The Pariah

"It's so much safer not...to let the world touch me." ---Sylvia Plath

"Now," Carter said as he pressed the blade farther into Nick's skin causing him to hiss in pain. "Let's get started."

Nick closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was anywhere else as Carter began to cut. Nick could feel the blood well up underneath the knife, he could feel the pain accompanying it as his body screamed at the intrusion of the knife. It hurt, it hurt so much, but he wouldn't give Carter the satisfaction of hearing him cry.

It was like when his father, Ares, would come home drunk and angry. Nick would have rushed Mia into the one little room hours ago. She would be asleep on the bed, because he made sure to slip some lavender into her evening glass of water. He would then be sitting in the kitchen when Ares came home just as he was supposed to do. Ares would take a look at him and tell him to go to the middle cabinet in the kitchen. In the cabinet were array of blunt objects that would be used to beat him. Ares would tell him to pick two of them. Nick would close his eyes and grab two random ones before holding them out to Ares and bracing himself to take the pain. He was waiting for a punishment for a crime he had not committed, but it was better he took the abuse than Mia. She was too young, too innocent, and he was not going to let a sad drunk see that.

For all of his conditioning, Nick lasted longer than most. He bit his lip until he could taste his blood to try and not give Carter the satisfaction of hearing him let on how much pain he was truly in, but soon Nick was letting out screams of pain. He felt as if he was being destroyed, he didn't understand how Carter could keep going. If Nick heard someone he was torturing in that much pain he wouldn't be able to go on. Carter just kept going, he didn't even falter when Nick tried to duck away from him. He simply put his hand up and stilled his shoulders as he kept cutting into him. Carter was focused on completing the task, but he also seemed to be enjoying it. He had a small smirk on his face as he continued his job.

Nick never enjoyed causing people pain, he only caused them pain because he had to. He was defending himself and he was defending Mia. Mia was fragile and he wasn't going to let someone hurt her. He wasn't going to let anyone lay a finger on her. Nick had torn through most of the guys in their hometown. He had laid several up in the hospital. He was lucky that the boys were too afraid to tell who hurt them so badly because Nick knew he and Carter would have met a lot sooner.

Nick was sure he was going to pass out, but he stayed awake. Every time his vision began to turn black from the pain and trauma, Carter would stop for a second and pour a little water on his face. "Come on Nicky," he would say. "You have to stay awake, you know you brought this on yourself." Before he would continue with his cutting of Nick's body.

Nick took a deep breath as he fought back the tears, he would not cry. He was determined not to cry and when he didn't want to do something he would go to hell or high water for it. If there was one thing Nick had that other people did not, it was drive. He would dig himself and his sister out of this place he had to. All he needed was a shovel, and if no one would give him a shovel, he would use his hands.

Soon, Carter put down his knife and wiped his hands on the remains of Nick's shirt hanging loose off of his body. Carter then reached for the small container of salt and opened it up before smiling at Nick. "The cutting portion was for fighting and almost injuring me." Carter said before yanking Nick by the hair. "The next part is for mouthing off."

Carter reached into the salt jar and roughly began to rub salt into the bloody, sensitive wounds. Screams were ripped from Nick's throat and he felt like he was going to be sick from pain. He could feel the tumbling of his stomach and tear pricking at the edge of his eyes as he turned over and he retched. The half of a sandwich he ate came out as he heaved and spewed out liquid chunks to the side of his chair. He was lucky he didn't get it on him. He knew that, he knew he was lucky he didn't pass out. Nick half wished he did, because maybe the spots that were behind his eyes would stop dancing and taunting him. He felt like he was going to be sick all over again because he was disoriented.