Body of Scars

Chapter VIII

(Charolette P.O.V)

Gritting my teeth I taste blood within my mouth from the teeth inflicted gouges on my tongue. I tense my arms and brace my body for a pain that is soon to come. “Now Charolette” whispers Raphael, kneeling casually before me, pliers swinging fatally from his loose grip, teasingly close to the bloody stubs which had been fingernail beds. “You haven’t screamed once” he continues and I spit meekly toward him, my saliva catching a small tuft of hair on the side of his head as he attempts to dodge it. Shaking his head resentfully Raphael lowers the pliers toward the last nail on my finger, edging the tool closer with a mocking slowness. Struggling against my restraints I push my back further against the wall, the cold pinching the muscles of my back and arching my neck. Raphael keeps a firm hold on my hand and I shut my eyes securely as I feel the pliers grip my nail. He begins to pull the nail roughly from the nail bed, twisting sharply at some points as I groan inwardly, trying to hold the scream which threatens to burst from me. With a cruel finality Raphael pulls the nail out, giving a triumphant shout as I slump against the wall, opening my eyes to see the faint figment of my nail being held toward the light, closely inspected by Raphael. Glancing toward my hands I stare fixedly at each bloodied finger, bare of any nail. A throbbing ache has begun and I bit my lip in hope that the tremble of my lower lip might cease. Raphael stands and walks toward the table holding instruments of torture, having dropped my nail and placing the pliers down gently. He glances toward deathly looking blades and I give a sharp intake of breath. Thankfully Raphael glimpses something of further interest, turning his back to me. 

Nervously I watch as he lifts something heavy from the table, the object roughly scraping against the wooden surface and splashing something to the floor. “Ugh” I groan loudly as Raphael turns with a large bucket of water, the contents swishing noisily from side to side and occasionally spilling past the brim. “Your going to drown me?” I ask, rattling my chains and barking a humorless laugh. “Oh no” speaks Raphael quietly, “You wish” and I do wish. Almost more than I wish Jared to find me. Death is so much easier than a table brimming with instruments of torture. Raphael approaches me and roughly pushes my legs apart with a kicking foot. Placing the bucket between them he stands intimately above me, placing a purposeful hand on my head. Jerking away abruptly I struggle uselessly, unable to brush his hand from my head. “Are you ready darling” speaks Raphael and the pet name shoots dangerous rage through my body which trembles with the effort of containing it. “Bring it” I mutter savagely. With no further comment Raphael pushes my head down into the bucket, my full lungs closing instinctively as the water surges up my nostrils, ears and to my eyes. 

My vision is blurred by the murky water but I make out the soiled bottom of the bucket, firmly fixing my eyes on the circle drawn centre and struggling to keep my mouth tightly sealed. Remaining air scrapes past my throat, clumsily slipping from my airway leaving me aching and soar. I hold my breath strictly, tension building at the base of my throat. I feel my head begin to throb unpleasantly. People say when a person drowns they hold their breath till the past moment, until they feel their head exploding. Then they open their mouth and give a giant gulp, swallowing only water. It must be peaceful. Wonderful. To give into an instinct so familiar, opening your mouth to breath. To let death slip through your lungs and fill your airway. I feel myself stirring at the mention of death. My eyelids slitting, my lips ready to part. To take the giant gulp which will fill my lungs and body with water. Before I am able to I am wrenched from the water by my hair. 

My eyes are still bleared and there is a weird moment of more breathlessness, even though I am confronted by air. My mouth and lungs open abruptly and I am drinking air rapidly as I make deafening panting sounds. Water surges from my nose, eyes and ears and I am about to cough remaining water from my lungs when my head is driven toward the bucket of water once more.