Finn

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Two

The blanket felt scratchy beneath me. There was a chill in the air now that the small fireplace had run out of fuel, but I didn't move under the blanket. That took far too much energy. I didn't care if it was scratchy, or if I was cold. I stayed perfectly still, my back pressed against the scratchy blanket, and my arms down at my sides.

Goosebumps formed on my skin as a breeze blew in from the living room. The door was cracked, but I didn't hear Howard moving around the little cabin. That didn't mean he wasn't here, just that I couldn't hear him.

Not that it would matter if I could hear him.

I wasn't sure how much time passed with me lying on the scratchy blanket. The air grew colder around me and poked at my bare skin, but I still didn't move. I kept my gaze focussed on the same spot on the ceiling. I was vaguely aware of the room getting dark as the sun set, but it was hard to tell. I was in and out of consciousness so much, I had no concept of how many days had passed.

The front door of the cabin slammed shut, making me flinch involuntarily. I heard Howard grumbling to himself, but he didn't come to my room. His voice disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me to deal with my throbbing muscles after flinching at the noise. Aside from the energy it took for me to move, every small movement made my entire body burn. My muscles were sore and stiff, and I was pretty sure I had several broken ribs. I don't remember exactly when they broke, only that every breath hurt.

After the first night here, when Howard removed Cillian's mark, I passed out from the pain. When I came to, Howard was nowhere to be found, but I was covered in bruises. The brand on my neck was blistered and bleeding, and I had deep gashes down both my sides from his claws.

He had taken all of my clothes, but the blanket on the mattress was covered in blood and other fluids. I was vaguely aware of a soreness in my core, but I ignored it. I couldn't let myself think about it, or I might truly break. Instead, I laid back, and focussed on my spot on the ceiling.

I stopped trying to fight him after that. I retreated so far into my head, I was just an observer on the outside. The next time Howard visited, he was angry. He hated that I wouldn't answer him. He hated that I wouldn't scream when he hit me. Howard wanted my fear, but all I did was stare at him.

I'm not sure how many times he visited me, or how many days had passed since I arrived. Eventually, Howard accepted that I wasn't going to say anything, and he found other ways to amuse himself. By that point, I had retreated so far into my head that I stopped remembering his visits. I would wake up with more bruises or scratches, and no recollection of Howard coming in again. In some twisted way, I almost preferred it.

"Finley!" Howard's voice rang out from the kitchen as he sang my name. I kept my focus on the ceiling, already preparing myself to retreat into myself. He reached my room quickly, his loud steps shaking the room as he walked.

"I have dinner." Howard announced as he pushed open the door. I couldn't see what he brought with him, but I could faintly smell something. I wasn't sure what it was, but the idea of eating made me nauseous. Howard seemed to sense my reluctance to eat, or at least my reluctance to look at him. He let out a low growl before stomping over to the left side of the bed. He slammed the plate of food onto the side table, but I stayed still.

"Don't make me force you again, Finley." Howard growled, his irritation seeping into his voice. When I still didn't move, he let out a snarl and grabbed my chin to force my mouth open. He shoved a large bite of something down my throat, and held my mouth closed before I could gag and spit it out. I chewed, although reluctantly. It tasted like cardboard.