I sort of surrendered after that, giving Artoz what he wanted, but hiding inside myself. I crawled deep and refused to be teased out. Even when he started cutting. I couldn’t tell you how long we were there in that room, how many days went with little to mark their passing but endless pain and amplified horror.
The hallucinogenic became a part of every game and at first, as it slipped through me, I welcomed the rush of pain relief and euphoria that came with it, but that didn’t last. All too soon, that euphoria became paranoia and the relief circled back to pain.
The horror of nearly dying at the hands of the Brotherhood danced with the horror at hand, especially when Artoz made shallow but painful cuts around the scar in my side. His face was distorted and elongated, eyes bulging, his m
