Papillon

Chapter 39: Piece By Piece

Francis

"Did you think it was funny?" Moreau asked.

"There's very few things I think are funny," I drawled. "This most certainly was the very definition of humor."

His lips curled up into a sneer and he nodded to someone behind me. Almost immediately, I felt the bat against the base of my neck, the pain shooting through my entire body.

Faintly, I was aware of a feminine bloodcurdling scream in the corner of my mind. That particular noise was all too familiar, one I recognized very well in my mind.

The sound snapped me back into consciousness, not allowing the pain to drag me into the depths of unconsciousness all over again.

"S'il te plait, mon bijou. Ne discutez pas. S'il te plait, tais-toi. Je ne peux pas te voir de blesser," Mama pleaded.
Please, my gem. Don't argue. Just please be quiet. I can't see you get hurt.

He wasn't going to hurt Mama, I had that assurance because I needed her. But submitting to Moreau? Not fighting back? Listening to whatever he said?

That simply wasn't an option.

"Who asked the question?" Moreau repeated.

"I don't know," I gritted my teeth.

Another whip against my back. I bit my tongue so hard that I could taste the blood in my mouth. Really, that was all I was tasting these days.

I couldn't feel any of my extremities. Being suspended from the ceiling for God knew how long had left me disoriented and dazed. Not to mention, I was losing blood at an alarming rate.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," Moreau said calmly. "Who have you told about your mother?"

His voice had a jagged edge. But surprisingly, there was also fear.

Moreau's reputation was everything right now and he needed to make sure he was clean as a whistle. The fact that someone asked a question specifically about domestic abuse seven years after his wife had disappeared was suspicious to say the least. He was well-versed and well-trained by his PR team so i was sure he answered the question phenomenally, even if I didn't get to see it.

I was glad someone asked him that. Someone brave enough to bring it up. Someone who wasn't afraid of Moreau.

"And I'm going to tell you one more time, I don't know," I replied.

Moreau let out a caustic breath and turned to Mama.

"Maybe you just need to be motivated better, Francis," he sneered and then grabbed Mama's hair, twisting it in his fist. She fell at his feet, head bowed in submission. Mama never submitted but she would, if it meant he wouldn't touch me. She was selfless like that, always putting herself before me and everyone else.

Moreau tugged her hair back, forcing her throat to extend all the way before he yanked her up to her feet and pulled a knife out, letting it hang to his side.

"You wouldn't," I clipped.

Mania was evident in his expression as he pushed the knife in between the slit of her dress, pressing it against her thigh, right by her femur. Grimly, he pressed the sharp blade into her skin and she convulsed in pain as the first red drops of blood slivered down her leg. It was well hidden, somewhere no one would be able to see on cameras.

"I told you, I don't fucking know," I gritted. Showing Moreau exactly how much him hurting Mama was hurting me wasn't an option. Because the more I reacted, the more he hurt her. It was something I knew well.