Winning His War

54

I just want to go ahead and say this. I don't want to hear a single slandering word about any character in this chapter. Let's all understand that this is traumatic and shock is a very real thing. Okay? Cool. Got it. Thanks.

Jem's POV

My face fucking hurt. I'd honestly say it hurt worse than my back from the whip, definitely more than the cuts on my chest from his knife, the few fingernails he ripped off felt like nothing more than a dull pain as long as I don't put pressure on them but my face fucking hurt.

The second Mateo slammed the door behind him Andrew's hands were grabbing my face gentle. His eyes scanned my face quickly before landing on the cut that was still bleeding. It was almost funny to see the way he visibly paled at the sight of blood considering how the past few days have gone for us.

"I need you to clot the bleeding for me," I said took hold of his shirttail and ripped it. Andrew only shook his head when I tried to hand him the cloth until I grabbed his hands from my face and forced him to hold it. "I can't see it well enough to do it myself or I would. You won't even have to see the blood if you do it right."
It took a bit more coaxing but eventually I was able to talk Andrew into it. My head rests in his lap while his hand keeps constant pressure. I could feel every move of his finger, every nervous twitch, every cramp induced twist, every flinch caused by the noise upstairs, they all sent pain shooting through my face.

"I think it stopped," Andrew said barely above a whisper after a while.

"Move the cloth and describe what it looks like," I said back, my eyes closed as I tried to keep myself awake. Andrew was already shaking his head as he applied even more pressure as if I were about to rip his hands away and force him to look. "I can't see it Andrew," I remind him. "I need to know how serious this is. How deep it is, how close to my eye, the chances it has of getting infected; it's not safe to ignore it." I tried to keep my voice as gentle as I could but I'm sure if he were in a slightly less panicked state he would be able to hear the forced patienceness.

"I can't," he gasped barely above a whisper again. I had thought he was slowly starting to calm down but it seemed his silence was just him panicking in his head instead of out loud.

"Okay," I sighed, forcing myself up from his lap. "Then we need to find something with a reflective surface so I can see myself." He nods but is no help as I searched the room the best I could with my legs still being chained to the wall.

Patrick was just as helpless. He was still chained to the celling in the middle of the room. His beating had made him weak and it was clear he was passed out the second Mateo left us alone.

A quick scan of the proved there was very little in here that would be even remotely helpful but I was able to find a piece of broken glass just out of my reach. It was a struggle and I'm pretty sure I dislodged my shoulder but I was able to grip the broken mirror shard just tight enough to pull it closer. It was small, no bigger than my hand, and fractured all over the front but it would do for what I needed it for.

I had to mentally prepare myself before looking into it.

It's been a week at this point. You're hair won't be right. You're going to be more pale than normal. You're diet has been fucked so you'll have sunken features. Still that wasn't enough for me to fully prepare.

I looked like actual shit but I forced myself to not look at anything other than the cut on my face.

The pain had been so blinding it was hard to tell exactly where the cut was but now that I could see it, I'll admit I'm a bit more worried. The whip had missed my eyes by centimeters while the cut began at the tip of my eyebrow and ended at the tip of my nose.