Look At The Mess I've Made

Hope Come Save Me Now

CW-Torture, gore

I come to, strapped to a chair. My whole body hurts, and my head is pounding with a slight hangover. I groan quietly, opening my eyes to a dimly lit room, barely having time to register the blinking red light of a camera recording, before I'm filled with pain. I cry out, and I hear that chuckle again. He pulls the knife out of my hand, and I whimper. I feel him stab it into my other hand, and through my tears I see the sick excitement in his eyes. He twists the blade, and I scream. I feel the steel grind on the delicate bones in my hand, feel the blood flowing freely.

"Oh come on, are you gonna scream at that little cut? You'll love what I have in store for you then." He chuckles. I groan as the blade twirls again, and I feel him tip my head back. The knife is lightly tracing my cheek now, the blood on the knife mixing with the tears on my cheeks. I meet his eyes, silently pleading for him to not do it. He grins sadistically, and the knife is no longer on my face. I barely have time to feel relief before he spears it through my ribs. I feel him getting close to my face, his hot breath fanning out over my face.

"I won't kill you... yet. I sense you will be a lot more fun than the others were. All this won't kill you, I've studied the human body for years. I know exactly how much I can do to a person before it's too much. You won't be getting out of this that easily." He says, a laugh escaping his lips when I mewl in fear. The knife is pulled from my ribs, and I shout when it enters my shoulder. He continues the torture for what seems like forever, and by the time he is done I am basically covered from the neck down in my own blood, and can hear it drip down to the floor. I'm weak, both from screaming and the amount of blood I have lost. He had gotten a bit more creative, using pliers to rip the nails off of my fingers and toes. He has long since discarded the knife, now he undoes my bindings. I can barely fight back as he cuffs my hands, and hangs me from the ceiling. I can barely breathe, every bit that my lungs expand causing pain to course through me. I am 100% at this man's mercy, and I watch him walk around me, cutting my shirt and pants off, yet leaving my boxers. Once those lay in a bloody heap below me, he steps back.

"Oh, Ahren... You've only gotten more beautiful in this state. Your skin looks like it's lacking some blue and black though." He says, and pulls his arm back. The impact from him punching my chest knocks the wind out of me, in a weak cry. He does this dozens of times, making every part of my torso and back hurt with an intensity I have never felt before. I am wheezing for every breath, knowing that with any one of these punches, he could break my ribs. He backs up, and watches me try to catch my breath. Every part of my body hurts, and I see a rather large puddle of blood below me. I know he isn't done with me yet, though, as he hasn't made the signature cuts on my cheeks. He picks up an object from the ground, and it doesn't take a lot to know what it is. He holds a whip up, and I whimper slightly at the sight of the metal pieces through it.

"This, my dear Ahren, is called a Knout. It's not a Great Knout, that would be too easy to kill you with. With this one, you could easily take 90 to 125 lashes before there is any real danger. However, since you have already taken so much injury without blacking out, I'm just going to lash you until you either black out or the camera runs out of storage. I'm not done with you yet, but this is a perfect opportunity for your Grin..." My eyes widen at all of this information.

"N-no... Please... I've been quiet enough, haven't I?" I plead, as he walks over with the bloodied knife from before.

"I don't want you to be quiet, I know nobody will hear you, no matter how loud you are. Go right ahead and scream your little heart out." He smirks, and he roughly grabs my bottom jaw, pulling my mouth open and slicing the corners of my lips with his knife. I whimper as he does this, the action only taking a few seconds and being done with a precision envied by surgeons. He backs up, observing his handiwork, before he picks up the knout. The lashes bring forth a blinding pain, but no pain could rival the feeling of the cuts on my face spreading from ear to ear, all the tendons and tissue in my cheeks tearing. That is the last pain I remember, and I pass out with blood flooding my mouth.

I come to, what seems like moments later, to him laying me on a metal table with surprising care. He doesn't notice my eyes open at first, and he turns to grab something from a table across the room. I take the opportunity to look around, stifling a groan when I move my neck. The man turns around, and in his hands he is holding a medical kit and some towels.

"Ah! You're awake already, I see." He says. The mask he had been wearing earlier when he was torturing me is now gone, and in its place is the man from the bar. His hair, which had been gelled up at the bar, is now curly and fluffy. He looks almost kind, if not for the blood on his hands and splattered on his shirt, all from me. He walks back over to me, and I whimper as he pulls a syringe out of the kit. He pulls out a vial, reads the side, and opens it, filling the syringe with the vial's contents. He holds the syringe up, and taps it, getting all of the air out of it before approaching my face. I try to move away, and he uses his free hand to hold my head still.

"This is just Novocaine, so I can stitch your face up and you won't be crying from the pain." he says, a hard edge to his voice. He pokes the needle in, and injects some of the medicine into my face. He turns my head and does the same for the other side, and then he turns around to grab a light. I'm surprised to find out that it's a high-powered floodlight, and he has it rigged to hang over me while I lay here. My face is already numb, and he tests this by tapping on my cheeks, which I just stare at him blankly for.

"Want a cover for your eyes? I know the light can be a bit much." He offers. I try to say "Yes" but my voice makes no sound. I lift a hand and give him a thumbs-up instead, and he turns around to grab a sleeping mask. He lifts up my head surprisingly gently and slips it on, and my eyes immediately feel a ton better. I vaguely feel him stitching me up, but there's almost no pain whatsoever. I feel him tilt my face the other way, and after a few more minutes of him working on my face, I feel him move to the stab wound on my shoulder. He begins stitching it up with no warning, and I yelp.

"You might as well get used to it, you've got about 12 other wounds that need sewn and bandaged, then your back." He says, poking the needle through my skin again.

"Just be happy I'm a former med student and I know what I'm doing."

Hours later, he is putting the last suture in my skin, and I feel him rubbing ointment into the whip marks on my back. Every stab wound on my chest is already stitched, slathered in ointment, and covered with gauze. I have grown a bit more accustomed to the pain, and he has removed the blindfold, discarding it along with a few towels that he had placed under and around my head to mop up the blood. He steps back, putting the kit back together and storing it away. I watch him move around the room, cleaning up all the mess from earlier. The strong smell of disinfectant almost makes me gag, and I notice how he seems unaffected. He's on his hands and knees, scrubbing a hospital-grade disinfectant into the concrete floor. All fabrics or wooden objects that had come into contact with me or my blood are now in a bag, and he has put some of them into a tall metal barrel, pouring copious amounts of the disinfectant over it. He seems to remember that I'm awake and watching, and he turns around.

"We are leaving here, sweetheart. The local police already know roughly what I look like. I'm cleaning the area up, which means that you're gonna need to be knocked out so I can clean the entire house and get us somewhere new. Sorry 'bout this." He says as he pulls another syringe out of the medical kit. He walks over to me and picks up my arm, poking the needle into my skin and pushing the plunger down. I whimper almost silently as I feel my mind grow cloudy. He offers me an almost apologetic grin as my vision fades, and I know no more.