The Broken & The Punisher

Chapter 9. "Did he hurt you?"

Continued from chapter 8.

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“Mary.”

Theo’s voice seemed far away, but Mary registered as he spoke. He sounded concerned, insistent. Her eyes were clenched shut and she was thrashing with all her might. She was filled with urgency, she needed to go home. She needed her bed, her computer, her life. She couldn’t be here. It was wrong.

“George Washington, John Adams…”

Suddenly, her arms weren’t confined any longer. She didn’t open her eyes and the world didn’t stop spinning, but she was able to hug her hands to her chest. She repeated her chant and ground her teeth together as she rocked back and forth on the cold surface. It took some time, but eventually, the Earth righted itself again, and she stilled. She peeled open her eyes and saw Theo leaning on the table, staring down at her with a worried expression.

Her ankles had been freed as well. She knew without taking her eyes off him because her knees were bent, and she was lying on her side. Even as she registered her freedom from the restraints, she couldn’t move. Her muscles ached, and her eyelids began to feel heavy.

“Did you kill your husband?” The way he had said it was too strange. Yesterday, he hadn’t struck her as attached to the idea of vengeance at all, but now he seemed to need the confirmation. Like, this was more than just business to him.

“Did they hire you?” she asked, allowing her eyes to drift close. She had gone two years without telling a single soul what she had done to Richard. She never mentioned it in the chat rooms she frequented, to Ricky, and certainly not to the police. She didn't believe it had anything to do with fear of being reprimanded, she just didn’t think Richard deserved any kind of sympathy. He had stolen her life long before she took his.

“No one hired me,” he answered, still worried.

She took a deep breath and fought sleep as it threatened to take over.

“Mary.” Theo shook her arm. “Mary, I need you to tell me something.”

She grunted and opened her eyes. He peered back at her in a way that made her feel naked, vulnerable. 'Should I have been more fearful of him?' It was hard to decide when she knew nothing of his motives.

“Did he hurt you?” A lingering sympathy reflected in Theo's voice.

'Did he hurt you?' That was the first time anyone had ever asked her that question. The detectives, the lawyers, the family—they all wanted to know if she had killed him, but none wanted to know why. Another piece of her shield cracked, and she found herself nodding. She wasn’t sure Theo deserved the truth, but it felt freeing to be able to tell it.

“Every day,” she whispered, the words fell from her lips like a heavyweight. She felt it as it lifted from her shoulders and gave her lungs more space.

She closed her eyes again, and this time didn’t fight the exhaustion. No more questions came, and she felt herself being lifted with strong arms and cradled against a hard chest.

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Theo's POV:-

She smelled of jasmine. The scent mingled with my own as I carried her, wrapped in my suit jacket, from the vault. My clothes were stained with blood oozing from the cuts on Mary’s wrists.

She wasn’t a predator. She was a victim.

The word stuck in my mind and swirled in a circle. I was only an estate lawyer, but I had spent enough time in a courtroom to hear the gavel crash and the judge’s booming voice as if I were in a movie—not guilty.

"Sh*t."

I cradled her in my arms, despite my shoulder’s protest. I didn’t want to look at her and feel the guilt from the wounds I had created or the world I had shattered. The darkness clawed me from the inside, begging to be unleashed.

I would oblige later. I would replace my worst memory with the screams of the depraved, but Mary didn’t belong in that category. Her screams would only serve to haunt me, and as insane as she was, she might not have screamed at all. Somehow, that made it worse.

I did finally look at her, however. I lay her down on my bed and allowed her blood to stain the sheets.

“I’m sorry, Mary,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

She was fast asleep, her lips parted and she was breathing heavily. I wish she would have eaten more before having her episode. It was terrifying to watch her like that, and I wondered if that’s how I looked when I couldn’t keep those memories from infesting my brain. "Was that what she was seeing—memories?"

After digging deeper into her past today, it would have been hard to pinpoint which of the tragedies in her life haunted her. Were they the memories of her late husband or the years she spent looking after her sick mother? Had she seen the woman’s lifeless eyes as cancer had stolen her? A selfish part of me hoped so, if anything so that I knew I wasn’t alone.

I brushed the hair back from her porcelain face. She looked so much like a doll, each time I went to touch her skin I half expected it to be cold, hard plastic. There wasn’t a blemish or a freckle in sight, which was strange for a natural redhead. Or maybe her hair wasn’t natural. My gaze flickered to her polka-dotted pajama bottoms before I shook away the thought.

I sighed before sauntering into the adjoining bathroom to retrieve my first aid kit. Funny, never would I have guessed I would be using it on one of my intended subjects. My darkness loomed again as I thought of them. I had enjoyed everything I had done, and they had deserved every ounce of pain I had delivered.

'I need more.'

I grabbed the kit from the counter drawer and paused as I caught my reflection in the mirror. My pupils were so dilated, I could barely see my irises. They were only skinny rings held in black. 'Is this what my subjects saw?' One side of my lips tilted before I exited the bathroom. I suppose I really was as terrifying as Mary. I just hoped I wasn’t as crazy.

The need surging beneath my skin calmed as I took in the woman. I didn’t want her. Not as much as a purge. She was too damaged, somebody else’s broken toy. For some reason, instead of annoyance or even sympathy, I felt anger, hot and fiery as it coursed through my veins. I wasn’t even sure what or who I was angry at. She had taken care of her abuser, he had paid for his wrongdoing. There was nothing left to do about it.

I sat at the edge of the bed and dragged Mary’s ankle to my lap. She groaned and twisted in her sleep, but she didn’t wake. I stared at her, wondering what she would do if she did wake up.

Would she try to run now that she had her shot?

Maybe even try to attack me? I didn’t have a clue. The woman was unpredictable.

I returned my gaze to her ankle and pulled a cotton ball along with a bottle of peroxide from the bag. I soaked the cotton before applying it to her wounds, entranced as I watched it bubble. The bleeding had stopped, and I wiped the drying blood.

It took several cotton balls to finish cleaning that one ankle, but I was so focused on the task that I didn’t even notice how long it took. It was… interesting. To treat a wound, to watch the bleeding at its end instead of being the one to cause its beginning. Her flesh was so delicate, so pale. I wondered how hard I would have to press a blade to pierce the skin.

“It’s clean.”

I tensed at the sound of Mary’s soft voice and dropped the ankle, still not peering her way. 'How long had she been awake?' I was frozen for several moments, not knowing what to do or say, not knowing what she had seen or if she could sense my interest.

I still hadn’t moved when she rolled onto her side and lifted her other ankle toward me. Finally, I met her gaze. She didn’t appear fearful or concerned. Her head rested against the pillow, and her soft lips were slightly parted. She seemed… curious? Was I really surprised?

I took her other ankle and peered at her another moment before applying peroxide to a fresh cotton ball. She gave no reaction as it touched her skin. I know because I was searching for it, scanning for some tick on her face or change in her breathing—nothing. Her chest moved steadily with each breath, and her expression remained relaxed.

I continued cleaning the ankle, allowing myself to ignore Mary’s stare and focus on clearing away every drop of dried blood and every fiber of rope that had stuck to her wound. I applied ointment to both rings of torn flesh and wrapped a layer of gauze around each ankle before tilting my head to face Mary. Her expression hadn’t changed one bit. She still stared, studying me like I was some sort of fu*king science experiment.

“Who are you, Theo?” I ignored the question and scooted toward the head of the bed, stopping when I reached her midsection.

'Who was I?' I didn’t know. I didn’t think myself to be a psychopath. I had empathy, compassion, morals, and all the things normal people had. In many situations, I was just that—normal. It was only during my purging that I couldn’t seem to control my urges. Any other time, 'I' was in the driver’s seat. But when my gaze lingered on the suit jacket covering Mary, I felt the strange need to see underneath, and I didn’t feel as if I were in control. I gripped the hem and dragged the jacket off of her, inch by inch, watching her face to see if she would react. She didn’t. Not in the way I would’ve expected at least.

With the jacket at her waist, she sat up on her elbows and eased the torn shirt the rest of the way off. She tossed the shirt to the floor before reaching behind to unhook her bra.

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to be continued