Page 19 of UnTrained: Volume One
My fingers dig into the edges of the bench. The leather is worn smooth from countless hands gripping it just like this.
The name hovers at the edge of my consciousness, fragile as a soap bubble. If I reach for it, it might pop. If I ignore it, maybe it will float away entirely.
Another whistle through the air. The impact sends fire racing across my skin, and this time I can't hold back the small whimper that escapes my throat. My knuckles are white where I grip the bench.
"I'm waiting," Aiden says. There's patience in his voice that somehow makes this worse.
He's not angry. He's not cruel. He's just... waiting. Like he has all the time in the world to break me down piece by piece.
"One twenty-seven," I repeat, though my voice wavers.
The third strike lands lower, catching the sensitive spot where my thighs meet my bottom. I arch against the bench involuntarily, a sob catching in my chest.
"That's a number they branded you with," Aiden says, and I can hear him moving behind me, probably selecting his next implement. "But underneath all that conditioning, you're still a person. You still have a name."
It floats in the back of my consciousness, in a place I’m almost afraid to acknowledge.
Lana.
The word tastes foreign on my tongue, like speaking a language I've forgotten. Lana. That was... that was me, wasn't it? Before the gray uniforms and the numbers and the endless lessons in obedience.
But saying it feels like betrayal. Not just of my training, but of something deeper. If I'm Lana, then what happened to her? What did they do to the girl who had that name?
"I can see you remembering," Aiden says softly. "Just say it, baby. That's all I need."
Another crack across my burning skin makes me gasp. My vision blurs with tears I refuse to let fall. The pain is manageable—I've endured so much worse—but something about this feels different. More personal.
"One twenty-seven," I whisper again, though the words feel hollow now.
But even as I say it, I can feel the name clawing its way up from the depths where I've buried it.Lana.The syllables burn in my throat like acid.
The next strike is harder, and I cry out despite myself. My body trembles against the bench, every nerve ending on fire.
"I know this is hard, baby," Aiden says, and there's something almost tender in his voice that makes my chest ache. "But you're stronger than what they made you believe. You're not just a number."
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to block out his words.
The leather whistles through the air again. This time the pain cuts deeper, not just across my skin but through every defense I've carefully constructed.
My body jerks forward against the bench, and a broken sound escapes my throat.
"Your name," Aiden says again, his voice steady as stone. "Tell me your name."
13
LANA
My fingers are cramping from gripping the bench so tightly. The leather is slick with sweat beneath my palms. I can feel heat radiating from my abused skin, each stripe he's laid across my bottom a reminder of his patience.
He's not going to stop. The realization hits me with stunning clarity as another strike lands, a line of fire across my skin.
He'll keep going until I break, just like they did at the facility. The only difference is the words he wants to hear.
"L-Lana," I gasp out, the name tearing from my throat. “Lana.”
A sob follows the word. I can’t hold it back.
The silence stretches between us, broken only by my ragged breathing. Tears stream down my face, hot against my cheeks as my body shakes.
