Teach Me Dirty

3: Beg Me, Kehanar

Kehanar hate him, yes she knows he also hated her, and she will always remind herself of that hate, hold it tight inside her chest. It is the only thing that keep her strong whenever he is close.

“This.” He said, spreading his hands like he was showing her a precious surprise. “This… so your new room.” He said again, watching her face, waiting to see if she would react.

She could not believe her ears, he was bringing her out of the cell, to an actual room. A real room, not cold stone walls and iron bars. Was he joking around to see her reaction? To watch hope rise in her eyes just so he could crush it with his bare hands?

“Why?” Her voice trembled, barely steady, as fear and suspicion wrapped tight around her heart.

“I can’t give you my reasons… you do not question me, little girl.” He said.

She heard his cold voice sounding final, leaving no space for argument. His eyes held hers, dark and warning, daring her to speak again.

She might hate him, but she knew he hate her more… she could see it in the way he looked at her, like she was something to punish. But why? It’s her father who wage war against him, not her, not her family, and not the kingdom of Taringhal.

But he didn’t care… he enslaved everyone in Taringhal when he won against her father, King Malo. Mercy was never in his heart. Victory was not enough for him, he needed suffering too. He needed them to bow, to break, to remember that Urinthu now owned their blood and breath.

“You’ve kill my father, let the people live in peace.” She said, her voice shaking but her eyes refusing to bow before him. Even in fear, she tried to stand tall.

He hissed at her words, and angry, because it was as if she was telling him what to do. And he hated that, he hated being commanded.

“Do you care about the people ever?” He growled angrily, stepping closer to her, his shadow swallowing her small frame.

His eyes dropped, noticing the torn clothes clinging to her body, and her exposed chest she was covering with her hands. She felt small under his gaze, exposed, and ashamed.

Seeing his eyes remain on her chest, she prayed he didn’t continue from where that guard Henda stopped. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs, fear crawling under her skin. She kept her hands firm, covering herself, refusing to tremble before him.

“I asked a question. Do you care about the people?” He repeated, voice darker now. How dare she tell him what to do.

“Perhaps you should return to your cell. You still don’t know who have the upper hand here.” Nudoz said seriously, meaning every words.

“No… don’t take me back there.” She begged, the fear finally breaking through her pride.

She didn’t want to say the word please, she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. But she know she was begging him deep down, her voice shaking, her eyes pleading, not to return her to that hell hole again.

This place is better, far better. It has a fine, and comfortable soft bed. It has bath, it has windows for air, real air, not the smell of rot. And fresh clothes to change into.

“Maybe use the word please.” He said quietly. “Beg me, Kehanar…” he said icily, watching her struggle.

She has to beg him… she has to keep her pride aside, because pride will not save her here. Pride will only send her back to that darkness. And she know her pride will be crushed even in the future by him, piece by piece, until nothing remain.

“Please, don’t let me go to the—” he cut her shut with a cold look.

“Go on your knees and beg… make sure you mean every plea.”

She knows she had already promise herself not to let him see her break, not to let him see her weak, not to give him that victory. But who was she deceiving… herself? Him? Pride cannot protect her here.

Slowly, painfully, she’ll beg. She goes down on her knees before him, the cold floor biting her skin. Every pride she had left her in that moment, slipping away instantly.

It was either she beg, or he’ll return her to the cell. It was an option to Nudoz, a simple choice he could make without thinking. But not to her. To her, it was survival.

“Please… I don’t want to go back there. Please don’t take me back.” She begged, her voice breaking.

“Good girl.” Nudoz said, his hand resting on her hair like he was patting a puppy, claiming her obedience.

“If your father had begged me this way, maybe he’d still be alive… not his head hanging on the spike.” He said it calmly, as if speaking of sport, watching the pain strike her face.

But it was not sport to her. Those words left a cold chill down Kehanar's spine. Talking about her dead father he killed again, as if his death was nothing. It provoked her, stirred anger beneath her fear.

Her eyes landed on the small knife he hid in his boot. It was barely visible, but she saw it. And without thinking, and without fear, only using the anger burning inside her wounded heart… she moved.

Quickly, she reached for the knife, pulling it free from his boot, and strike his leg with all her strength. It was not what she had planned, but it was rage, and it was pain that made her do it.

He hissed from the pain, and pure anger flashed across his face. Without hesitation, he pushed her so hard angrily, his strength unforgiving. Her body flew back, and her head slapped hard against the wall with a brutal force.

Immediate her head felt the impact on the wall, darkness came to her instantly, swallowing her whole. The room faded, and she fell unconscious.