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"Just say the word, and I'll stop," the boss husked in my ear. "There's seven other boys out there that could be here instead of you right now. Aren't you tired of playing the hero?"
I gather up all the strength I have in my body, just to be as spiteful as possible. "Are you kidding? I could do this all day." I laugh and it only seems to anger him as he laughs along humorlessly, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.
He grabs a bloodied knife from off of his table and runs his finger across the blade. "I've broken your body in so many ways, but it's no fun if I can't break your mind. We'll just have to keep going until I figure out how." Despite my best attempts at staying strong, when I look into his eyes, all I feel is fear. It feels like my skin is crawling and I wish so badly that I could see the light of day again instead of this dark and haunted building.
"What number were we at?" He asks me as he grabs my hand out of the restraint and places it on the table beside me. I whimper as I try to free my hand from his grasp, but he only strengthens his hold, crushing my bones in the process. "What number?" He growls.
"Seven hundred and thirty four," I cry out in pain. He gives me a pleased smile before praising me and I feel bile burning the back of my throat.
Without any warning, he lowers the blade down over my fingers. All that can be heard in the room is my screams echoing off of the walls and I find myself praying that the pain makes me black out.
"Count," he demands.
"S-seven hundred and t-twenty seven." I bite down on my lip until I feel the skin break. The metallic taste of blood pours over my tongue, but it's nothing compared to the pain in my hand. I don't dare look down at it, I already know my fingers are missing and blood is oozing out where my limbs used to be. One thing I've learned in my time spent with the boss, is that he can heal us. How he has that power, I don't know, but I do know that he doesn't use it for anything good. My limbs have grown back so many times that I no longer feel human, more like a doll that keeps getting stuffed and stitched back up. I feel disgusting.
Hours and hours drag on just like this, time bleeding out through a glass, just like my blood pours down to the floor. All I feel is pain, and my only coherent words is the stupid numbers he has me counting and desperate pleas to just be killed, but I know he's not finished with me, not until I give up and ask him to have one of my friends replace me. That's not going to happen either. So what? Will he just keep torturing me until I'm on my last breath, just to heal me and have me go through it all over again? I can't imagine being able to survive this kind of pain much longer. Is it effecting my health in the real world. I feel as if it's enough to kill my real body, even if it's all just in my head.
I keep counting down the numbers as he finds new and creative ways to cause me agonizing pain. The longer this goes on, the cloudier my mind feels, and I'm starting to lose my grip on reality. The only thing that keeps me grounded, keeps me sane, is those numbers. He told me to count down from one thousand, subtracting the number seven each time. It's my only comfort, the only thing I have to help me right now. Oh, how I wish I could replace those numbers with the comfort of having my friends by my side, but I'm alone by my own choosing. I'd rather suffer alone knowing that they're safe.
