Page 58 of Cruel Love
I gaped at him, my breath catching at the desperation reflecting inhis eyes. What had happened for him to want to know about my history?
“Why?”I managed to force out past the lump that had takenresidence in my throat.
His jaw clenched, the way it usually did anytime I asked a questionwhen I wasn’t meant to, but instead of telling me to mind my own business, he sighed, his shoulders slumping.“Because my father is hiding something. Something that has got to do with you, and something that he doesn’t want you to remember.”
“I…I don’t understand,”I replied after a moment of trying to makesense of what he’d said.
What could his father possibly not want me to remember? At theimage of his father popping into my head, the streak of familiarity rushed through me like it had when I first met him. I tried to grab hold of the feeling, but the second I did, the scars on my back tingled in warning.
James’ eyes hardened once again. “I don’t need you to understand,Willow. I need you to think. Surely you can remember something about your life before Peartree House?”he snapped, his features twisting into a sneer.“Your parents’ names at least?”
I didn’t reply straight away because memories shrouded in darknesstried to push their way to the front of my mind. But as my body had been trained to do, pain flared in my back, making the memories of my past fade away into the distance. In their place were memories of Ms. Milligan’s belt breaking my skin as she struck me repeatedly.
Heavy chains wrapped themselves around my chest, squeezing tightand making it impossible for me to breathe.“I don’t remember. Please, James. Don’t ask me to do this,”I begged, tears now trickling down my face.
He squeezed my hand again.“The pain isn’t real, Willow. It’s nothingbut a memory your brain has been trained to recall. The real memories are underneath, you have to push through.”
“It hurts,”I whimpered as white hot pain stabbed my back, andnausea churned in my stomach like a vortex.
I tore my hand out of James’ grasp and shifted away from theheadboard so my bare skin wasn’t touching anything.“Make it stop, please. I don’t want to hurt any more.”
James moved but didn’t touch me.“You can do this, Mouse,”he said,encouragement in his tone.“The pain isn’t real. Don’t focus on what Milligan did to you, focus on the memories that are hidden underneath your pain.”The urgency was back in his voice, and I wanted to beg him to explain to me why he needed to know so much, but the words remained lodged in my throat, suffocating under the agony as James continued to speak.“I need you to remember, Willow. Can you at least tell me what your real name is?”
My panicked gaze met his. Something buried deep in the furthestpart of my brain told me that I always knew Willow wasn’t my real name, yet that was the only name I could think of whenever I was asked what I was called.
“I don’t know,”I sobbed, my fingers trying to pry the invisible chainsoff me so I could breathe again.
James grabbed my hands, preventing me from clawing at myself.“Yes, you do, Willow,”he growled, his snarling face an inch away from mine.“Tell me what you first remember about Peartree House.”
As if his words held the power to shove me back into the past, theroom around me faded. Gone was James’ luxurious bedroom. Gone was the snarling man. In his place was Ms. Milligan, hovering over me as I came to in my old bedroom.
The vile stench of vomit hit my nostrils, and as I shifted on mystomach, agony tore through my body, making me wince. Beside my bed was a bucket, half-filled with sick, and the bitter taste in my mouth told me that I had expelled my stomach contents.
With the exception of my head, my entire body was held immobile bythe burning ripping its way across my back and down my legs. I managed to twist my head to the side, finding Ms. Milligan grinning sadistically down at me, the belt still in her hand, and her fingers dripping with fresh, red blood.
My blood.
“Tell me your name, girl,”she said, her tone full of menace.
My mouth was drier than the Sahara desert, but somehow Imanaged to lick my lips, wetting them enough so I could speak. But when I opened my mouth to tell her my name, my brain filled with a heavy, black fog, and the name I wanted to say lingered in the distance, just out of reach.
Another wave of pain rolled through me, and I managed to lurchforward in time to vomit again, this time bile burning my throat as there was nothing left in my stomach to bring up.
“If I have to ask once more, it’ll be my belt that does the talking,”Ms.Milligan roared.“What is your name?”
Tears streaked down my face like a waterfall. I tried to grab hold ofthe name floating in my head, but any time it began to form clearly, pain rippled through me, and the word vanished.
“I…I don’t know,”I replied, my voice merely a whisper.
I didn’t have time to brace myself for Ms. Milligan to bring the beltdown on my back again. When the metal buckle hit my raw skin, a pained howl escaped me, reverberating off every surface in my small room. The mantra of,‘I want to die, I want to die,’played on repeat in my head as I tried to breathe through the excruciating torture coursing through me.
“Willow. Your name is Willow Banks,”Ms. Milligan said, sneeringat me.“Perhaps, when we repeat this exercise tomorrow, you’ll remember your name.”
With that, she turned on her heel, leaving me whimpering on the bed.Huge, wracking sobs gripped my body, every inch of me from head to toe shaking as fire scorched my back, and the mantra continued to repeat in my head.
I want to die.
I want to die.
