Evan's breath hitched in his throat as he watched Gordon slide on the brass knuckles, a sly smile spreading across his face that only made Evan feel sicker. There was no need for the chair - he was too weak to fight back.
The first hit landed. His head flew to the left, mouth filling up with blood as he attempted to blink away the white spots invading his vision.
Another hit, same spot. He was on his hands and knees coughing up the blood. All he could focus on was the ringing deep within his ears.
He was gruffly pulled up by the arm. Gordon held onto him as he punched him in the stomach so he couldn't drop to the floor. Evan's last breath was wasted on a groan, the pain completely blurring his vision. Another hit and he was hunched over, his voice lost somewhere in his throat as he tried to regain his breath. For some reason his lungs were no longer on his side. Maybe they had the right idea, maybe it wasn't worth it.
His hair was yanked back so he could see Gordon's fist coming straight at him.
Evan sat up in bed, wide eyed and trembling. He began to feel nauseous as he envisioned Gordon looming over him and abruptly stood up, stumbling his way to the bathroom despite the overwhelming pain it caused. He closed the door gently behind him and hunched over the toilet, throwing up everything inside of him, which wasn't much given his little appetite.
Evan placed his hands on the rim to push himself up, then closed the lid, wincing at how loud the flushing sound was. He hoped he hadn't woken anyone. The ringing in his ears finally began to fade as he gripped onto the bathroom sink, head hanging in exhaustion. Then the voice that he's told no one about, the one he's been hearing for weeks, came back.
Worthless piece of shit. No one cares about you.
Evan squeezed his eyes shut, his knuckles turning white as he grasped onto the sides of the sink a little harder.
You deserve to die. You're a waste. A letdown. No wonder your friends aren't coming for you.
He bit his lip as he met his reflection in the mirror, tear streaks on his face that he hadn't even realized were there. He still had a purple ring around one of his eyes and the right side of his face was all scarred up. Evan used his hand to wipe off the tears, never taking his eyes off his reflection.
His fingers wrapped around the hem of his shirt. Hesitating, he winced as he pulled it over his head, his ribs not wishing to comply whatsoever. He let the shirt slip from his grasp and land on the floor by his feet. His eyes danced across the cuts and bruises on his chest.
Ugly mess.
He brought his hand up to the left side of his chest and placed his thumb at the start of a long scar. He closed his eyes as he traced it down to his waist, remembering how the blade felt, how awful his screams were, how loud his pleas to stop had been and the way it all echoed off the dark walls like a constant reminder. Once he reached the end his eyes shot open and he was left to look at what was remaining of the memory. He pressed his icy cold fingers against his burning ribs, savoring the momentary relief it provided.
You deserve to die.
Evan began to question what the point was to any of this anymore. His life was just a constant reminder of what he had been through. He didn't know if it was even possible with all the scars and mental complications for him to ever have a normal life again. Even though Gordon was dead, somehow he still won. Somehow he had gotten the last laugh.
He placed a hand against his mouth as the thought of living in this torn up state for another second settled in. He muffled his sobs, biting on his thumb and hoping the pain would prevent him from making noise.
