Pyro

Chapter: III

𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

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TW: Violence + body-shaming

I'm yanked up in an uncomfortable sitting position, pulling me out of my slumber. Tomas grabs ahold of my right wrist and tightens the chains more than they were yesterday, and I hiss at the pressure. I pull my lips into my mouth in an attempt to stop the cry of pain that wants to slip past. I don't want to give him any satisfaction from me in pain, as much as he might like to, I won't allow it.

"Listen here you little cunt. I want an answer because I don't believe for a second you don't know shit about what your family does for a living. I won't believe it because it makes zero fucking sense." He says harshly, his chest moving up and down in deep rabid breaths as the rage storms through him.

He starts to unbutton his suit jacket as he walks back over to the still-open, door and closes it. Turning on the light I didn't know was installed in the space. With the light illuminating the whole room, I can get a good view of everything.

There aren't a lot of interesting things here. Though, that makes sense. It's the perfect place to keep someone against their will. Tomas puts his jacket over the back of a chair in the corner of the room and unbuttons his sleeve cuffs to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. A table is standing beside the chair and I can see a bunch of different tools being displayed in the light but with my view from the floor, it doesn't allow me to see the top of the table. From the way Tomas is looking at all the things with a slight tilt to his mouth, I wouldn't say there's anything good about it.

He picks up something from the tabletop. His back to me puts me at a disadvantage in guessing which tool or whatever is on there, he takes. The second he turns around I get to see the matte black brass knuckles he put on his right hand. Flexing his fingers in a way of showing it off to me, most likely to root some fear in me. And he succeeds with the way I visibly gulp from the wicked smirk curving his thin lips. He has a few astray black hair strands that usually seems to be slicked back with gel.

His hand runs through his hair before he turns his upper body slightly to the side, that way he still has a good view of the table and its content. He stands like that and stares for a good while before he picks up something else, too. Facing me fully I see that he has a matching matte black knife in his other hand.

"Oh, I must say," He grins. "I love that fear shining in your eyes, little bird." He stops walking when he's in front of me and pulls the piece of tape off my mouth before going from my right wrist to my left just to tighten the chains a lot more, making me hiss and curse from the pain.

A chuckle leaves his mouth while shaking his head lightly. "This will be so much fucking fun." He sits down in a squat in front of me, that way we're eye to eye. "Don't you agree?"

I'm frozen. My whole body and mind succumbed to the fear, locking me in place. I wasn't planning on answering his question, even if I wanted to, I don't think I'd be able to do so anyway.

Without a warning, his sharp-edged brass knuckles make hard contact with the right side of my upper ribs. Tearing my shirt and forcing my body to jerk to the left but with the restriction of the chains creates a whole new form of pain, with how my shoulder sockets are getting pulled at.

I scream at the sudden and unexpected impact and pain. Tomas ruthlessly grabs onto my jaw, putting me through yet another flow of pain, yet different, but pain nonetheless. His breath hits my, now open, mouth from the grip on my jaw. "When I speak to you. Answer. If I don't, shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear you scream unnecessarily again, understood?" He speaks in a dangerously venomous tone, the closeness between us doing nothing to push away my fear and face the situation head-on.