Legacy

Chapter 23: Broken

It's been hours and the burns on my body still feel like they're on fire. Despite the stinging ointment and bandages now covering each of my burns, I still feel bile rise in my throat at the image of my smoldering skin oozing puss as Michael wraps them up.

And even after all that, he still chained me to the fucking wall. I don't think he gave a fuck about my feet being burned beyond any possible use. I can't stand up, let alone run.

It's impossible to find a comfortable position, but I settle on laying on my back. The marks on my back ache, but there's really no other choice. It's also difficult to tug the blankets up to my shoulders to keep warm in the freezing basement.

I hear the door upstairs creek open and then shut. Then footsteps. Then the jingle of keys in the cell door.

What could Michael possibly want now?

Even when the cell door creeks open, I keep my eyes on the ceiling. His steps get closer as I watch him from my periphery and try to keep my breathing steady.

"Are you feeling any better?"

'Any better'. Like I'm sick with the flu. Oh, I'm fine. It's not like you broke my arm, stitched up my thigh without painkillers, raped me, beat me with a belt, used me as a human ash tray, and finally chained me to the wall like an animal.

I shoot him a hard glare before turning my head away and staring at the wall.

"September?" He sits down by my legs at the edge of the bed, not meeting my eyes when he sees the look I gave him.

"You-" My voice is scratchy from all the loud screaming from earlier, so I clear my throat. "You raped me," I say more clearly. Michael stiffens at my words.

He filmed everything. The rape, the lashing, the cigarettes. What does he even do with the tapes when it's over? I don't remember seeing the camera when he was torturing and killing that Wes guy, or even my dad.

Michael sighs through his nose and finally brings himself to look at me. His hand gently lays on my good knee right below my stitched thigh, and I shake it off as I sit up. It's like poking the bear of my pain with a stick. Just moving slightly causes my burns to scream at me to stop. Michael reaches out a hand to help me, but I push it away with my good arm.

"You told me," every breath I take is heavy and taxing, "that you didn't," I swallow, my mouth is so dry, "want to hurt me." My thoughts go back to my second punishment. "It's hard," a tear slides down my cheek, "to believe you, when..." I trail off. He opens his mouth, but I just keep going. "I can't walk." I push the blankets away so my bandage is visible. "I can barely get comfortable enough to sleep."

He turns away from me and rises from the bed only to slam his fist into the mirror by the toilet. It shatters on impact and Michael's knuckles are leaking blood when he pulls away.

I'm hitting him where it hurts. Good. How can I dig even deeper?

"You say you're better than my dad ever was?"

Michael scowls and walks back to me, gently dabbing his knuckles with a tissue and wincing.

My heart is pounding against my ribs. I scoff and yank my leg so the chain rattles. "He never did anything like this," I finish.

His fingers pinch down hard on my foot. The burn screams and I wince.

"That really hurts me, September," he says flatly. I can't tell if the look on his face is angry or truly hurt. "I think it's time you just tell me straight. No more beating around the bush." His finger traces my leg all the way up to my knee. "Do you want to live?"

What kind of question is that? Of course I wanna live.

"Yes," I whisper.

Michael gives me a broad grin. "Then we understand each other." I frown and he shrugs. "If you try to escape again, there won't be another punishment for you. I'll have to put you down."

My spine stiffens and I look down at my lap. Put me down? Like I'm some stray dog he picked up?

There's so much more he doesn't need to say. If I run and he catches me, I will die, but after? He'll just abduct another defenseless girl, and that would be all my fault.

"What happens to me after I give birth?" I dare to raise my eyes back up to look at him.

He unfolds his glasses from where they hang on his t-shirt and cleans the lenses. "I don't know yet." He sighs and fixes his glasses on his face. "I'll definitely need to keep you around for awhile after to breastfeed and take care of the baby while I'm at work."

I feel my stomach twist violently, but I keep the queasiness contained. "Is that all you wanted to talk about," I swallow hard, "or can I expect you to hurt me again?"

"Do you want me to leave you alone to your devious thoughts?"

"Not really," I confess. "The silence down here takes a lot out of a person." I scratch an itch beneath the shackle and let out a grunt at how unsatisfying it is.

Michael gets up from the bed and goes to the kitchen. I lean my aching back against the wall and try to find a comfortable position for my arms. My palm burns as it gently brushes against my broken arm and I wince.

When I look up again Michael is standing before me, a tall plastic cup in hand. I frown as my gaze goes from his eyes to the cup and back again. "September, grow up. It's water," he says, extending it to me.

I wrap my fingers around it and pull back as my palm burns again. Michael sighs as he drops a straw into the cup and holds it close to my face. I drink maybe half the cup greedily.

I remember him giving me water on my first night. Why hasn't he offered me any pain killers? Will I have to bargain for them? What else could he want from me? Especially in my condition?

"Can I have some Tylenol or something?" Michael raises his eyebrows at my request. "Please," I add.

He sighs and sets the water on the dresser before going back to the kitchen to get me some pain killers.

Neither of us say a word as he grabs a canister and circles back to offer me two pills once again. I allow him to slide both of them into my mouth and give me another drink of water to wash them down. I actually drain the cup and Michael is nice enough in this moment to go back to the kitchen for a refill.

As he turns on the sink I decide to break the awkward silence. "How long are you going to keep me chained up?"

Michael looks up at me and frowns. Not in a vicious way, but a thoughtful way. "I think you've more than earned that shackle around your ankle." He glances pointedly at it.

"Michael, I can't even stand. I think it's a little," he raises a challenging eyebrow and I pause, "unnecessary," I finish.

The cup overflows in the sink and Michael mumbles a curse as he slams the knob off and pours out a little of the water. He sets the cup on the counter and rubs his eyes beneath his glasses.

"I wish I could trust you, Morning Bird," he says, looking up at me. "The morning after we..." he trails off and chews on his lip. "Were together," he sighs, "I actually thought that you'd finally come around."

Wow, he really is delusional.

Michael picks up the water and brings it back to me. As I take a sip from it, he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and move my eyes down to my lap.

God, I hope he buys this.

Michael releases another sigh and carefully sits down next to me on the bed. His arm goes around my shoulders, avoiding the bandage covering the first burn.

It takes all my willpower not to cringe away, even as his lips press against my temple. His stubble pricks my skin, but I allow my body to melt into him. I have to bite down hard on my tongue to stay calm.

Michael's body shifts and my eyes follow his hands. He picks up my copy of Ender's Game and opens it to my spot. I pull the blanket back over to cover my legs. Michael tugs it the rest of the way across his lap and his hand rests on my hip as he begins to read.