by Clara Wake
The main entrance to the room screeches and unlocks before the metallic squeals are heard, and a gurney wheels in with someone unconscious laying on top. Their body exposed – they aren’t injured – just unconscious. A man in a white coat enters as he moves into the room with a gas mask on. He pays no attention to Nickolai, and moves towards the pink door, entering a code, and slipping inside without a sound.
Sparking Nickolai’s curiosity as he tilts his head, to try and see what the hell was going on, in the room – he only manages to see a white and green light illuminating the room before it’s closed heavily behind the man entering.
It’s not long before The Governor slips into his line of sight, smiling at him as she tells the masked man to lower him slightly and the clattering of the chains drape the room as he’s lowered.
Adding pressure and discomfort to his arms as the movement is so rigid, he just stares at The Governor, glaring with those tired eyes. He’s clearly exhausted and wrapped in turmoil. Even with what he’s been through – he’s still not talking – and it has The Governor at wit's end. None of the girls are talking or know who was set free by Nickolai. Whoever it was is keeping her mouth shut, just like him. This is proving to be a clear problem for The Governor, and it is so evident in the way she is desperate for answers.
Nickolai knows he is doing the right thing. If they know who was set free, they’d punish her. Just like they were punishing him or worse. She was already being punished with The Event. If she found out that Jake had gotten him the earrings, he’d be down here with him. He’ll do anything to keep him from this. He is the reason he is still breathing, and he is going to make sure that Jake remains safe, no matter what the cost to him. He has so much to owe Jake, and when it comes down to it, his life is certainly something he’d give for his.
“You’re not cooperating at all, darling,” she slowly states with a disappointed sigh, as she slaps his cheek softly. before moving aside and curving around to his side disappearing behind him. She watches him closely, seeing his muscles tense, as she removes herself from his sight. She can’t help but let a sinister smile spread her lips.
Nickolai attempts to crane his neck, looking over his shoulder – she’s never gone behind him before – and he can feel the thread of fear entangling with anger as silence is heard. He’s unable to see her, as he hurriedly looks over both shoulders in fear before the loud crack
is heard. The second it’s heard, Nickolai’s eyes widen before the agonizing snap whips across his back as it’s met with a nine-tailed whip.
A pained gasp is heard from Nickolai’s hitched breath, his lips part as the sting and burn traces his back. He holds his breath as another lash lands on his skin.
He holds in the cries as each whip comes faster and faster, following in a rhythm of crackles. After several blows to his back, The Governor stops and takes a moment.
“Are you going to answer my questions correctly now?” she shouts at him. “I could do this all day, and I plan to until you give me a real fucking answer.”
Even with the aggressive threat, he smacks his lips together to stop them from quivering and bites his tongue. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the burning sensation that blankets his back. He remains silent.
His silence is clear, and she knows he’s not going to say anything. Perhaps the pain she inflicts will be too much eventually, and the asshole will finally give in. With that thought she’s excited and eager to continue cracking the whip across his back until he’s begging her to stop. They all caved, they all begged in the end. If not by her, by the others and in the end, she always wins. She is certainly going to claim her Star.
The Governor is missing in action for several days. Why? Because she makes Nickolai’s back bleed repeatedly until his skin splits and breaks and lines are carved into his back. She’s made a pattern on his back in the shape of a very large ex. Right across his back. From the tips of his shoulders down to his lower back.
She hasn’t stopped either, never giving him rest as his back is painted in his own blood. Pools of blood drip below him and taint the floor.
His back is red raw and extremely tender. Each time, his body can’t handle any more; he is quickly jerked and jolted awake from another snap to his back – or the blasting music forced him awake – but The Governor finds pleasure in hearing the whips collide with his back, in seeing his back tense and twitch to the impact, and hearing his pained grunts, groans, and the occasional scream of agony. She enjoys it, she is finally getting somewhere with him. At least, that’s what she believes.
As if tearing his back up with a nine-tailed whip wasn’t enough, Nickolai is still silent. He hasn’t muttered a single word since the whippings began. Even though days of excruciating pain, he hasn’t given in or crumbled, and she is livid—absolutely done with his shit.
She releases the whip from her grasp, seething with anger. She swiftly moves to Nickolai’s side, and pounces over to face him. “Fucking speak!” She screams in his face and only receives a sore look in reply before she collides her heavy leathered fist into his cheek and jaw, repeatedly clouting and throwing punches at him. “Speak when you’re spoken to!” she adds, as she continues to crack his jaw and break his nose.
She splits the edge and curve of his eyebrow and temple and busts his lip once more before she steps back, panting in a fit of rage. She takes off her gloves and runs her hands over his face, smearing his blood everywhere.
Suddenly, she whips out her blade and swipes it so quickly, Nickolai can’t even prepare himself. The blade slices and slips through his body like a hot knife through butter; his breath hitches and eyes widen.
He’s met with more pain to spread and saturate his body, and she doesn’t stop there. She curls her hand at the nape of his neck, bringing herself up against him, and driving the blade deeper into his side just below his ribs before twisting it. Rendering a splutter from Nickolai’s lips, as he holds in the screams, she twists again. She can feel his body tense, struggling to keep up with the pressure and blinding pain. His legs are slightly shaking from the numbing pain.
“Make me stop, just tell me,” she whispers into his ear. “This won’t stop. I’ll keep you alive and repeat this process until you speak,” she continues to whisper, as she flicks and strokes his hair, while twitching and moving the handle of the blade, waiting and wishing he’d just speak up.
“Either kill me…. or just watch me get back up again.”
He slowly whispers back, like the Phoenix Jake claims he is. He isn’t backing down.
CHAPTER 12
His head is pounding as if his skull is splitting into millions of pieces. Left to starve, forced awake, and only managing to get some water from bottles thrown at him when he’s on the ground. But he never backs down.
Blood seeps and now dries over the cuts on his back. It is agonizing to move, to even tense his own muscles.
At some points, his body becomes numb from the constant strain and stretching of his arms, down to the impending and dire pain that spreads from his back and arches up to his head.
His stomach is bruised and stings from the aggressive and rushed stitching The Governor had done to the wound she created— She made sure it was sealed just to keep him alive to suffer even more. She made sure it was sealed, enough to keep him alert.
Cold air and thickness drains any form of clear air to breathe. Wrapped in the scent of his own blood, he’s left to curl up into himself and lose himself in his own mind. There is no one else to hear him scream.
Collecting as much body heat he can, he brings his legs up to his chest and holds his arms against his legs at the best of his abilities. With his wrists still bound so heavily in cuffs, each movement sends the chains pulling and clattering together. The sound is a constant reminder of his situation, another reminder of what punishment he’s facing for giving a girl some sense of relief and peace. Yet, he’d do it again.
Each time he is close to closing his eyes and falling asleep, the music w
ould start again—the same song, repeating loudly. He’s unable to hear his own thoughts, and right now that is a good thing. He’s on the edge, ready to fall.
His vision is blurred, distorted, and unclear. Sounds are almost gone, and he can still taste his own blood. Through the dead atmosphere of this shithole, to the dry blood that surfaced his lips. His eyes are so heavy, and they continue to burn with each slow blink.
Riddled with pure exhaustion, he’s had enough and he for the first time doesn’t even know if he can get back up again.
Even with the last words he spoke to The Governor, he’s uncertain of what he’s capable of now. He drowns in defeat, admitting he’s failed. He can’t even hear his own voice of reason, and he’s finding comfort in the darkness. It’s the only sense of serenity he can find.
Dazed and groggy, he doesn’t even realize The Governor has stepped in and is currently standing right beside him. Looking down at him, she can’t press the proud smile on her face. He’s shaking, yet he’s drenched in his own sweat, blood saturating his skin. He’s almost on the brink of insanity— exactly what she wants. What she needs.
Her Star is finally breaking, and she’s responsible – she’s succeeded again. She can’t be any prouder right now. He’s all hers. Eventually, he’ll do anything and everything she wants.
Kneeling, she runs her bare hand through his hair, as if she’s stroking her own child’s hair with love and devotion. glimmering in her eyes or a beloved pet, as it’s being petted. “Nick,” she whispers, while she continues to stroke his hair.
Nickolai doesn’t move, he doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t reply. He remains motionless. Hell, he doesn’t even cringe at the nickname.
His eyes remain closed, ignoring her. He doesn’t want to see her disgusting face again, but he knows she’s going to make him look or respond. His throat is too dry to speak, and he doesn’t want to waste what’s left of his energy on her.
It’s not long before she curls her hand into a fist, grabbing and grasping his hair in the process and pulling violently to have him face her. A furious growl pours from her lips. She’s clearly agitated he’s not paying attention to her.
She tries being nice, but clearly, that doesn’t work with him.
“I have a surprise for you.” She glares at him, unamused by his actions to ignore her. She can see the hatred growing in his eyes, red and bloodshot from the pure lack of sleep and overload of exhaustion.
“Pull him up,” she commands the masked man. He’s quick to obey her orders. With a heavy pull, he yanks and throws Nickolai upwards by his wrists and arms. He can’t help but imagine Nickolai as a piñata, one he’d love to bash repeatedly into the wall.
A grunt rolls from his lips between gritted teeth as he’s pulled back up. His shoulder has already dislocated twice, and he is waiting for it to pop out again by the abrupt strain.
Again, he’s face to face with his enemy as she smirks at him. Leveled to be at the same height, he’s found the only comfort is to close his eyes and disappear into a world where he’s in her shoes and vice versa. Only, he’d be doing far worse than she can imagine.
“Oh, you’ll want to open your eyes for this,” she convinces him with a cheerful tone, before she makes a very familiar sound. His ears to flicker – he knows that sound – and his stomach rolls. His eyes shoot open, wide in shock and rage.
“Do you know what this is?” she questions him with a cheeky smirk. She knew this would get a very animated reaction from him.
“My bow.” Emphasizing on the fact that it’s his bow. Nickolai intensifies his glare on her. Bitch probably didn’t even know how to use the damn thing. At least, he hoped.
“That’s correct, it’s very modified,” she applauds him on the upgrades. She holds it up and scans it, running her hands over it and giving it a very close and detailed look. She sees that he’s painted red arrows and a phoenix on it.
Nickolai’s eyes narrow on his bow, the arrows specifically as sweat crawls down his forehead. He draws heavy breaths as he watches her, scanning his weapon. He knows she’s going to use it, and it sends him into a panic…
“Don’t touch what you can’t use,” he snaps, hoping he’s right as his breathing becomes heavier – almost into a pant, and his heart jumps to his throat.
“I know how to use it, darling,” she assures him, as she places an arrow against the hook, and draws back. She knows the weight and draws back of his compound bow already. He packed a heavyweight and a hard draw, but she made sure she could handle it.
His lips are parted as his breaths become tethered and his heart drops. Only he knows what kind of pain his arrows inflict. “Don’t,” he manages to breathe, shaking his head slowly as a sore look paints his face. Warning her.
She’s already released, and the arrow shoots and pierces through his chest.
“Fuck!” Nickolai screams, suffering from the impact and the force of the arrow pushing so deeply into his chest. It hit his right peck. Clearly, she wanted to miss his heart, which is shocking.
There’s a clash in his chest. and breaking through his chest cavity; It isn’t the sheer force and strength of his arrow, it is the hidden residue of poison – Wolfsbane - that leeches the tip. This is what Nickolai was afraid of.
“How does it feel?” She asks him, throwing his bow down on the ground with a loud clatter and walking up to him.
She curls her fingers around the arrow’s length and firmly pulls at it. “You don’t look good,” she admits, as she pats his head lightly, while slowly and carefully inch by inch, guiding the arrow out from his chest.
He must tell her, or he’ll be dead within a few hours. His breathing is erratic, and he can feel the poison attacking the right side of his body, as his lip quivers and his body overheats. Tingling and numbness start to spread from his toes.
Nickolai swallows hard and spits. “You’re a…fucking idiot,” he slowly lets out, feeling dizzy. “You-just-poisoned me,” he hisses. “This-is-why… you don’t…” He starts, voice rising and anger sparking, “you don’t touch someone else’s fucking weapon!” He screams at her, barking in her face putting her in her place as she watches him, completely baffled.
“Do you have an antidote?” She casually asks, brushing off the erratic shake of discomfort. She is in the wrong, but she pushes it aside and makes it his own problem.
This clearly shows Nickolai that she has no intention of killing him whatsoever. An accident on her account is a blessing in disguise for him.
He gives her a blank and irritated stare, as his shoulders slump slightly. “Under my bed,” he tells her with a huff. He tries to control his own heart rate, but it’s becoming irregular and his arms are numb. “Take your time,” he scoffs at her, then winces with each surge and pump of the poison through his veins, sent his muscles into small spasms.
The Governor is fast, crawling underneath his bed to find a small satchel with three syringes, all with a blue substance inside. This had to be it.
Making her way out of his room, The Captain steps in, blocking her way out. He stands there, with his hands behind his back, staring at her intensely.
“When is Nickolai coming back? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m two men down, and it’s been two weeks,” The Captain starts, clearly frustrated that she has one of his boys, and he’s incapable of doing anything about it. “Can I have him back? Clearly, he’s not going to break – I taught him well.” The Captain smirks, proud of Nickolai in a small sense, but in this situation, it is best to talk.
“You’ll have your precious fucking elf back soon enough. How about you come down and tell him not to play games and give me what I want?” She yells at him, spitting and shaking her head. Then she pushes past him and breaks for the staircase in a rush.
“Wow, you really don’t back down do you, Pointy?”
The almost unfamiliar voice erupts his ears, as his eyes slowly peel open to see The Captain standing before him. He hasn’t seen nor heard him since, and he instantly g
rowls and shakes his head at him.
“Look, I want you to forget what I taught you. That doesn’t apply here okay? Just give the hag what she wants and call it a day.” He softens his tone and gives him a very concerned and sincere look as he runs his eyes over the injuries. Nickolai is tougher than any of the others, and he finally sees it.
“No,” Nickolai states immediately, his glare sharpening on him.
“You do you realize you’ve been down here for two weeks? Come on, I’m trying to help you out here.” He attempts to beg him, to just give up and head back to his bunk, back in his care, and command.
“Help?” he scoffs. “Sure, you are.” He hisses and shakes his head, his breaths still heavy as it battles against the poison still dissolving and coursing through his veins – attacking the antidote.
He knows nothing he can say, will convince him otherwise. So, he steps back and leaves him, closing the door behind him without another word.
Nickolai wanted to ask how Jake is. He wanted to know nothing if anything has happened to him. He wanted to yell, scream, and kick the bastard before him but he had no energy left in him. He could barely put up a verbal fight when so many things lingered on the tip of his tongue, bursting to set free. Like so many things, he wanted to say and do, he had nothing left. While the Captain’s offer was tempting, he refused to put Jake and Skye after himself. They were always first.
Closing his eyes, all he can see is red. Shrouded in pain and aching from head to toe, his breathing is laboured, and blood drains from his body. Scars trace and paint his back, and the aftertaste of the poison he created taints his tongue.