I wake up in the same bed, this time a piece of fabric forced between my lips and my ankles and wrists bound together again. I make the move to try and sit up, but feel a ripping pain in my stomach and remember that Noah cut me there.
I also feel an aching ... down there.
He didn't. He did.
My throat stings as tears well up in my eyes, but because of the cloth between my lips and I can only moan loudly as I cry. I try not to move, as everything hurts. Timothèe has to come soon. I don't know what else they're going to do to me.
And like a cold wave, I can feel anxiety and depression wash over me. I stare at the ceiling. There is no future for me. There is nothing to look forward to anymore. If my life doesn't end here, it will be shit forever. This is what God intended. Timothèe will never come.
Timothèe's POV
I haven't been able to eat. I keep smoking cigarettes and weed as I drive, hoping it will mellow me out or calm me down, but I know what's coming.
My dad knows how to channel his anger. I don't. It's going to fuck me over. No matter what state I find Anya in, I can't let the emotions get in the way. I have to put them somewhere else, and stay focused. I take a drag of the cigarette and chew the inside of my cheek. I taste the iron of blood seeping from the giant sore in my mouth, but the pain numbs me.
I should be where I think she is in a couple hours.
Anyas POV
The pain in my stomach and in between my legs is dull and pulsing, and the constant pressure on my chest and the intense nothingness I feel all mixes together... I wish I was dead.
I am shaken out of my thoughts as the door unlocks. Panic rises like bile in my throat, but it's not Noah that steps in. It's Marc. Which is even worse. I clench my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palm. My eyes start watering me again. He sits down on the bed and removes the piece of cloth from my mouth. It burns a little around the corners of my mouth.
"Kill me."
He looks down at me and furrows his eyebrows. "Kill you?"
"You're going to do it anyway. Timothèe is never going to come. And if I don't die, I don't want to live a life like this," I pause as my face heats up and my voice cracks. "So please, kill me."
"Oh, Timothèe is coming. I promise you. You two can die together." He sneers. I clench my teeth together.
"
If he comes, he's going to kill you. This will all be over when he gets here."
His expression changes from triumph to anger, and he grabs me by my hair and yanks me as hard as he can towards him, so we're face to face. I whimper.
"Keep fucking talking bitch," He growls. "You're just making it worse for yourself."
I say nothing, and he forcefully shoved my head back down into the pillow. I try not to cry. Don't fucking do it, Anya.
But I break, and start sobbing. I can't hide my face. My whole body is tied practically. He laughs.
"Yeah, you're not as strong as you think you are little bitch."
I sob harder.
"That's not what I came in here for," He shrugs.
I stop crying, and stare up at him, hiccups escaping my throat.
"What?" I snap. He slaps me, hard. My face is hot and I know it's going to swell up.
"Don't fucking talk to me like our roles are reversed," He jabs a finger at me. "Where is Timothèe?"
I say nothing.
"Not gonna talk?" He stands up and walks towards the closet. I start to panic.
"Why the fuck does it matter?" I scream. "You said he's coming here!"
He snickers to himself and opens the closet, fishing through a bucket of what sounds like scrap metal. He pulls out a brand, and then grabs a blow torch from the floor.
"No." I whimper to myself.
"Tell me where he's at, Lilianya." He shrugs and turns on the blow torch, heating up the brand while looking at me.
I can't. Don't give him away Anya. Timothèe is going to get you. Don't get him killed.
"No." I say to him through clenched teeth. I mentally prepare myself for the pain I know is coming.
He shrugs, and drops the blow torch. It lands on the floor with a deafening thud, and I gasp, and start crying. He walks toward me slowly, and I squeeze my eyes shut. He leans down.
"Don't be a fucking hero." He whispers, and presses the white hot brand on top of the cut on my stomach.
The pain is excruciating. I scream so loud my voice disappears. All the pain inside of me is in that scream.
"Timothèe!" I wail, my face boiling hot, tears steaming down my cheeks, droplets dripping into my ears.
"I'll yell with you!" Marc laughs. "Timothèe!" He wails. I cry harder, and eventually, I black out.
