All I had left in the dark. Pain and panic, fear and misery and her. The rest paled into insignificance. Because every time a crack began to form in my flesh, she was there to soothe it away. She was there to whisper encouragement in my ear. She was there to pull me from the dark. I was her demon and I'd only ever break for her.
Not this monster. Not ever again.
The freezing water made me shiver violently as I bucked and thrashed, but I never made a sound. Not one.
The flood of water stopped, the washcloth which had been plastered across my face was tugged free and I looked upon the face of my own personal hell as he peered down his nose at me. No doubt he thought this position was fitting. Here I was beneath his heel. Below him. At his mercy. Under his control.
But I'd been wrestling control back from him for a long time now. Longer than he could ever fully comprehend. I'd been stealing it the day I'd taken that toy car to Spain when I was just a small child. I'd been claiming it every time I kept to my routine or played on my piano. There was music in my soul which he could never destroy, running thicker than blood in my veins.
I gasped, unable to help it as I choked down air and my lungs spasmed with pain, black spots dancing before my eyes as I fought to stay conscious.
"Where are the vaccines?" my father asked simply, smoothing down his shirt sleeve like the drops of water getting on his clothes were the biggest issue in the room right now.
I was panting in and out, my breaths coming harshly. There was no way to hide that as my raw throat and angry lungs fought for air and rejected it just as forcefully. Everything hurt. Inside my body, inside my head. I was getting delirious, my brain overrun with too much and too little and still that one fucking question was all he ever asked of me.
I looked him in the eye, let him see how fucking little I thought of him, how little I cared about him doing this. I let him see that he wouldn't break me, and I knew he understood.
His lips twitched with what I was certain was pride and I was pleased to say I didn’t fucking want it. I didn’t want his pride or his contempt, his love or his hatred. I wanted nothing at all from him aside from his death. And if I survived this exchange, I would deliver it to him on a silver platter.
The washcloth fell over my face again and my chest tightened in panicked anticipation of what I knew was to come as icy droplets of water fell from my hair into the trough beneath me while I listened to him scooping the water back into the buckets.
I would endure this though. I would endure it for my brothers and most of all I would endure it for her.
The water crashed down over me and inside my head I was screaming at the top of my lungs even while they burned, and I coughed and heaved uncontrollably. But not a sound left my lips in protest to the treatment. None would. I'd die first.
In the dark I sought her out again and I could almost taste her on my lips, feel the brush of her soft skin against my fingertips. That was all I needed to find my strength as the torture continued. It was all I needed to get me through anything.
I.
Would.
Not.
Break.
E ternal darkness this was not. There wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel or a heaven full of naked Tatums begging for my cock. There were no fluffy white clouds or even the burning gates of hell for that matter.
No. Death for Kyan Roscoe felt a whole hell of a lot like being trapped in a vat of searing agony while unimaginable pain rocketed through my left side and the sound of All The Small Things by Blink-182 assaulted my ears.
Though I seriously doubted that was the soundtrack to hell and I got the feeling it might just be something a little more visceral as I listened to the lyrics and they drew me back to reality.
The back of my skull was banging like a goddamn drum and I had to assume I'd hit it really fucking hard, but I couldn't afford my injuries any