lotus || j.jk.

04

[!TRIGGER WARNING! GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND TALKS OF DEATH! SKIP THIS CHAPTER IF YOU CANNOT STOMACH IT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

"Ack!"

Her bleeding head thwacks harshly against the brick wall, a sickening crack reverberating through the dark room as her backside slams violently against it.

The air in her lungs is knocked out of her, stolen fiercely by the impact, and she crumples, breathless, to the floor.

The plastic that covers the room rustles noisily in her fall, her wounded limbs colliding with the slick ground.

Her wrists bend at an unnatural angle and she hears a 'pop' echo through her bones before the harrowing pain of a severe dislocation settles in.

Her vision turns white for a brief moment and she wants to cry out all the tears hiding behind her swollen eyes, but she is physically unable to.

Her throat is dry and scratchy like she hasn't had a sip of water in years, and she is too faint and too injured to even whimper.

She has no energy left and an abhorrent thought dawns on her - her struggles left nothing but mere scratches on this man.

Bleating, her eyes screw shut yet her vision still dances with stars. She finds herself gasping feebly and her bruised and throbbing body trembles with her inhale.

She immediately wants to gag, coughing vigorously as bile rises up and stings the back of her throat.

Her wrists torment her in her attempt to cover her bloodied nose and a mangled cry falls from her lips, dribbles of spit spilling at the corners of her busted mouth.

The smell wafting in the air is absolutely putrid - sweat and the sharp, rusty scent of blood mixed with something vaguely sweet.

Something floral.

If death had a smell, she thought, this would be it.

"Please-" she swallows, her lips quaking with such intensity she can't even finish her plea.

Instead, tears finally well up in her eyes.

Something warm and wet trickles from the back of her head and she pushes the urge to wipe it away.

"Hush! You're making me regret killing you."

A pin drops.

All she hears is her breath leaving, but she didn't feel it come back.

It's so silent - she thinks she'll be able to hear her heart beating but she can't.

She realizes, though, that maybe it's because she's crying. It's strange how she didn't realize until she tastes the salty tears running in endless streams down her lacerated cheeks and hears her vehement bawling through her own ears.

She's never heard herself sound so insane. It scares her, how likened her wailing is to a wild beast.

Her assailant moves closer and she immediately cowers in fear, the organ in her chest feeling like it could burst from how petrified she is.

Albeit weakly, she kicks at the floor until she's backed-up against the wall like a trapped animal, keeping her disfigured hands in front of her heaving chest.

The man crouches down to her level and removes the hood blanketing his head. She finds herself now staring death wide-eyed and pale in the face.

Looking at him isn't far off from saying that the devil is the master of disguise.