Conflicted (Flip Zimmerman)

31. There are no saints

* A/N: happy Friday my dudes <3 wow I haven't used that in a while. This chapter will be in James POV and there will be a lot of flashbacks.- Ren
Warning: mentions drug use, violence, mentions suicide.*

Your screams were music to my ear as I burned cigarettes on your smooth velvet skin. Something about how you flinched every time you heard my lighter, pleased me. You've fought back each time but over the recent days, I noticed you starting to lose your spirit. That sparkle you had in your eyes started to go out and it was just what I wanted.

"P-Please," blood dripped from your mouth to the floor. You were always so good in taking a beating. You looked up at me with pleading eyes, arms shaking as you tried to hold yourself up. I watched the blood fall from the cuts on your face to your burns on your collarbone.

"Oh my sweet child, I'm not nearly done yet," I caressed your bloodied face. The low light in the old classroom, exposed your dilated eyes. Either the concussion I gave you or the drugs, regardless that's not how I want you.

Right as I was about to grab your cuffed hands, you reached for my pant leg. You had the look of desperation. "F-Flip?" You cried out, almost smiling.

As if he was your fucking hero. The thought that you relied on anyone else made me sick. Especially if it was that fucking detective. I'm going to make sure you won't even want to go back once I'm done.

I clenched my jaw and bared my teeth at the sound of his name. I kicked that look of desperation off of your face. "I fucking dare you! Say his fucking name again!" I kept your face under my boot. Applying pressure each time you'd try to breathe, I'd stop the moment your eyes start to twitch.

I ran my hand through my hair as I tried to calm myself but the same fucking look was on your face. The look of desperation was the same look a puppy had when it begs for affection.

For what ever reason it set me off and I couldn't stop myself. I didn't stop kicking you until you coughed up more blood. Your coughs came out more like a hoarse wheeze, they were painful.

You whimpered and groaned as I grabbed your cuffed hands. Your feet barely touched the floor as you hung by the metal hook from the ceiling.

Covered in cuts, bruises, electrical burns and blood. You looked so strong and resilient, yet so beautiful and broken.

I walked to grab the buckets of water to clean you. I couldn't have you covered in dried and fresh blood, you needed to be cared for. Right when I turned towards you, Lucinda's hand grabbed my shoulder.

"Let me do it," she pleaded holding old clothes and towels in her other hand. "Please."

"Set the clothing down and prepare the iron as well as the tub." I didn't even give her a glance. She knew better than to ask ridiculous questions, cleaning you was my job.

Caring for you is my job. Definitely not Lucinda's, she was only meant to treat your wounds. I'd figure Lucinda would get over what happened between the you of two. She's never cared for you and you calling her mom is going to change that? No it's not possible. Lucinda's mind can't comprehend that, not anymore. Years of suppression and going untreated, just made what I did much easier to control.

I carefully cut the articles of clothing to undress you. I always made sure you were unconscious for this. Normally I'd drug you but for what I have planned, I need you clean and sober, somewhat. I went over each wound carefully with the wet towel. Your body trembled each time I rinsed you, I could tell it wasn't comfortable. It was never easy to clean you but maybe after today that'll change.

I unhooked your cuffs from the ceiling and covered your wet body with the old towel Lucinda manage to find in the girls locker room. The abandoned school served as a sanctuary for us, its kept us hidden away from them. As well as been a constant reminder of the past. A lot of memories we shared together have been spent here. Once I'm done with your lessons I'll be happy to tell you of them.