Page 43 of Deliver us from Evil

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to build up some courage.

My thumb is probably already pretty malleable. All I need to do is pull it through the noose. It’ll hurt, duh, but maybe not as much as earlier. And the pain is—

Pretty fucking unbearable. And the agonizing ache is only getting worse the longer I linger on this stupid plan.

But itisa plan.

And it might even work.

And then I’d be free, no longer hanging here on my strings waiting for the puppet master to return.

I don’t even know what he went to go and do. Is he trashing another room? Oiling himself up? Lying in my parents’ bed and—

Fuck! Those thoughts are not in the least helpful.

Breathe.

You can do this.

Oh Lord, I hope I can do this.

I grit my teeth.

I hold my breath.

And I slowly start pulling on my left hand.

The pain in my thumb immediately intensifies a million-fold. I start shaking internally, my body fighting with me to stop the torture, but I can’t.

I won’t.

I keep picturing the Brotherhood. Determination gleaming in their eyes. The things they’d say to me right now if they knew I was considering defeat.

But the pain gets worse, and the rope isn’t budging. Pain wells, and with it comes a wave of frustration. I pull harder, the tears that brim and then leak down my face not even blurring my vision. Or maybe they do, I can’t tell in the dark.

“Ah!” The yell doesn’t echo. This small chamber is too well insulated.

But as I yell, I jerk on my arm as hard as I can.

Agony bursts into my hand. For a second, I’m convinced I’ve torn off my thumb.

I scream twice, first at that jolt of pain, and then again when my hand drops onto the mattress below me. I drag my hand onto my chest, cradling it against my chin as I let out a ragged sob. I start panting through my mouth as I try to get a handle on the pain.

That hurt more than the lashes I got from Miriam combined with Zachary’s spanking.

I force my breathing to slow. Imagine the pain leaving my body with every exhale.

My hand’s hot and throbbing, but eventually the pain recedes enough that I can think past it.

With the restraint freed, my shoulder is on the mattress now.

I laugh when I realize I have to try and untie the knot around my right hand with a hand that now sports a dislocated thumb.

Oh Lord, how I laugh.

But then I stop. And I grit my teeth.

And I push through the pain.

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