Page 144 of Property of Necro
Lies.
Everything about me is wrong.
They did this… because vanity is a sin. Talking is sin.
I’m a soldier.
I obey.
But they’re not here anymore. Sola is and she’s…
I unlatch the mask and rest it in her upturned palm. She sets it on the tiled floor between us, like she’s not taking it away.
“Now breathe.” She inhales deeply and blows out a breath. “Go on.”
I follow along the second time, in through my nose and out through my wrecked mouth.
Again and again, we breathe, my pulse calms, and she smiles at me.
Fuck.
She doesn’t cringe, look away, or seem disgusted—just curious as she stares at my lips. I open my mouth to show her.
“They took your tongue,” she guesses, and by how she’s talking, somebody shared more than they should have. I’ll deal with them later.
Scooting an inch closer, Sola reaches out to me again, except this time she’s looking at my face.
“Can I touch it? Does it hurt?”
I shake my head.
Not anymore, it doesn’t. Physical pain rarely registers. They saw to that. The more they break you. The more you can endure.
In the bunker, they locked us in dark rooms, never to see the light of day. Around our seventh year of life, we were beaten within an inch of our lives, every day for thirty days. Ripping the weakness from us, a pound of flesh at a time.
My legs are a testament to my fortitude.
My endurance.
My obedience.
“Babe,” she whispers. “You okay?”
Babe.
She said it again.
I don’t know what I am anymore.
Soft-edged eyes look at me with such… reverence, my stomach pitches, and this strange fluttery sensation thumps beneath my breastbone like a bat.
Blowing out a fortifying breath, I place Sola’s soft palm against my cheek.
And because I can’t bear to look at her in fear of what I might see, I squeeze my eyes shut as she touches me there. Delicate fingers skate acrossmy skin.
And…
I get hard.
