Page 7 of Kadra: The Unfeeling

“Look at you. Look at what I made.” The rough and condescending voice brings me back to the present and away from memories of the past. Memories are best left buried alongside everything that weakens me. There is no room for mistakes and the feelings that my memories invoke are just that. Weaknesses. I can’t afford those.

Exhaling into space, I inhale the distinctive smell of blood as metallic fills my lungs. Without opening my eyes, I sip my morning tea and the bitter taste of it fills my mouth, sending a comforting sensation through me while Mozart continues to play in the background, almost taking me back to my childhood when classical music and knives were my saving grace.

A barely audible chuckle sounds from behind me reminding me that although I’ve been torturing him all morning…my fun is not over yet.

His body is my canvas and his soul is mine to claim.

Once I’m done with him that is.

“Arghhh.” My father, Gabriele Parisi hisses in pain.

I like it.

I enjoy his hisses of pain just as much as I enjoy listening to Beethoven and Mozart while I torture him.

“Fuck! You little shit. You owe me. I made you!” His mood swings are entertaining I must admit. One moment he could be feeling sorry for himself trying to gain empathy which is futile since he won’t ever get that from me. The next instant, he cusses me out and tells me how big of a mistake I was.

His words never had much impact on me. He really needs to change tactics if he plans on causing damage. Words don’t break. They never did.

Sighing heavily, I turn and glance at my father who is lying in a pool of his own blood and feces. Blood drips from his forehead and nose, his knuckles are turning white as he tries without any success to free himself from his chains. I’m shocked that he has this much strength left. He’s been down here for years and every time he’s close to death I pull him back and start all over again.

Several bruises cover Gabriele’s face and neck. His cream shirt and pants are soaked wet from sweat and urine. He looks pathetic.

“Bitch!” He snaps while I just stare. I like it when he pretends he’s still tough shit. I know better though. Years of torture are weighing him down. It has even aged him. There’s not a trace of the handsome man with a cruel smile, that he once was. He’s slowly turning into a corpse.

Feeling giddy from our playtime today, I picked up a butcher knife from the metal table in front of me and touched the tip with my finger. “Are you proud, Gabriele?” I ask with boredom in my voice. Of course, he’s not proud. The only way he could ever be proud of me is if I had been born with a cock between my legs. That was our biggest sin in his mind. We weren’t the heirs he so longed for and for that, he punished us even if he tried to disguise his abuse as him making us tough to carry on with his legacy. Bullshit.

Gabriele’s beady eyes narrow, the glee in them no longer there. “You won’t break me. No one can.” He laughs maniacally but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Walking closer to where he’s lying on the floor I don’t look away from those soulless eyes of his that tell me all his rotten mouth never will. He’s afraid. The great Gabriele Parisi is afraid. It’s evident in the way he flinches with every step I take toward him. Stopping just before my heels reach the pool of blood that surrounds him, I tilt my head and stare at him, savoring the moment and engraving the way he looks, so pathetic and miserable, in my memory.

War.

The word that once held very little meaning to me now is my religion.

One simple word whispered by a stranger unleashed this beautiful hell where I no longer run from demons but embrace them. I’m no longer their prey but their ally. When I finally accepted them, that’s when my Gabriele lost. He tried to beat me into submission and did his best to keep me afraid, never imagining that one day I would grow up to use all that pain, resentment, and fear against him.

Now we’re here.

I’m no longer the prey. I am the predator.

Lifting the hand that is still holding my teacup, I spill what’s left of my tea on Gabriele while smiling when he starts shaking in anger, pain, and fear.

Yes, fear and a whole lot of hate.

“I think I did break you, Daddy.” I mock him, watching as he opens his mouth to spew more venom at me, I’m sure but instead, he coughs blood. Yeah, I broke him. Not just his body but his mind too. It is not what it used to be before when he was the one with his foot on my neck keeping me down. His spirit has proven to be more resilient but I’m getting there. I’ll break it tonight.

Gabriele narrows his eyes but remains silent. No doubt thinking of ways to hurt me. Doesn’t he know that there’s nothing else he can do to me that will hurt? Nothing. “You had a lot to say before. What happened? This bitch got your tongue?” Huh, that’s a good idea. Maybe I should cut his tongue.

But then how will he entertain you? The crazy little voice in my head whispers.

His shouts of pain do make my day.

Maybe I’ll let him keep his tongue for a while longer.

Gabriele fights against his restraints and spits down on the floor right in front of my feet.

It seems as if he has lost what little manners he had.

Tsking, I turn and put the teacup down on an empty chair away from the bastard. To my utmost dismay, he knows just how much my teacup set means to me. Even when I was small I did my best to hide what little brought me happiness and that was my tea set and my sisters and he knew it then just as he knows it now. He might break it just to fuck with me. “You know Gabriele. I thought you would be harder to break. It’s disappointing.” Reaching inside my back pocket, I pull out my favorite knife, the one I carry with me everywhere, and point it toward him.

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