Page 70 of The Lost Ones

He steps away and there’s a moment of silence before the booming crack of a whip thunders throughout the room and a burning line of pain opens up on the top of my back. My body arches, trying to escape the fiery pain but I manage to hold in any sound of my agony desperate not to give him the satisfaction.

“Protect yourself!” The Doctor demands.

I can feel my magic rising in defence, pushing against the barrier that keeps it contained.

He brings the whip down onto my back again and again, over and over until there is no more unmarred skin left and I can hear the drip, drip, drip, of my blood as it overflows the grooves on the table and hits the tiled floor. He brings the whip crashing down one final time, slashing across several of the wounds he has already inflicted, unable to hold it back any longer a savage scream bursts free from me and I pass out from the mixture of pain and blood loss. The darkness is comforting, welcoming me like it always has.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sage!”

I stir, trying to stay as still as possible, if I move too much the wounds on my back will open. The bastards didn’t heal them like they used to. I push the pain away and lock it in with my emotions ready to deal with later.

“How long was I out?” I croak realising my voice is hoarse from the one and only scream I let loose and the damage dickhead Brent did to me.

I’m pleased to find that they’ve at least replaced my ruined shirt with a large grey one that appears to be clean. They’ve only placed a thin layer of bandages over my back though.

“A couple of hours.” Jett says cautiously, watching me warily.

I pull myself into a sitting position, savagely ignoring the pain it causes me. I start to wriggle the hair pin from my sleeve when the door once again bangs open.

“For fuck sake.” I groan.

“That’s no way to talk to your mother Sage,” the step bitch scolds as she saunters into the room looking all pleased with herself.

“Your fucking mother!?” Erin yells, shocked and I shrug in response.

“Aren’t you curious to know what’s going on?” My mother asks.

“Sure,” I shrug, my emotions still on lockdown.

Unlike all the times I’ve had to do this to protect myself before though, this time I’m unable to unlock them. Which I would be more worried about it if, you know, my emotions were working in the first place and I had the ability to be worried. It’s not important at the moment, I need answers. If my short answer gives her any pause, she doesn’t let it show and continues a monologue like a damn villain in kids show.

“I felt so honoured when Mr. Romano chose me to help with his special project. If I had known it was to look after a disgusting brat, I would’ve rethought my agreement entirely.”

The step bitch has been in the same crime organisation as Brent this entire time, the same organisation that stole me from my parents and tortured me.

Hang on a fucking minute.

“Brent Romano.” I say in a monotone voice; my emotions are fighting to come back but I can’t seem to get them to break the barrier I managed to put around them.

“That’s right, your boyfriend.” She says in a sing song voice clasping her hands to her chest and pretending to swoon, “The son of the Romano organisation, he was tasked with getting close to you in the hopes that you would reveal your powers to him. Of course, then your whorish bitch of a self, tricked him into thinking he loves you and he became obsessed, which actually worked out in Mr. Romano’s favour.”

One minute she is ranting fairly calmly and the next, seemingly out of nowhere, her fist shoots out, the hit causing my lip to split back open. I once again spit blood out onto the concrete floor and stare up at her stoically. She cackles loudly as she makes her way back to the door, just as shereaches it, she calls back.

“I do hope I get to participate in the experiments on you, Sage!” She exclaims, pure glee lacing her voice. She is a fucking psycho.

The door slams with finality behind her.

“What the fuck?” Damon says quietly.

“My sentiments exactly, apparently all the fucked-up parts of my life were more connected than I thought.” I state, resuming the task of trying to wriggle the hair grip free of my sleeve.

The sudden brush of soft fur against my wrists causes me to jump, my eyes widening. Since the team were already watching me cautiously, they all notice my sudden jump and they look at me in question.

“What’s going on?” Dash booms.

I don’t reply and stay deathly still as I feel sharp teeth scrape along the inside of my wrist, as they grasp the hair grip and pull it free from my sleeve, before I can try to stop whatever it is from getting away with our one chance of escape, the slight weight of the tiny hair grip is dropped into my hand and an orange ball of fluff skitters out from behind me and comes to halt in front of me. The small orange fox plops her butt down on the floor in front of me and looks at me with eyes that are far too intelligent for just a simple fox.