When they take you from the cramped little space, you are dragged to the same room with the table and chairs. As usual, one is occupied by your enemy. But unlike the other times, the remaining chair is not meant for you. One of your compatriots is sitting there instead, eyes wide with fear. Your heart rate speeds up.
When your enemy speaks, it's not to you. "You have a choice," he says. "We can focus on you today, or we can focus on him. Either way, I'll get what I want."
Your compatriot says nothing. He just stares.
"My choice, then." Your enemy turns to you, leans forward. "Remember when I told you that some of them would do anything to make the pain stop?"
And for the seventh time, his men fall on you like savage dogs tearing at a wounded deer. You writhe on the floor, twisting to evade their boots and their fists. But no matter which way you turn, you are vulnerable. Your ribs, your stomach, your shins, the base of your spine-- you feel as though you are about to fracture into a million pieces. And what hurts most, what really drives a dagger into your heart, are the two men watching it all. One sits, calm and impassive like the devil observing his realm. The other is, like you, a man. A man who sees his brother suffering and says not a word.
Through the pain, you wonder which is worse.
It's funny. Whenever I publish one of these things, Wattpad tells me "You have published You" or "You have published Him". For most people, it's probably "You have published Kiss Under the Moonlight" or "You have published The Enemy of My Enemy". Sorry, I'm not that interesting. But can you imagine "Kiss Under the Moonlight" for this story?
YOU ARE READING
Divided
Short StoryYou are a captive. They'll get nothing out of you, not a single word, because you'll die before you tell them anything. He is determined to break his captive- he needs the information and he'll find out what he wants to know by any means necessary. ...
