Page 56 of Runes To Rain
I’m kidding, of course. I know I shouldn’t be even joking about it, but that is what this journal started as, right? A way to get my feelings out that’s healthier than my previous copingmechanism.
Fuck
What a fantastic way to be feeling before the upcoming meeting with my judgmental, asshole of a brother.
DIO’S JOURNAL - ENTRY 302
Annum:5615
Entry 302 - penem
It’s no fucking wonder I struggled as a kid. Being in the same room as that jerk for a few hours, even after all this time, made me want to strangle him or bash my head into a wall. His office is a piece of work, all set up to make him feel powerful. It’s clear why a younger me turned to drugs. He was truly created by my parents to be just like them. Being the black sheep of the family makes more and more sense to me.
I refused to let the others accompany me to the meeting. This needed to be navigated carefully. Alexander is aligned with the other side after all, aligned with the very scum that have Chaosta locked up. Of course, that positions him well for this, but only if I could convince him to help me ratherthan them.
It’s not like I haven’t had time to prepare. Perhaps the main factor on my side is that my brain works like his now that I’m not high, a fact I don’t think he realizes. I believe it gave me the advantage in our meeting. I was able to carefully navigate the line of truth and fiction and paint a fairly compelling fucking picture. Or at least I must have been able to because he’s agreed to help us.
Like any good lawyer, he didn’t make any guarantees. He also said that it might take a while, but he is willing to help. Thank all the dark gods for the name The Boys made for themselves, or I don’t think he’d have been willing.
I can’t even be thankful that my brother is a famous lawyer right now, not after the old wounds are so freshly opened from that interaction. At least I was hopefully able to contribute in some way to getting Chaosta released.
When I got back to the mansion after the meeting and told the others he’d promised to help, Lent fucking hugged me. The others looked a little less hopeless, and Fem even awkwardly patted me on the back. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged me since Chasota was arrested, other than to doctor my injuries. Not like I need his approval, but I’ll admit it’s been hard to see how angry he’s been with me.
If I’m honest, it’s been hard to see how angry all three of them have been at me since I screamed at Malam in front of them. They’ve still been treating melike a bomb about to go off. I know my temper can be bad, but fuck, it feels extreme how careful they’re being to avoid me.
I know they don’t know my brother. Until they see what he can do with their own eyes, they likely won’t believe getting her out is possible, but I know my blood. I may despise him, but he’s nearly as stubborn as I am. He’ll get this done.
A WEAPON HONED
As I count through this set of push-ups, I wonder numbly how many I’ve done in this room.
The space I’m being held in is small, with a single foam pad on the floor, one blanket, and a toilet. Food is delivered through a slit in the door on a completely random pattern. Nothing like being kept guessing when your next meal will be delivered for some much-needed variety.
There’s not much room, but along with push-ups, jumping jacks, and sit-ups, I’ve been able to practice some of the sword-fighting footwork. It’s all probably an exercise in futility since, at this rate, I’ll never get out of here. At least it gives me something useful to do. I could probably also do burpees, but I’d frankly rather die. Especially with the pain I’m in right now.
Earlier today, I made it through the worst session of torture yet. In addition to the standard, freshly stitched knife wounds on my torso, upper legs, and upper arms, I have two black eyes from a broken nose, and two broken fingers. I thought this angel, who was different than my normal torturer, was going to break my arm, but someone stopped her before she could go that far.
When I was initially incarcerated and the angels first began to torture me they asked questions about the demons. Questions I knew better than to answer. That strange intelligence told me they already knew the answers to the questions they were asking. I suspect they were trying to see if I did too.
Then they began to ask questions about the Piquory Center and how I got out. Questions that made my gut churn as I remembered Malam’s plea in the carriage to not say anything about Lily.
More recently, they have been asking questions about the boys. How I ended up living with them and why. They are clearly also trying to gather more information about each of them.
At the beginning of my time here, I remained quiet and didn’t respond to their questions. After a while, I began to make up seemingly valid, but fake, answers. Now I just give the most random answers I can think of, and it is clearly beginning to get to them.
They’re quick to remind me that this will stop as soon as I promise to join their “side.” They also like to remind me I’m lucky they’re providing me with “top of the line medical care,” and breaks between “sessions.”
Today, their questions centered around the boys, and when they asked about Dio, I felt rage surging through me. I struggled to maintain my usual impassivity, and when I had an opportunity, I reminded them that “top of the line care includes pain management.” They really didn’t like that response, and it earned me the broken nose.
Seeing the anger on their angelic faces almost makes the pain worth it. Almost.
I only make it through the first half of my second set of pushups before I need to lie down. I can tell if I don’t, I will pass out, and I would rather not wake in a pool of my own vomit again.
Twice was enough, thank you very much.
As I attempt to reduce the pain and get the room to stop spinning, I close my eyes and lie on my back on the foam pad, trying to take steady breaths through my mouth. The healers set and taped my nose, but I can’t breathe through it yet, and bigger breaths pull at the freshly stitched knife wounds across my ribs.
My whole body is covered in scars and knife wounds at various stages of healing at this point. However, until now, they have avoided marking areas that aren’t typically covered by clothing. Honestly, if it weren’t for the “top of the line medical care,” I would probably have died from infection multiple times over at this point.
