Page 18 of The Madman and his broken Princess
No. No. No. Nestore had barely survived the last torture session three days ago, and my father looked like he would do worse today.
“Don’t hurt him. You’ll kill him!” I whispered.
Nestore gave me a pained look as if he wanted me to be quiet. Father looked between him and me, and a sadistic gleam filled his eyes. He began to beat Nestore with his fists, then, when Nestore collapsed, he kicked him. It was nothing compared to last time yet—no lighter, no knife, no electroshocks—but my heart couldn’t take it. I cried silently. Nestore was still on the ground, panting, blood trickling out of his mouth as he met my gaze. “It’s okay,” he mouthed.
Father stepped back, his eyes narrowing on me, then he smiled. He walked out and took the water hose that the guards used to clean the cells and the prisoners. “He’s become too adept at bearing pain. Let’s see how good he is at handling yours.”
Before I could react, cold water smashed into me with a force that had me stumbling backward against the wall. I gasped from the freezing cold that bit into my skin like icy fingers. Water filled my mouth and flooded my airways, making me sputter and then gasp. I tried to breathe, but the water jet assaulted my face, cutting off the air. My skin burned from the force of the water. I fell to my knees, choking, my eyes squeezed shut. Pain filled my face. Would any skin be left? It felt as if I was being skinned alive by the water.
My vision swam as I gulped down more water in my desperation to breathe.
Nestore’s terrified roars mixed with the whooshing of the water.
I tumbled to my side, shaking violently in pain and lack of air. Soon, blissful oblivion would grab me. I wanted it. How could Nestore have survived years of torture? I wanted to give up. I wanted to die to end this.
You promised to stay.I fought against unconsciousness, but it snagged at my mind.
The water flow stopped. I sucked in a deep breath but remained curled up on the stone floor. Tremors wracked mybruised body. Who knew water could be this cruel? My face burned with pain, and my body felt battered as if hundreds of fists had rained down on it.
“I see her pain is yours. What a beautiful thing,” Father drawled.
I kept my eyes closed. Now he had another way to torture Nestore, but maybe it was better this way. If I took the torture, Nestore’s body could heal.
“I’ll be back later. She’s too weak.” Steps crunched, and the heavy door fell shut.
“Amelia.”
Nestore’s voice beckoned me to leave the dark, but I felt too fragile to move.
“Dove, please.”
I forced my eyes open even though my lids ached from the movement. My vision was blurry as I sought a cowering form in the neighboring cell. I forced a smile that felt as if my skin splintered. “Why dove?”
Nestore crouched at the bars, watching me with utter heartache and self-hatred. “Because you call to a peaceful place deep inside me.”
I smiled, then winced at the ache in my skin. Everything felt sore.
Nestore got up, walked over to his bed, and picked up the copy ofThe Tale of Peter Rabbit. He sat against the bars separating us and began to read in his deep, soothing voice. I closed my eyes and allowed the familiar words to drag me into a fantasy world far from this.
When Nestore stopped, I opened my eyes with a grateful smile.
Nestore put down the book and gave me a sad look.
“He’ll hurt you now.”
“I know. But I’ll gladly bear the pain if it means you won’t have to.”
Nestore’s face twisted with despair. “Bearing witness to your pain causes me tenfold the anguish than being tortured. You must be safe.”
I swallowed. I considered sitting up, but my body shook too much. The water had been icy, and the cold seeped into every layer of my body. I lifted trembling fingers to my face, needing to feel the skin. It felt a little rough but not flayed as I’d expected. No blood either, except from the cut in my lip. “It felt as if my skin was scraped off.”
“It’s just a little red. There won’t be scars.”
Yet. Who knew what else my father had planned for me, for us?
Nestore kept his eyes on me as if his gaze alone was enough to give me strength, and in a way, it did. Eventually, I crawled over to the bars and linked hands with Nestore. He brushed his fingertips across my cheeks, like a whisper, and I leaned into his touch. I wanted nothing more than to curl up against Nestore, to feel his heartbeat against my chest, to feel his comforting warmth. I wanted to believe that one day we would get the chance.
But deep down, I knew the chances of us getting out of here alive were close to nonexistent.
