Crazy In Love | Buggy

s e v e n t y - f i v e

The fear was evident on Jacques' face. I could see clearly that he was absolutely petrified. Of course, I couldn't blame him, not in the slightest. I myself had been stabbed and cut many times during my time with Buggy, I could only imagine how absolutely excruciatingly painful what Buggy was going to do to him would be.

As I attempted to imagine how utterly painful having an entire finger cut off would be, I felt myself cringe, and nausea stir inside of me. Instinctively, I clenched my hands, feeling a phantom sting in my fingers at the image of them being sawed off.

Buggy squeezed Jacques hand, separating his fingers. On Jacques' pinky finger, he tapped his own finger, drawing attention to it.

He begun his countdown. "Ten."

I wondered which finger I would choose if I were in his position. The pinky seemed like the most logical and least painful choice. Although, none of them seemed like particularly great choices. The pinky, however, would be cut off the quickest, there was less flesh, and thinner bones. It would be over and done with far quicker than any of the other fingers.

Moreover, I imagined it would bleed less, too, since the wound would be smaller. Which finger, I begun to wonder, would have the most blood flow. The thumb, I thought, seemed the most obvious. Although, the human body is strange and surprises you - perhaps you have more veins and blood flow in another finger. But which, I wasn't sure. The choice seemed like an impossible one.

Buggy allowed the silence to draw out further. He was good at torturing people, it was one of his favourite activities. He seemed to know that the suspense was almost worse than the action itself.

Finally, he spoke. "Nine."

Jacques seemed to find his voice all of a sudden, jolting out of his dissociation. "I need all my fingers - you can't cut one off!"

"Exactly," Buggy stressed. He seemed to get this sparkle in his eyes; pure and utter joy at Jacques' horror. "That's why I'm taking one. It wouldn't make much sense to take a useless part of your body, now would it?"

Jacques begun to desperate attempt to twist free of Buggy's ironclad grip. Buggy didn't let him go, nor did he even seem to loosen his grip whatsoever. He was strong, stronger than any average person. I had learned that over these last few months. A normal human, without devil fruit powers or weapons, was defenseless against him.

As I watched Jacques' attempts to riggle free of Buggy's grip, I had the realisation that I didn't feel the smallest bit of sympathy for Jacques. None at all. Actually, this all seemed like perfect poetic justice. When Jacques had grabbed me, pulled me away from Buggy, he had refused to free me no matter how desperately I pleaded and begged him to.

In that moment, I had felt so horribly helpless. In this moment, I felt almost satisfied. He deserved this. I hadn't realised, until this moment, just how badly what Jacques had done to me had upset me. When he had done what he did, he had made me feel so small, so violated. He dragged me around the dance floor as if I were nothing more than a ragdoll, to move and use as he pleased. He hadn't really viewed me as I person with my own thoughts and feelings - he saw me as no more than an object. Or, at least, that's how he made me feel.

Jacques had touched me and my body without my consent, even when I had told him to stop multiple times. He had allowed his eyes to wander places that they had absolutely no right to wander to.

He deserved what Buggy was doing to him. He deserved punishment. Had he ever been punished before? I wondered. Surely, I wasn't the first woman he had done this to. Had he gone further with the others than he had with me?

I felt, suddenly, incredibly lucky that I had Buggy to save me. He had saved me so many times. How many others weren't so lucky as to have someone to step in and stop Jacques going further?