Betrayal Is My End

Chapter 1

Timothy

"Come on, one more time!" The voice growled at me, my body screamed at me as my breath caught in my throat. When I coughed, blood came out and I felt both like my body was on fire and like I was cold. I groaned in pain, it wasn't unusual for me to but I was trying my hardest not to give them what they wanted. My side stung and I felt blood dripping but paid no mind, he won't kill me. I forced a deep breath into my lungs and just after the blinding pain passed, and I felt somewhat calm, I felt another blow to the head. "Come on, what's five times thirty-five? Keep going."
I coughed again and felt as my body trembled, my breathing was shaky and labored he's not cruel. He's just testing me, I have to be strong. I saw from the corner of my eye as he lunged toward me and mentally scrambled for the answer as I braced for another skull crushing blow.  "F-fi" I say before coughing again. "Five time thirty-five," I paused and forced myself to swallow back the bile that was pooling in my throat,  "one!" I scream before I sigh and feel as my hands slowly ball into fists.
He chuckled softly, "one? I think you're a bit off," he nudged me with his foot and I felt like I'd fall back but I forced myself to stay put.
I was on my hands and knees practically kneeling in front of him, "one hundred seventy-five." My breathing was heavy and I practically sagged in relief when his foot didn't lungs into my skull. I heard a scoff, "bout time."
He turned and dropped the knife he'd held and I felt my body sag further in relief. No more cuts, the bruises could still come, the bones could still be broken, but no more cuts. For right now, at least.
It'd been like this since the first day he'd taken me, he was cruel and animalistic. But then, he'd be calm and bandage me, reset what had been broke, clean what had been cut.
Some days he'd leave me for hours in blood sweat and tears before coming back acting as if nothing had happened.
Those days scared me the most, he'd act as though he was shocked to see me in the state I was in every single time. It was strange. I felt as blood ran from my head down the right side of my face and trickled to the floor. My hands were bandaged and dirty, the bandages were soaked in blood patches here and there and would need changed too. My head would need something, I took what I considered a deep breath and held it for a moment, centering myself. Remembering myself. My mind felt fuzzy at times and I had to force myself to remember, I hated those times the most.
I'd have to remember that pain all over again. The abandonment. He'd given them three days to find me. Three days. They'd never come, as soon as the third day was up, as soon as it hit midnight, he came to my cell and started the attacks.
He always shocked me with how he changed his tactics, sometimes it didn't feel as he was into it. He'd go soft, but when he came back, he'd go three times as hard. Making up for lost time as he'd say. And he always, always, did inventory on my injuries.
It was so strange, but whatever floats his boat. We were a week into this now, a whole four days of beatings. My body ached and I thought I'd die the first night- the first hour. He called me 'resilient' and when I wouldn't scream he'd make sure to cut twice as deep with a dull knife.
That did the trick. He enjoyed hearing the screams, sick bastard got off on it. I found myself tasting blood sometimes in the back of my throat from the screaming. He'd just laugh and ask a math question, I think it was his way of keeping me on track. Making sure my mind doesn't break. He turned and left the room now and I sighed, "Jay Jay, I'm sorry-" I say and cough again. More blood comes up and I frown, "I don't know if I can hold myself together much longer."
The door opened again and with it came my captor, he was about my height, maybe a little taller. His skin was pale as the moons light, with deep black hair. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he blinked, I'm pretty sure girls would cry if they could see this man's lashes. He was thin, but had muscles, I think Jay Jay described it once as wirey. He didn't look like much, but I knew that he could do damage, what he lacked in physical appearance he made up for in brute strength.
He looked me over quickly and I felt my body slowly start to give out, stand up! I couldn't just give in, I had to fight. But I was so tired. He crossed the room in what felt like two strides and had a hand on my shoulder before he yanked me up, he was hauling me to my feet. "Sit," he said and pushed me onto a small grimy stool. My body felt like it'd been filled with lead, I could barely move my arms.
As I tipped back to look at him, my head spun and my vision swam. I saw him arch his eyebrow as he stepped back watching me, "what, are you gonna pass out?" He asked, his tone was filled with boredom and I squeezed my hands into fists. My nails dig into my palms grounding me, don't give in. Five more minutes.
When he seemed satisfied I wouldn't pass out on him, he took a step closer again. He was wearing what he always did; dark blue jeans, dress shoes, a white button up shirt, and a vest. His eyes were trained on my face as he deftly cleaned up some cuts. I tried not to wince or move as he did, but even the slightest movement caught his attention. His eyes darted to mine and he glared. "Do you know how long it's been?" His tone caught me off guard, I was used to him angry. I was used to him screaming at me, demanding things from me. But, he wasn't this time. He wasn't angry, demanding or cruel, he genuinely sounded like he wanted to know if I knew.
"Um," I said trying to think back, I hissed as he wiped a cut and it stung worse than the others but he didn't stop.
He kept going and I frowned, coming up empty "i-I'm not sure." He frowned now and pursed his lips but didn't say anything. After a few more swipes with a towel to my face, he deemed me 'ok' and stepped back to lean against the wall. I sat on the stool still not quite sure what to do, it was strange. His mood swings, they left me feeling like I had whiplash. Sometimes, he was cruel and came in just to beat me.
Other times, he would clean me up and hold a conversation with me as though he wasn't the one abusing me. I liked those times, he seemed human, and sad. He often told me as he was hitting me that it wasn't anything personal. He didn't even want to do it, but he believed in an eye for an eye.
He was a man of his word. At first I didn't understand, an eye for an eye? What the hell did I do to you? But then I'd remember, Johnny. I can't fault him for it, if anyone had killed or hurt Jason like we did Johnny, I don't know what I'd do. I bit my lip forcing the images that sprang to my mind back, not now. I thought, please not now.
I don't want to cry in front of him. Jerome had been thorough when we'd taken care of Johnny.
I hadn't seen or dealt with much but I'd heard a lot. It was sickening. I forced my fear down and shook my head at him signaling I didn't have an answer. He hates when I don't use words but I'd hoped he'd forgive it this once.
He sighs apparently taking pity on me, "just take a guess." After a moment more of thinking  I shake my head and he sighs again looking at his nails in front of him, "ok." He says calmly. His words were calm but his body was tense, I felt myself tense waiting for him to strike, but he didn't. " How bout this," he said after a moment, "do you know how long it took your friends," he practically spits the word, "to decide to rescue the one girl- Kai's cousin? Or how about Tsu? Or even the new kid, what's his name?" I felt confusion building in my mind as he spoke, what new kid? "It's an easy name, Mickey?" He said before pausing and making a face, "No, that's not it. What's his name? Mack? No, that's not it-" he says and I feel the answer click into place.
"Mikey?" As I speak, my voice cracks and a tear falls down my face. I sniffle quietly and see something in his eyes, it looks almost like joy but he masks it quickly. When he spoke, his voice was soft. Not taunting.  "Yea, Mikey, do you know how long it took them to decide to get any one of them?" There's a pain in my chest now and I feel myself slightly panic, am I having a heart attack? Oh god, I'm only sixteen- I swallowed and forced myself to look up at him, to meet his cold gaze once again.  If this is how I die, I refuse to cower. "No." I said quietly, he stared at me for a moment and I saw the smirk form on his lips.
Guess she gave up on not rubbing it in. He crossed his arms in front of him, over his chest, and looked me over again this time with new eyes. Like he was inspecting me.
He looked out of place in this room, he was clean- aside from the split knuckles on his hands- and this room was coated in dirt and blood. Splotches of it here and there, mystery stains all over, splashes of blood covered the walls. Even small and big stains from when I'd been hit so hard I'd vomited. The room was always scrubbed down but the stains remained.
There were chains and manacles that dangled at different heights from the wall, and rats.
They climbed and crawled around the small room constantly, sometimes I woke up and they were on me trying to gnaw at my clothes and skin. It was horrible. "A week," I felt as my heart skipped a beat at his words. He's lying, he has to be. No way it's been a week, Jay jay would've found me. I grimaced and he smiled softly, "I know what you're thinking, you think I'm lying to you. I'm not. It's been a week, that's why the torture started."
He speaks so matter of factly that it takes me a second to catch on, as I do, I put my right hand up and look at it.
It's got dried blood on it mixed with dirt and I feel my stomach lurch as I stare at the stump where my pinky used to be. I remember that day, Jake had come barging through the door looking equally mad and joyful.
He'd taken his time explaining to me exactly what would happen if my family didn't show in the next five minutes. As he spoke, I remember feeling my stomach drop as I watched the time count down. Each second a second closer to pain and misery. He'd paced back and forth in the cell almost restlessly as he spoke, "your family has had three days to rescue you. Three. They haven't come, they clearly need incentive to drive them, so- that being said- I'm going to give them some. Each day they don't come, I'm sorry but I'm hacking off a present to send to them. You're left handed- right?" He asked looking at me questioningly. I felt fear building in my chest under his gaze.
He was like a feral animal that could sense weakness, it fed him. He lived for my weakness, slowly I nodded and he smiled, "I'll do you a kindness and start with your right hand. In," he paused and looked at his watch, "three, two," my heart sped up as he counted and I couldn't help but feel like a caged animal.
"One," he was across the room in a second and at my side holding my wrist in his left hand and a butchers knife in the right. "No, no no no no please!" I begged, I hadn't thought he'd actually do this. Surely there must be some humanity, maybe it wasn't a question of humanity.
He purposefully cut the right hand instead of the left, because he knew I was left handed. That's kind, right? Even after, he'd bandaged me up and I saw sadness in his eyes. He cared about me, he took care of me.