Page 54 of The Heart of a Villain

They frown at me and then shake their heads, one of them flipping a lighter between his fingers as he advises me, “I’d lose the smile if I were you, boy.” He chuckles, the sound chilling my blood while outwardly I show no emotion. I just sit up and lean my back on the bars, ignoring how the rusted metal scrapes against my bruised skin that’s covered in various scars and open wounds with dried and fresh blood.

Just yesterday, Jim tested a new whip on me, wrapping it tightly around his hand while he sent blow after blow my way, all to the laughter of his men and in front of the other kids.

He didn’t stop until my back became raw meat soaked in blood and only then barked to his men to give me some medication and withhold food too, but I already expected that.

I get a sandwich three times a week, and that’s it. According to him, I have to pay for all the sins I’ve committed and be an example to all the other kids of what not to do.

I grin when I think about the man who destroyed my life yet suffers every single day, since the surgeon couldn’t fix his dick.

Months of waiting resulted in more frustration for him, and the angrier he got with his inability to perform, the harder he hurt me.

Maybe because the whispers started about him being castrated, which in turn made him lose some of the respect these men had.

Despite the pain and agony I reside in, with no light in sight, I enjoy all the shit I subjected him to, and this satisfaction gives me solace in my torture, letting me focus on something else besides my broken soul.

And sometimes while looking at my hideous reflection in the mirror, with rage filling my every pore, I wonder what it’d be like to hold a whip myself and make all these men miserable. The desire in me to inflict similar hurt while siphoning pleasure from the process is so strong I barely control my impulse to grab some nearby weapon and stab it into Jim again, just to feel that high from a few months ago.

The boy who used to be loved by his family, who still lives deep down inside me, is scared and horrified at the images my mind paints for me. But the savage, forgotten boy in me… he loves them to pieces and counts the days to survive in order to inflict them.

Whenever they burn my skin, force me to perform unspeakable acts on them, or just get off on my pain while their dogs chase me… I mentally place myself in a vacuum in which the present doesn’t exist for me.

Instead, I think about the future and count, memorizing everything they’ve done so I can repay them in kind.

Laughter slips past my lips, and that’s when I hear Jim’s voice pulling me back to reality. “What took you all so long? Get the fuck away from the arena and unleash the beast on him.”

I fist my hands, already anticipating the damage their newly bought tiger will do to me, and bite on my lip hard, controlling the fear rushing through me and not letting it turn into full-on panic.

After two months on the island without successful treatment due to the endless storms that wouldn’t stop for some reason, Jim decided to relocate to some other place and packed us all on a ship, where we struggled for weeks before he found this land filled with despicable people.

As they looked the other way when he bought a huge-ass mansion surrounded by acres of empty land with a sort of arena built that allowed him to start doing his “shows.” The oval thing had several watching areas with countless benches occupied by their friends and men alike who drank, ate, and took their pick from contestants, so they could fulfill their hideous desires later in the night.

Not before being turned on, though, by death and gore.

And by that, I mean they put the kids—who they rape or sell out to the rich clients—against each other until one of them beats the other to death.

One of the girls couldn’t do it, so she cut her own throat in front of everyone, dying right away, while others either erupted in hysterics or became even more determined to live and win at any cost.

And then there was me, who was put in the arena once a week against one of the animals they acquired on the black market.

They fed the beasts so they weren’t hungry, just very vicious, tearing my skin or jumping on me, playing with me, and it always brings so much pain I sometimes wonder how I survive it.

I withstood it all, though, and Jim’s restlessness grew as his men started to joke that I always manage to pull a fast one on him and even keep score between us.

Since my resistance seems to win every single time over his rage, he only grew more agitated and sadistic in his desire for my suffering.

Hence the tiger.

“Why the fuck are you laughing?” Jim asks, although what for I’ll never know.

I always ignore whatever he says, giving everyone dead silence, which gets on their nerves, and they once even forced alcohol down my throat, trying to make me talk.

I still refused.

Fuck them all.

“Maybe he finally lost his mind,” Keith, his best friend, says as they drop on their thrones right in the middle of the arena, letting them have the best view of it. He cracks a smile my way that promises me a lot of retribution later. “At least you managed that, Jim.” He chokes on his drink when Jim shoves him away. “Relax. You never let the tiger loose on him.” He addresses me then. “You hear that, little toy? You might die tonight.”

Looking him straight in the eyes as people gather on the benches, placing their bets on who will win—me or the powerful beast—I flip him off.

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