Page 114 of Tear Me Down
Nine graves will be marked with my failure.
Screams that will forever echo in my head.
DAMIEN!
“STOP IT!” I scream out as I yank the knife free and allow it to scrape across the floor towards the other side of the room. My hands find their way to the sides of my head and hold on tight, working to contain the voices echoing in my mind. Heavy breaths take over, and as my chest heaves, I focus on the sound, needing to climb back down from whatever height I’ve reached. His gasps play behind me, but at least he’s finally stopped sobbing, and I can feel my heartrate begin to slow down.
Suddenly, I feel a nudge at the top of my leg, and I look down to see a bloodied Daisy rubbing up against me. She whimpers softly, and nudges behind my knee as if she’s telling me to sit. So, I kneel down and scratch behind her ears, feeling a comforting warmth as she nudges her head against my chest and towards my neck. Normally, I’m sure she would be dry and clean when she comforts Darnell, but surprisingly, the cool slickness of the blood against my skin helps ground me.
I breathe in deeply, accepting the iron and sweat as my surroundings, and settle down. This may all be my fault, but it’s not my doing.Heset all of this up.Hecommanded those men to take her, andheviolated her without a second thought. Regardless of my failures, he still needs to pay for his part, and I’ll be sure to pay for mine once the deed is done.
Giving Daisy one more pat, I stand back on my own two feet and grab the digit puncher off the table. There was definitely a better name we could’ve come up with when we made this, but at the time, I was feeling playful. Now, I’m anything but.
The torment now isn’t solely for him, it’s for me as well. A way that I can repent for my mistakes while being the executioner I’ve molded myself into.
“Tell me how you felt when you killed my men. Tell me every detail of their torture.” I slowly step up to him again, almost grimacing at the smell of his soiled and sweaty form, but I contain my disgust. He shakes his head side to side in quick succession, acting like he has a choice. I reach up to grip one of his fingers, the middle one, and settle the puncher over top of it, so each end is pressing against the top and bottom of the tip. “I said tell me.” I then squeeze the device in my grip, just like I would a hole puncher, but the sharp, razor circle in the middle does much more than hollow out paper. It hollows out flesh instead. I hold it for just a moment as he hisses and gasps, then I release my hold and follow the tiny cylinder shape of his skin as it falls to the floor. “Who did you kill first?”
“The blonde one…” he spits out. “He went by Jared…”
“That was Jeremy. He’s been with us for four years.” I follow up with my fact by punching three more holes into that finger, not quite making it through the bone, but deep enough to hit it and watch as the blood runs down his arm and drips onto his forehead. “Why did you start with him?” He takes a harsh breath, probably realizing that if he screams or cries, that I would just punish him for it.
“He had a lesser rank than the other two…”
“Ah, so one of those ‘best for last’ scenarios?” I release his hand and walk back over to the table, looking over my choices. “Let’s start with what you did to him first.” He whimpers again, and I just turn to look at him. “Either you can tell me and make this easy on yourself, or I can guess until I get it right. If that’s the route you choose, this is going to be a long night for us both.”
Chapter forty-two
Ashia
‘Lovely’ – Billie Eilish, Khalid
The AC casts a nice breeze against my face, and with the lights turned out, it’s actually quite peaceful in the recreation room. I’m still sitting on the far side of the couch, while Zeke and Tay sit a few feet away from me on the other. Damien’s cousins went home not too long ago. Half of them were too drunk to drive, so they had to hackle the sober ones into taking them back to where they live. Serena moved Adrien out of the way so she could sit next to me, and once Carter set the kid up in the system fully, he went home. There were details that Carter, Zeke, and Alex needed to discuss that weren’t exactly light conversation, and while I tried my hardest to pay attention, it was like I couldn’t fully absorb it.
Though, after they discussed upcoming rotations and supply drops, we all settled down to watch a movie. Things seem to be slowly getting back to normal. Now that Dust is out of the way, practically immobilized by Dranan’s capture, there hasn’t been any activity from them. So, normal patrols are being laid out, but the new shipments from DJ are still being organized, and now that Damien has more of a truce with CMMC, they’ve started to be more thoughtful with what comes in. Carter said they won’t jeopardize what they grab from DJ to appease them, but that they’ll keep them in mind more when trying to order or pick through what DJ can find.
A cheesy rom-com plays on the TV, and while it’s funny to watch, I find that I’m laughing blankly. The problems the couple faces are so ridiculous. I never understood these movies. There’s always some stupid miscommunication that is avoided until the last fifteen minutes of the movie, or it’s just some asshole who only speaks to the other character because of a bet or hired job, and then they fall in love somewhere among the lie. Trust is completely shoved aside in these movies, and their idea of a happily forever after the movies’ events is laughable. Though, watching an old lady and a famous movie star dance around a fire singing a Lil John song, like the last movie we watched, is humorous.
It's little moments like the one in that movie that matters. The small reprieves among the chaos where everything else falls away. Walking down a shadowy path, playing charades with a group of children, or laying out under a storm. Even in the movie we’re currently watching, the main female character is sitting outside on the roof of her porch and enjoying the sunny weather just as the main male character pulls up in his car.
It reminds me of my balcony when I was a kid. Most of the time, I would be out there hiding, but after I was forced back home, I would wait out there for Richard every evening—something I came to look forward to. Even on days he didn’t work, he would drive by at the same time every evening. I suppose it was our silent way of checking on one another.
I remember the weather vividly when I would wait outside for him. No matter the season, that’s what I would focus on. In the summer, the heat would barrel down on my skin until I turned red, and then just tan darker as the season went on. Sometimes, I would wait outside early so I could get away, and I’d be out there too long. It would hurt like hell the next day, and every move I made seemed to pull and aggravate the tenderness of the burns, but I would still find myself on that balcony the next day. Much like every movement does to me now, but I keep moving in hopes the next step or stretch won’t hurt as much.
In the winter, the cold bite from the gusts of freezing wind would swipe across my face, and even as the snow fell and made the roof slippery, I would wait outside anyway—desperate to see him drive by. It would fascinate me sometimes to feel the flakes land on my cheek and melt, only for each one to take longer and longer as my skin chilled further. Sometimes the snow would cover my hair long before the grass, and eventually it became a race to see which would be able to hide in plain sight first.
There are still moments that I find myself pining for that type of monochromatic bliss, times when I can completely lose myself in peace. Then, I was still a kid, and it was easy to push the troubles away. Now? I’m finding it harder and harder as the days pass. It’s not that Damien or the others are distracting, and they’ve done a good job at helping avoid the destruction that happened only a few days ago, but now even the peaceful moments, like sitting around and watching a movie, are filled with pain.
It's not excruciating, and even though it’s died down some, it’s just a constant reminder of what I’ve tried so desperately to shove to the side. Another dark time that I have to push past. I’ve asked Carter to share details with me, hoping that it will help me move forward, but he’s been reluctant. How did they get past the gate? How did they overpower the mercenaries guarding the house? How did they get inside? Countless things that don’t add up, but he won’t tell me. He just keeps assuring me that they’ve analyzed everything extensively and reworked the security system to prevent it from happening again.
I hate feeling like I can’t trust it. Carter and Damien have worked hard over the past few days to ensure that everything is fool proof, but wasn’t it that way before? What could they have done differently? We still have enemies that lurk on the other side of these walls, and they’re sitting and waiting for us to get comfortable again—surely analyzing every move we make before they can find the opportune moment to strike again, whether that enemy is living or dead. Hugo is never going to leave this building alive, but that doesn’t change anything. He’ll forever be one of the ghosts in my head, and his marks will be a permanent reminder on my body.
A body that I’m trusting to carry our baby, when it’s failed me in so many other ways. It holds a mind that attacks itself and retains scars from events that I want long forgotten. Copious amounts of money were spent to cover up the first time I was torn to shreds, and what about now? Even though now the dressing on my wounds can be seen poking out of my clothing, will I ever be able to cover them up completely? A pretty dress would definitely show every scar, not to mention a bathing suit or if I wanted to wear a lighter shirt when it’s too hot. When, or if, our child grows up, will they ask me whathappened? Will I have to explain to them that even from the moment I learned of their existence, I wasn’t able to protect them from horrors I’ve experienced myself?
“Ash?”
Even after the beautiful day we had, where Damien stood up in front of all of our friends and family and confessed his undying love and loyalty, I can’t help but feel less than worthy—the farthest from it. The women that get their happily ever afters don’t have scars like I do. Hell, they’re beautiful, with not a blemish in sight. They’ve never been used or abused like I have been, and they certainly don’t have the scars to tell the tale. Women with marks like mine aren’t worthy of love stories, and it’s been that way for a long time. Most tales talk of pure women, and I’m anything but untainted.
Will he see what happened every time he looks at me? The images of Dranan’s hands on me replay over and over in the back of my mind, surely they do for him as well. It’ll torture him slowly, forcing him to spiral downward until I lose him completely. I know that he loves me, but what does he truly think now that another man has touched me? My only purpose will be to serve as a reminder, whether he will intentionally look at me that way or not. He’ll scorch the world until every reminder of that day is erased, but by then it'll be too late. I’m already a hollow shell compared to who I thought I was before this happened.
