“I’m going to. For you, for me… for Gabby and…”
“Our real mother,” she whispers.
“For her,” I whisper. We just stare at each other for what seems like hours, but in reality is just minutes. Each of us lost in our own thoughts and what might have been… if things had only been different.
If only…
Tortured. Worse than rape. Nightmares.
I’m slamming my fist into the meat slab that hangs from the hook suspended from the ceiling. I’m zoned out, completely in my own head as Torch’s words play over and over. I want to march into Beth’s room and demand that she tell me exactly what the fuck went on while she was gone. Doing that feels like being weak. It feels like opening myself up to the woman who turned her back on me.
Everything Torch said was valid. I can’t even deny it. I’m left in the end with the same question I always have. The same question I always come back to.
Why couldn’t she choose me?
It’s selfish and, in her position, I most likely would have chosen the same path… except I would have come back to her. Nothing would have stopped me from finding my way back. Especially photos or some damned recording.
“Let me die,” a fading voice pleads, pulling me out of my head. I look up and see Pistol and even I wince. Joder. I may have gone too far this time. I may not have a choice but to grant him his wish.
“I’ll call the doctor to come knock you out,” I mumble. It’s more than he fucking deserves. I’ll have her give enough to make sure he doesn’t wake up again.
“I have…a…sis…sister,” he manages to say. I stop. Does he think he’ll gain sympathy from me after all of his betrayals?
“Why do I care? You took from me the thing that is most important above all. You planned to…”
“I know… things.”
“Anything you know, I will discover eventually.”
“About...”
“You’re dead. Nothing you tell me will save you,” I respond, just to make sure he knows I’m not playing his damn game.
“Not asking for that,” he tells me, surprising clear. His swollen eyes start to shut and I know he’s fading. That can’t happen. I walk over to the wall by the entrance and flip a button. The chain and hook slowly lower and, inch by inch, the body descends.
When Pistol’s legs buckle under him, I click off the button and walk over to him. I take the metal chain that’s been used to shackle him and slip it off the hook. His body immediately falls to the ground in a flat thud. He groans. I look over him, surveying what I’ve done to him. Moments like this are fleeting, but they’re when I know I have a little bit of sanity left in me. Moments of clarity when I look at the monster I’ve become behind closed doors and know I can never find my way back. I’m too far gone—too close to the edge.
Pistol’s body is just a huge lump. So many bones have been broken, so many cuts have been made that most of him doesn’t resemble anything close to the man he was before—most notably, his face. I can’t slam my fists into it as often as I want. It takes too long to recover and the satisfaction isn’t there anymore. As a result, his nose is broken, swollen, and there’s a grotesque shade of black that slowly blends into purple around his eyes… eyes that don’t see anymore, or if they do, it’s through a small slit that the swelling allows. I’m pretty sure his jaw has been broken too. His fingers and hands are shattered; that was done prior to me putting him in chains. The most telling area is his ribs and stomach. Bruised over and over, swollen and cut so the red of the blood has dried and mingled into the bruised skin. The beating I gave him tonight hasn’t added to the rainbow just yet. I have a feeling he’s not going to live until it does. Pity.
“What could you tell me that I want to hear? That could possibly make it worth me not hearing you draw your last breath, hijo de puta?” I spit on him with that last insult.
“I have… a sister… who needs protection…”
“Why in the fuck would I care?”
“Most… of what I did…” He wheezes and coughs for a few seconds before he can continue. “I did to protect her.”
“Blackmailed?” I ask, not believing him.
“Not at first.” I wait for him to finish, his breathing growing ragged, much more so than before. Maybe a rib punctured a lung. “Got in too deep… You… You protect her…”
“Protect the sister of my enemy? Why would I ever do that, cabron? You’re shit out of luck.”