Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Dove, please.”
I forced my eyes open even though my lids ached from the movement. My vision was blurry as I sought a cowering form in the neighboring cell. I forced a smile that felt as if my skin splintered. “Why dove?”
Nestore crouched at the bars, watching me with utter heartache and self-hatred. “Because you call to a peaceful place deep inside me.”
I smiled, then winced at the ache in my skin. Everything felt sore.
Nestore got up, walked over to his bed, and picked up the copy of The Tale of Peter Rabbit. He sat against the bars separating us and began to read in his deep, soothing voice. I closed my eyes and allowed the familiar words to drag me into a fantasy world far from this.
When Nestore stopped, I opened my eyes with a grateful smile.
Nestore put down the book and gave me a sad look.
“He’ll hurt you now.”
“I know. But I’ll gladly bear the pain if it means you won’t have to.”
Nestore’s face twisted with despair. “Bearing witness to your pain causes me tenfold the anguish than being tortured. You must be safe.”
I swallowed. I considered sitting up, but my body shook too much. The water had been icy, and the cold seeped into every layer of my body. I lifted trembling fingers to my face, needing to feel the skin. It felt a little rough but not flayed as I’d expected. No blood either, except from the cut in my lip. “It felt as if my skin was scraped off.”
“It’s just a little red. There won’t be scars.”
Yet. Who knew what else my father had planned for me, for us?
Nestore kept his eyes on me as if his gaze alone was enough to give me strength, and in a way, it did. Eventually, I crawled over to the bars and linked hands with Nestore. He brushed his fingertips across my cheeks, like a whisper, and I leaned into his touch. I wanted nothing more than to curl up against Nestore, to feel his heartbeat against my chest, to feel his comforting warmth. I wanted to believe that one day we would get the chance.
But deep down, I knew the chances of us getting out of here alive were close to nonexistent.
“You need to take off your wet clothes. If you get pneumonia…” His voice choked up with fear.
I let out a shuddering breath. The idea of getting up and out of my clothes seemed too monumental, but Nestore’s worried expression spurred me on, and so I dragged myself up by the bars. I glanced over at the bed. A rough gray blanket lay folded at the foot of it.
I forced one foot in front of the other until I reached it. Then I began to peel off my nightgown. I kept my panties on and slung the blanket around my body. The coarse material rubbed over my sore skin painfully, making me wince, but it was warm, and that was all that mattered. I draped my nightgown over the sink, then slunk back to where Nestore waited, his back turned to me.
“I’m decent. You can turn around.” Tears filled my eyes at Nestore’s consideration. He was so sweet to me. I wished I could have saved him today.
“Don’t cry,” Nestore said roughly.
“I’m surprised I still have tears left.”
“It’s a good sign. It means he didn’t break you yet.”
I swallowed hard. “He’ll try now that I’m in here.”
Nestore’s face flashed with despair. “I want to protect you, but I don’t know how.”
“At least, we’re always together now.”
Nestore pressed his forehead against the bars separating us. “You don’t belong in here.”
“Neither do you.”
“Sometimes I forget who I was before this.”
“I’m here to remind you.”
Time became meaningless down here. Several weeks passed. How many? It was hard to tell. Nobody ever came down here to talk to either of us. Father had stationed guards at every door, so even if Flavia had tried to visit, she wouldn’t have succeeded. The only one who came for me was my father. Like he had this morning. Or afternoon? What time was it? What day?
My eyes moved when my body could no longer do so, until I found Nestore. He too lay on his side, with his eyes on me, as broken, as desperate as I was. Like always, he had suffered worse. Father tortured him worse, but he could take it better. I wasn’t sure I could survive for much longer.
I lay there battered and broken, watching him as he watched me. In the beginning, I’d cried every time I had to use the toilet because he could hear it. Now I didn’t even ask him to turn around anymore, though he always looked away.
Our breathing was heavy in the basement’s silence. It rattled in our chests, a desperate echo in the darkness.