Page 161 of Degradation
Pailtyn
We’re lying on a mattress on the floor, having fallen asleep here not long after we arrived.
I thought I’d have nightmares, I thought my sleep would be broken with the terror that someone was coming to get us, but somehow, I slept the entire night through and now, I feel almost rested.
I don’t know where Malik and the other guard is, where the tied-up man is either, but I know better than to ask.
This house feels different, musty, like it hasn’t been cleaned in years. The one we fled felt regal, it smelt of mahogany furniture and oil paintings. This place smells more like I’d imagine a drug den would.
Devin’s arms are wrapped around me, I’m curled up into his chest as if he’s a place of safety. Of comfort.
I don’t want to move. I know that’s irrational, that right now I should be trying to flee, should be pushing this man off me, but for the first time, with his arms around me, I feel truly safe.
All my life I’ve had people looking at me for what I could give them, what they could take from me. Devin may have taken more than anyone else has, and yet, when it matters, he has also protected me, he fights for me, he wants me.
Not for my bloodline.
Not for some bullshit Brethren reasons, but for me, the broken, scarred, fucked person that I am now.
It feels crazy, itiscrazy, and yet, I realise that I want this. Truly, I want him. And not just for one moment, not just for now. I want him to worship me, to fight for me, to do all those things he declared back before torturing my uncle.
I want there to be blood.
I want there to be pain.
I want there to be just as much horror inflicted on every single person who hurt me, and I know Devin is the man to do it, Devin is the monster at my back, Devin is the one to save me, to revenge me, to love me and to devour me completely and utterly.
Devin is mine.
My beast. My vengeance. All fucking mine.
His fingers trace down my arm. They trace over those scars that he created so long ago.
God, I’d love to see what they look like now, how they’ve healed. Are they as pretty as he imagined them to be?
“Why did you do it?” I whisper.
“Do what?” He replies.
“Cut out my eyes.”
Out of all the awful things he’s done to me, that has been the one that made no sense.
He stills, his fingertips suddenly feel so heavy on my skin, and I wonder if I’ve fucked up. If I’d have been better to keep my mouth shut and just cherish the peace while I had it.
“Gunther wanted it.” Devin says, breaking the silence that suddenly feels so weighted. “He said you saw too much.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
He shrugs. “The man was crazy, but I knew if I didn’t do it, he’d get someone else to. And they’d do a shit job of it, they’d butcher your face, they’d destroy your beauty, they’d hurt you more.”
“You hurt me,” I snarl.
He brushes the bits of my hair that are splayed over the pillow. “I know I hurt you but this way, I ensured you wouldn’t suffer. And this way, I got to keep your eyes.”
“What?” I gasp, trying to fathom what on earth that even means.
His hands tighten just enough to stop me from recoiling. “Eyes are the window to a person’s soul. No way was I going to destroy that.”
