Hearts of Deceit (ManxMan)

Ch 22: Plan

Where had things gone wrong? I was visiting Portland in my dreams. Vinnie and Sammy and the bookstore. I was back in New York before I'd left. Before disaster hit. I remember my mom knitting a quilt for me in the living room. I remember dad taking me out to play catch or watching the Saturday toons with me. Wouldn't it have been easier if I were someone else? Not the useless delta I was at the moment, wishing for it all to end.

Three days. It had been three days and the aches were deep in my bones, the burns in my muscles, and the gripping pain all over my body. It hadn't been that bad, had it? No. A few kicks from some masked men with video cameras here and there. Maybe a good shiner or two. I couldn't feel my nose after the second day although the sensation had soon come back in the from of an incessant throb and a splitting headache. The assholes had even gone for my shoulder with the bullet injury. Pressing down on it was enough to make me scream. 

Get a hold of yourself, Fitzroy. It's only a few minutes a day for the camera. Why the fuck can't you take a hit or two? Imagine how pathetic Ross and the others must think you're being. 

I promised myself, at the very least, that I wouldn't cry. I couldn't forgive myself. Maybe it was ok but I couldn't give myself the satisfaction. The dirty cell with nothing but a blanket in one corner and a door that led to a dingy bathroom in another were my only company. For most nights, I'd sat in the pitch blackness trying to get used to the foreign smells, feeling, and...the screams of others. Apparently, I was the lucky one. The tears always stood at the precipice, ready to fall. I wouldn't let them. I felt like a scared little boy. It didn't matter. 

Maybe it was for the best. It hadn't fully registered that I was going to die and it had. Part of my judgement was clouded with resignation. Maybe it was a defense mechanism to keep my sanity intact. I kept telling myself that there was nothing wrong with me dying. It was for Hans. It was for Hans. For Hans. If I said the mantra in my head enough times, the beatings would hurt just a little bit less that day. 

The third day of beatings seemed to drag on longer than usual. One of the betas threatened to snap my arm, and I couldn't help the short sob that escaped me. An hour or so after they left, I dragged myself, crawling to a wall and sitting against while trying to wipe away the blood on my already heavily stained T-shirt. I hadn't been allowed a change. Then I sat there. Exhausted and tired. Tired of everything. Tired of who I was. Tired of telling myself I could take another four days. Tired of telling myself that it was ok if I died. I buried my head into my knees. My hands trembled. Water threatened to fall over the edges of my eyes. 

Why are you so goddamn weak? What's wrong with you? Maybe you deserve it. Can't protect yourself like an alpha or a beta. You aren't nearly half as worthful as an omega. No, this is your fault. Your fault. Your fault... 

"Hey kiddo, what's with the long face?"

My head shot up. I did a double-take. A tremor ran through my body. "Da-dad?"

His visage was smiling at me. We looked a lot alike. Red hair that was just neat enough to satisfy mom. Pale skin and soft trimmed beards. Emerald green eyes. Unbelievably green, as mom would say. Connor Fitzroy smiled.

"You're asleep, kiddo. But it's great to see ya! Can't tell you how much we missed ya!"

I sniffled. The tears were already trailing a path down my splotchy cheeks. "I wanna go home, dad." I stuffed my head back down. "I'm-I'm so pa-pathetic. A useless delta..."

He ruffled my hair and  gave his old, crooked smile that made the wrinkles around his eyes more prominent. "Remember what I used to tell ya, Con? Those are the cards you get-"

"-What you gonna do about it?" I finished for him. He beamed. I felt his calloused paw close around my hand and open it as his free hand set something down. I was taken aback to find my carving knife.