Verbatim [h.s]

Fifty

// Trigger Warning : Violence and gore. \\

Zuri's POV

I don't know how much time has passed. I tried to keep track with watching the daylight turn to nighttime through the windows but with the constant torture, abuse and me passing out all the time. I've lost track of what day I'm on.

But I know I've been here for a while. A lot longer than I thought. I don't know where Harry is, but he sure as shit knows I'm gone by now. If he has found Audrey, spoken to her, then she will have told him what happened. That is if she isn't here. I tried shouting her again and again over the past however long but I just get told to shut up or some shit. They usually come in and perform one of their attacks on me.

At first, everything hurt. Everything they did hurt. And it shocked me. I'd cry and I'd scream. But now, I expect. I expect them two men to waltz in here and take what they want. Or give what they want should I say. They inflict so much pain on me, I'll be surprised if I'm not scarred although I'm sure they're being careful not to fuck me up too much. There must be some sort of command from Leonardo. Do what you want but don't ruin her? Well, Leonardo, take it from me, I am well and truly ruined. Every inch of me is ruined.

They still haven't given me any clothes, I did try asking once but I get laughed at and beaten. Each time my body heals from one of the attacks, I just get done over again and again. I can remember every single time, every single scream, every single tear.

And I remember no one, not one single person coming to save me.

I guess it's either I save myself or I die here.

I try not to think back to all that pain, all the marks on my body but sometimes they're just too haunting...

My throat has grown rasp from the screaming as they slice another slit in my thigh. Slowly dragging the sharp blade over my skin, ripping it open as the blood pours out at an agonisingly slow rate. They've been at this for an hour. Mocking me. Asking me stupid questions. I don't even want to think of how many cuts I have on me by now. Each day they come in here with a new form of torture, I'm sure they sit at home googling it to find something new and exciting. I don't know why Leonardo is letting them do this, if he wants me dead I don't see why he doesn't just come and kill me himself.

But no not today. They've been careful with their movements. Not slicing too deep. They did this one of the first times they came into the room, the method must've stuck. I can't tell if it's my screams or the blood that seems to turn them on. Fucking cunts. There is only one cut, that I know of that will scar, one they made a mistake on and cut too deep. Way too deep. I almost bled out.

In my dazed sight, I remember hearing and seeing Leonardo come into the room. He had shouted, and helped me, got me stitched up and the next time I saw the men they were beaten to a pulp. But they were still allowed to come back. And they haven't made that mistake again. So, that scar that now sits on my inner thigh will be a constant reminder of my time here if I make it out alive. As will the branding on my thigh that has healed and doesn't hurt anymore. They had some woman come and apply some cream, change the bandages until it was better.

That alone tells me I've been here longer than I thought I would be.

"You'd think you'd learn by now that your screams just spare us on." The one I now know is called Frank, the one I had stabbed, laughed as he dragged the knife again this time against my upper arm, being oh so delicate.

"Fuck. Off."

"Yeah, yeah, you say this every time." The other one, now known as Dennis, says swinging his knife around sat on a table that they had moved in here not long after I had arrived. It's their play table, or so they call it. A lovely assort of weapons sit on that table. All to be used on me.