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“Do you have any idea how it felt for me to sit there with the man who killed my father?” He was all over the place now, not making any sense at all.
“I-I'm so sorry,” I attempted to say but he shook his head, his gaze darkening.
“No. You're not. But you will be.” Unscrewing the lid, he dipped the feather in the fine powder. Particles of it floated through the air, the pungent smell filling my nose and setting my senses on fire.
I couldn't breathe.
I was drowning, drowning in a sea of anxiety.
Snot began to drain from my nose and his gaze darkened.
"Disgusting girl," Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped at it roughly, rubbing my skin almost raw. "Now, are you going to behave?"
"I'll never behave," I snarled. "As long as I live, I will never do what you want."
"And yet, I always get what I want in the end, don't I?"
"Even when I almost killed you?"
He chuckled, a glimmer in his eyes. "Ah, your little attempt to take me out. That was quite amusing. It was actually quite a proud moment for me."
"What?"
"Yes. Can you imagine? To create something out of nothing? I took a weak woman and turned her into something fierce and strong." A thumb brushed over my cheek lovingly, then his nail dug into it, scraping downward, drawing blood. "Until you grew weak again. Soft. The Tatiana I created wouldn't tremble at the sight of a feather." His eyes shuttered; they were cold and hard again. "Now," he said, "we'll start the training again."
"Now?" I managed to choke out, my body trembling involuntarily.
"I've waited long enough! Do you think for one moment I would hold off on my greatest creation?" He dipped the feather in the powder and my heart pounded so quickly, that I thought it was going to burst from my chest. Once again, my nose began to drain from the scent filling my nose.
He sighed heavily as he scooted closer. "I guess I'll tolerate it this one time. I know it's been a while, and your body needs to readjust." There was a trickle of a smile at the edges of his lips that he tried unsuccessfully to suppress. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, he was enjoying my reaction.
But then his gaze darkened. "This wouldn't be happening if you hadn't left me, Tatiana."
"But," I tried to stall him, "What about your men? Don't you care what happens out there? They could burst in here at any moment."
"Knight will never get that far," he dismissed me. "Now," grabbing my wrist, he turned my arm so that my palm faced upwards, "let's not waste another second." The feather glided over my skin, gentle as it moved across my hand and wrist. Up to the crook of my arm.
"No," I begged, as the tingling sensation grew into a burn. "Please."
Manuel's fingers tightened around my wrist. "Don't be such a child, Tatiana."
It didn't take long before the prickling pain escalated into an inferno as the powder sank into my skin.
"Please!" I cried, squeezing my eyes shut to stave off the pain as it ran up my arm and into my shoulder. "Please!"
"Funny," Manuel murmured, the feather hovering near my skin. "That's exactly what my father said," he hissed, his jaw flexing with anger, "when Abuelo put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger, right in front of me." He trailed the feather across my shoulder, shaking his head. "And Knight did nothing but stand there and watch as Abuelo murdered my father, even when he pleaded for his life." Manuel let my hand go, then leaned down to me, his eyes cold and hard in the darkness of the room. "Didn't he know he was mine to kill?" He thumped his chest with a fist, speaking in a low growl. "Mine."
The feather descended again and the powdery substance clung to my skin, intensifying the burning sensation that thundered over my other shoulder, up my neck and chest.
He paid particular attention to the spaces between my fingers, the skin where my fingers met my nails, all the tiny little cracks and crevices of my body, down to my toes. Anywhere that was bare, he tortured me, my screams and cries doing nothing to soften his hard heart.
I don't know how long it lasted, but it felt like an eternity as he caressed my skin with something so light, it was barely heavier than air, but imbibed with something so dangerous, so painful, that it felt like my skin was on fire.
I was burning alive.
My screaming drowned out the sounds of gunfire from outside, Manuel's deep laugh, and the pounding of my own heart.
As wave after wave of panic and nausea rolled over me, nearly choking me to death, I screamed not only for my own pain and agony, but for the younger me, who'd only wanted someone to love her.