloping me. It's Amyra.
But that kindness is useless. I am certain about what I want to do, and it doesn't matter if her kitty-eyes seem alluring. I won't repeat what happened. I won't treat her well just to have her behave like an ungrateful bitch.
I take the shirt off her unconscious body, my hands unconsciously trembling as I realize that what I am doing is wrong. Keeping her captive in the Blanche level, undressing her. Without her consent.
Undressing her would be a boon to the world, but with her consent.
I step back as I remove her shirt, and her bra-clad chest comes into my vision.
Red bra.
Honestly, kitten? Could you do any worse to me? This is another shit level of torture.
I kneel again to pull down her pajama bottoms. Her cotton undies come into view, and I...
What the hell?!
Since I am so near her post-coma, skinny legs, I see the scars. Those aren't Wilson's. A series of faint white lines run up her inner thighs, trailing right to the edge of her underwear. They seem like the aftermath of...
of self-harm?
But, again, why would she cut so high? Pain in the flesh is enough without trailing to the bone. As I look closely towards the scars, my eyes wander to her midriff, small circular scars littering her skin. Comparatively larger, a circular mark is on the curve of her waist, looking so much like a bite. I close my eyes, my hands withdrawing themselves.
She didn't go through that pain.
You are imagining this.
It's Amyra! This kind of trauma would have changed her.
I open my eyes, but the scars aren't miraculously gone. I shake my head, trying to divert myself.
No.
I can't stop now.
I trail my fingers down her scars and sigh. I can't stop.
Luckily, her cotton undies are white, so I leave them on. I zip up her scarred body into the white jumpsuit 'til her chest and set her on the white mattress. I unclasp her bra through the suit and pull it off, putting her arms through the sleeves and zipping up the rest of it. Her eyes are shut, her breaths deep and rhythmic. The whiteness of the room is stark white, stinging my eyes, but I don't let my empathy overpower me. Amyra deserves this. If not for the suicidal attempt, then for her part in the Indian mafia. Maybe knowing that his sister's going crazy, Jai will finally crack. I nod, reassuring myself. It's fine.
I close the door behind me, leaving an unconscious Amyra in the cell.
*****
"81 almost escaped from Rouge," Wilson says, updating me about our rehab wing.
Rehab?
Yeah, well, it's where we torture people.
"And, Noir?"
"96 died during rehabilitation. She lost a fatal amount of blood during torture. She refused to cooperate but eventually gave up the location of the person who assassinated Mr. Bellicosi. His family has been informed," he remarks.
I nod, "Blanche?"
"New addition, 103. And 68 finally starved to death. Before his demise, he often urinated himself, forgot his identity, and showed no movement throughout the day. His words were incoherent, often inaudible. He often scratched his skin, enough to draw blood, so we had to bind his hands in gloves."
I freeze. I never realized that I subjected Amyra to such a fate.
"Vert?"
"Yes, sir. Four were released today. 75, 89, 101, and 45."
"45 gave up the location of the target?"
"Yes, ma'am. Alaister's location was told to last be in Switzerland, but he might have fled since."
"Is Matteo Bruns still there?"
"Yes, sir."
"Okay, tell Carter to leave with his team for Switzerland tomorrow dawn. Call Bruns to reconvene in Zurich. Keep me updated," I say, waving my hand for him to leave the office.
"Uh-Sir?" Wilson says, standing up and stepping back.
"What?"
"As your friend, can I ask you something?"
"Spit it out, Terry," I say, my eyebrows shooting up.
"I dislike Amyra very much. Not because of who she is, but because of her family. You, however, seemed to grow...an amicability towards her. Are you sure you want to subject her to Blanche? That is our most extreme method, and she doesn't even have anything to confess," Terry utters, his eyes as kind as they were when his sister was alive.
Guess I'm not the only one Amyra's changed.
"I'm sure, Terry. And if it gets too much for her, I have a question for her, too." Terry nods, leaving my office.
I get up, moving towards the second floor of the rehab wing.
See you soon, kitten.
*****
I go to the control room, the camera in Amyra's - or 103's - room showing me everything on my screen. Amyra sits on her mattress, her fingers fiddling together. I can hear her mumble to herself, but don't understand her. I make the volume louder, and I can barely make out the words.
"Antony won't hurt me like he did. He'll stop if it gets too much. He's not a monster. Antony won't make me hurt even after I plead with him not to hurt me. He's good. He's just misunderstood, he won't treat me like that," she says louder, laying down. Her fingers are digging into her palms, her breaths heavy. Almost unnoticeable tears run down her cheeks and she shakes her head, "He's not here," she says again, loudly.
I shoot up from my seat, my eyes welled up.
She went through the pain.
She was hurt.
It's Amyra. My Amyra.
The tears fall down my cheeks for the first time in a decade.
Author's Note:
I didn't want to overdo this chapter, so I ended it sooner. I am sad, we don't even know the extent of what Amyra went through.
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I'll probably do a nightmare next.
Okay, guys. QOTD: Is there anything specific you want in the book? I don't want to get too far in the storyline without your input.
