Fragmented Lies

Chapter 4: The broken mask

A/N: Fair warning this is a slightly angsty chapter and there's some mention of inflicted pain, and threats. And the aftermath of trauma/angst stuff going on. Thanks to Snowbellewells for beta reading this for me.

Chapter 4: The broken mask

Emma winced in pain when she tried to move her shoulders, hoping to ease the tension in her muscles. Blood seeped down her cheek, probably from a wound over her eyebrow. Her hands were tied behind her back so she couldn't inspect her bruises. She had no idea how long she'd been down in this hell hole; it was a cold bare room with white tiles. It looked like an old washroom, as several fixtures on the wall indicated that at some point there had been showers or old washing machines down here.

The cramp in her leg bugged her again, the tension from having her legs tied to the cold metal chair was straining her muscles. Trying to ease the cramps, she twisted her foot from side to side, the most movement she had been able to do for hours now. It had to be hours; though there were no windows to tell time, it sure felt like hours. On and off Gold's men, or the monster himself, had come to the room and questioned her. When she didn't talk, they beat her, either with their fists or with a thin leather strip; her skin prickled where the leather had cut her.

She refused to talk; she wouldn't let the man win. Her thoughts were interrupted when Neal came into the room. He hadn't come down here in the time she'd been there. Looking at him with a frown, she bit out, "What do you want?"

"Oh, just a little curious." He shrugged and walked toward her with slow and measured steps. He had his hands clasped behind his back as he perused her battered body. When he reached a hand towards her face, she flinched.

"Uf, that looks nasty," he prodded the tender skin above her eye, and the pain from the wound sliced through her body.

"Fuck off," she spat and glared at him.

"Oh, I'm kinda bummed that I never got to do that," Neal mused and let his fingers slide down over her collarbone. Her dress had been torn at one point, so the fabric hung loosely over one of her shoulders. His fingers trailed over the hem of her dress, while he let one finger dip into the cleavage and stopped.

Emma held her breath, her eyes never leaving his; she could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, as he contemplated what his next move would be.

"Forget about it," she warned.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you're not the one calling the shots this time." He tugged at her dress, and a small rip was heard. She gasped but sighed in relief when he let go of her dress. He cupped her cheek instead, forcing her to look at him. "You will talk, we will know who you really are and who you're working for. Soon."

"I won't ever talk," Emma glared at him. "I should never have even tried to date you back then." She spat in his face, hitting his cheek.

He pulled back with a growl, and wiped his face in a handkerchief he found in his pocket. "Don't do that again," he warned.

"What?" Emma asked, "this?" She spat again, but missed her mark. The slap of his hand came seconds later, making her skin burn.

"Shut up, I should have fucked you back then," Neal sneered.

"It would never have happened. I have certain standards when it comes to men." She let her eyes travel over his body wrinkling her nose, "Nothing you have would ever compare to what I look for in a man."

Neal raised his hand to strike her again, but then the door burst open and his father strode in followed by a meek looking man with wild hair. It took Emma several moments to recognize the man. It was Mr Walsh, the furniture shop owner, who carried a laptop that he placed on a table near the door.