Page 65 of Tortured Souls
“Alright, here we go. Let the fun begin.” In one swift move, Finn cuts the clothing off Sylvia’s body, exposing her abdomen before plummeting his hunting knife deep into her belly and slicing all the way to the base of her throat. In another life, I’d have to say Finn was a surgeon because the man knows where every fucking organ is located in the body.
Sergio and Seven watch with disbelief in their eyes as Finn begins removing the liver, the spleen, the stomach, lungs, heart, large intestines, and finally, the small intestines. Upon finding the small intestines, he lifts up the corded organ with both hands and turns to face Seven.
“What’s your favorite balloon animal?”
“What, why?” Seven reluctantly asks.
“I’m going to make you a balloon animal out of mommy dearest’s intestines.” With Finn, I’d thought I’d heard and seen it all, but this is a new one for me.
“There’s no way you can make a balloon animal out of intestines, Finn.” I say to him, my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose as I shake my head at the insanity that is my friend.
“Oh, on the contrary, you can, my friend. I’ve done it before. I’m getting better. I can do a dog, horse, and almost a giraffe now.”
Un-fucking-believable.
Without another word, I make my way to Sky, her expression just as dumbfounded as mine. She watches as Brooks joins Finn, intrigued to see if his brother can, in fact, make a balloon animal out of intestines.
“You okay, tesoro?” My voice is low, pulling her closer to me with my hand on her back.
“Um, yeah, just confused. How many times has he done this?”
“I honestly have no fucking idea.”
“Right, can we move this along? I hate to admit it, especially at this time, but I’m starting to get hungry.” Saint chimes in from the back of the room, his eyes locked on Finn as he finishes twisting and spinning bits of intestines around into what is starting to look like a dog.
I look down at Sky, locking eyes with her and waiting for her to make her next move.
“Well, let’s get to work.” Turning to her father, she raises her hand to Saint as he tosses over a knife that’s in its sheath. Pulling out the knife, she swings her arm down, successfully slicing off four of Sergio’s fingers on his left hand.
His screams fill the room, blood spurting from his hand.
“Just know, this pain is nothing compared to the shit I endured. All. My. Life.”
SKYLAR
I’ve been seeking revenge on those who’ve ever done me wrong for most of my adult life. Making my list and hunting them down just to make them pay in the most horrific and brutal ways was something I thought would feel liberating. Something I thought would help erase the bad from my subconscious once and for all. I came to a crushing realization the moment my father, mother, and brother finally lay dead at my feet. After hours and hours of inflicting the most uniquely barbaric and vicious torture techniques upon them, I imagined my trauma and years of agony would magically evaporate from my body.
Oh, how I was sorely mistaken.
While watching my so-called family die at my own hands was cathartic and freeing in a way, this didn’t eradicate the past twenty-three years of pain caused by their hands.
Not even a fraction of my misery was eliminated. I can still feel it. The heavy sludge of despair that leaves me feeling weighed down and broken still clogging my veins. In fact, nothing has changed at all. Except for their hearts no longer beating, I can still feel the throbbing discomfort of my past banging against my ribs. How can this be?
The guys insist they will clean up the bodies, and all but demand that me and Saxon go home to take it easy for the rest of the night. I don’t argue. Something inside me is off, and I desperately need to get some air. Saxon must have felt the shift in my mood the second it happened. His attentiveness towards me is high as he intertwines our fingers and leads me up the stairs into the crisp night air of the forest. It smells of rain, the wet ground mushes beneath my shoes, and the air is damp. I inhale a deep breath, over and over. Inhaling and exhaling far too quickly.
“Hey, hey. Easy, tesoro. Slow it down a bit. Copy me. Ready. Inhale.” I shadow his movements, the inhale lasting for a steady three seconds. “And exhale.” He repeats this three times until I no longer feel as though I’m choking.
“You alright, baby?” Resting his hands on my shoulders, he pulls me closer to his chest, waiting for my response. How can I tell him this didn’t work? Every single person who fucked with me, broke me, terrorized me is now dead, but I still feel this overwhelming sorrow inside. A sorrow I thought would go away.
“I don’t know. I just thought that maybe all this—” I can’t form a proper sentence. My hands begin to sweat, and I rapidly come to the conclusion that maybe I am properly broken, after all. They broke me for good.
“Saxon.” My eyes swell with big, fat tears. My future looks bleak and painful, as if my past will walk beside me forever. How can this be my life? How will I continue on knowing all I’ve endured will stay with me? Like a parasite clinging to me, stopping me from flourishing into a new person. A happy person. A healed person. A whole person.
My knees hit the wet earth as I cover my face. A soul smashing sob racks through my body. I am irreversibly broken. How will anyone see me as anything other than a woman who was brutally torn apart by her family? Who could love someone like me? Just as my mind is self-destructing, his thick powerful arms lift me from the ground and sit me in his lap.
Saxon.
He is here. Holding me. Cradling me to his body. Holding me together while the world around me is falling apart.