FINE [P. PARKER X OC]

chapter nine

WARNING: this chapter has strong elements of abuse and/or torture. there is a small part of murder as well. please skip if needed.

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"AGAIN!" HE commanded.

Blake squeezed her eyes shut. Her body burned - skin, hair, clothes and all. But she couldn't cry yet. It couldn't have been fourty-eight hours yet, anyways, so why would she give them the satisfaction of her sorrows now? Why now, when she was sure this would last far longer than a mere two days.

The electricity buzzed and then shot through her body. Her finger pads felt no more, either fried or numb. She was trapped, too. Paralyzed.

And her shoulder? Well, it was still bruised. Really bruised, actually. But she knew, she knew this was only a start.

Blake opened her eyes. She wanted to groan. To cry and scream and run. Especially now. Especially when she saw what was next...

Fire.

She should have expected it but her eyes widened anyways. The man besides her, given the job of torturing the poor child, did nothing to show any sign of sorrow or pity. (He even cracked a maniacal smile!)

The man looked to the general for instructions, and immediately complied to whatever he was told.

Her arms were strapped to the chair with leather binds. Her legs were cuffed in a similar fashion which Addison used hours earlier.

Has it really only been hours?

Blake didn't know, and now, well... she didn't think she wanted to know either.

Her arm was trapped, as was she.

The flame danced, lighting the man's wild eyes and his rotten teeth. Her skin burned, hotter and hotter and hotter until it started to bubble and pop. The match was held there for a few seconds - just enough for her to truly become numb - before the man blew out. He gave Blake no attention as he moved onto her upper forearm, just inches from where he began.

Again, the match was lit, and again, she was roasted to numbness. Closer the match came. Blake squeezed her eyes only to be electrocuted.

"Watch!" The general commanded her in Russian.

Blake complied, deciding better than to glare at the cruel man, and stared to her right arm. She watched the flame dance across her arm. She watched it melt and bubble and pop and finally char her skin beneath it. She watched the man blow out the flame, smelt his horrible breath, and watched the match strike again. She watched him lastly drag his match across her skin, reopening any burns which had tried to begin the healing process, and tried to stay calm.

And she was doing fine until they grabbed her arm. Then, she screamed, unable, for once, to hold her pain. She gritted her teeth so hard that she thought her jaw would surely break and she grasped her burned arm only to feel a stab in her back.

There was a crack, and then another stab.

And then again. Crack, stab. Crack, stab. Crack, stab. Until finally she realized what happened.

"Stop!" She finally cried. Her voice broke and her lip trembled. Her whole body was shaking and her ears rang louder than the loudest siren.

She raised her good arm and grabbed the whip, ignoring the burns it left. She yanked it, pulling the man who held it down with her, but to her unfortunate luck, she was in light.

Meaning, she couldn't try to teleport away.

Shit.

She only let out a mere whimper, and continued to let the men drag her away. It was no use, after all, so why bother?

  —

Her hand shook when she reached for the water. She almost spilled it, actually, but gratefully didn't.

She shivered at the cool air's breath. Her shirt was off, torn and wrapped around her bad arm, leaving her in her black sports bra.

Every sound made her flinch. Every crash, yell, and explosion meant pain; both physical and mental. Never one without the other.

She cursed herself for being so dumb. For crying like that. She squeezed her eyes shut until the tears no longer fell.

Until they grabbed her again.

Her hair was yanked, almost out of her skull. They pressed a knife to her back and demanded she walked (which she did). Blake only whimpered to them, but even then she received a fair share of unruly threats.

They threw her into a room - a cage, more so - and slammed the door behind her. She was alone again.

Or, maybe not.

The gunshot echoed, but hit her before she could react. Blake gasped in pain, held her thigh, and finally cried.

When she was shot again, she had enough.

She jumped to her feet, stammered around before gaining balance, and ran (limped) to the gun's holder.

They had no time to react, and soon their blood was painting the walls, mixing with Blake's.

Blake looked to her hands, covered in the red liquid, and then to the man she just killed. Her breaths were heavy and ragged, but very much there. The adrenaline pumped alongside her heart and for once she felt alive.

She inhaled deeply, letting the metallic smell take over before the bile formed in her mouth.

Then, she threw up.