Page 98 of Vicious Butterfly
“What if I don’t want to be you anymore?”
“This isn’t a life you get to leave, Tate. I brought you in; there’s only one way I’ll let you get out.”
Yeah, yeah. In a body bag. I’ve gotten this speech before. I twist my lips. “Then let’s get on with the punishment portion of this. I’m bored.”
He might have the upper hand, but I’m not going to be afraid of him. His hand wraps around my throat, fingers digging in.
“Watch it, Uncle. Don’t want Luke to see that,” I wheeze.
“You little fucking shit. You think that protects you from me? Or maybe you think that because you’re a little fucking psychopath, I can’t terrify the ever-loving fuck out of you. Challenge accepted.”
Uncle Jasper lets me go, a throbbing ring of finger indentations in his wake. Clarence’s smirk returns, but this time it’s laced with glee.
For the first time in my memory, a deadly shiver crawls up my spine. Maybe I need to get a handle on my shithead tongue.
Itake everything back. The therapists and other experts were wrong—so very fucking wrong. I can feel terror, and I want it gone. Next time I’m craving that unnamable something, afeeling, I’m running the other way, and sewing my mouth shut.
If he ever lets me out of here.
He has to at some point. Right? My disappearance would be hard to hide from Luke. But he thinks I’m away at a hockeysummer camp, so Uncle Jasper has at least two months to torture me to his satisfaction.
I don’t know how long it’s been, though.
Two days? Two weeks? Surrounded by the stench of sweat and decay, slow breaths are all I can do to prevent myself from puking. Lying here, as I am, I’d drown in my own vomit. Can anyone even hear me? I don’t know. I can’t see. A cloth that’s soaked with my tears cinches around my eyes, cloaking the world in utter darkness. I can’t move, and with the awkward way I’ve been trussed up, like I’m a worm attempting to cocoon and become a butterfly, pain worse than my naïve little mind could conjure aches bone-deep. I’d sell my soul just to be able to move.
I hurt.
Cry.
Scream.
Beg for fucking mercy.
Apologize to all that’s holy, and all that isn’t.
My first days in this tomb were much different. Spewing every threat and insult I could think of into the void beyond my consciousness, unable to break free of the rope and chains I’m tied down with. But I broke down like he said I would. The nerve-grinding pain whittled away my endurance and sawed jagged tears at the edge of my brain.
That’s when I entered something beyond terror. Can’t move. Can’t get a full breath. Pain. Ache.Please, please, let me out. Let me breathe.
Sometimes my body offers me enough adrenaline for a break from the maddening ache. Thoughts flood my mind. Ways I’ll kill my uncle. Ways I’ll please my uncle. And I beg till my throat’s raw for him to come for me.
He doesn’t.
At first, they kept their distance. But their behavior’s shifted to curiosity. And I swear to fuck there’s more of them. More little feet pressing into my strained tendons, more noses and whiskers tickling my face and ears, their slithery tails, dragging over my skin. I wouldn’t care about their tails under the usual circumstances, but drained of energy, helpless, muscles screaming for release, I want them off me.
They’re unpredictable. What will they do? Nibble on my wounded flesh? I can’t get them off me. Even with a little wiggling, some shake off, but they come right back. Soon, enough of them are running over me that I’m covered in writhing rat bodies—over my face, over my arms and legs. There’s no end to the crawling, the disgusting noises.
There’s no escape. No getting them to stop touching me. Constant contact. Feet. Tails. Whiskers. Claws.
Tails.
Feet.
Feet.
Claws. Claws.Claws.
I scream until I’m sobbing uncontrollably. I scream until I want to die.
