Be with Me (Book Two, Riding the Changing Winds)

14: Goodbye Nails

Trigger warning. There will be scenes of torture done to a woman, please prepare yourself before reading.

Cool AC air tickles my skin as my fingers caress the bulb of a rose. The velvety leather petal seduces the pad of my thumb, comforting me, reminding me of the times as a child I would rub my pinky and thumb together. I would do it to make them warm so that the pad of my smooth, supple pinky finger could stroke the indent of my lip, up and down, from the bottom of my nose to the dip of my bowed lips. It had been a source of comfort for me and would help me relax when I was overstimulated. I had grown out of it but the same calming sensation overtakes me whenever my fingers cuddle with a flower's petals. The indistinguishable softness makes my eyes droop, my muscles uncoil, and my skin sing in delight. It's why I love flowers so much. It's why simple touches ignite my spirit.

My eyes go from the deep red flower to the sprinkled scars on the knuckle of my thumb. I had also been an avid thumb sucker, which caused me to have large, gross warts that had to be frozen off. All that's left now are the riddled remnants of what used to be, the times when I was a child dealing with anxiety and needed to feel safe and secure, with my face pressed into my chilled bunny blanky, my thumb in my mouth, and my pinky gliding over the skin of my lip.

"Am I going to have to shove another one of these under your nails?" A rough, scratchy voice interrupts my daydream and I'm brought out of my flower shop, away from my oasis, and right into the hollow eyes of a soulless creature, holding up a slivered bamboo stick.

My eyes burn from dried-up tears, my head pounding after all the intense screaming I've unleashed from my now raw throat. Unable to help myself, my gaze flickers to my hand. The roof of my mouth tenses, pulsating as if begging, pleading with me to shove my thumb in my mouth and calm my racing, frantic heart.

But that would be impossible...

Unless I wanted a sharpened piece of bamboo to stab the back of my throat.

My breathing is uneven, harsh, and trying to catch up with the beating of my rhythmic heart. My jaw pops, cracking, locking down as my teeth whine. Seeing as how I wasn't going to say anything, the bald-headed man shook his head, his huge gaged earlobes swinging, hitting the sides of his neck. "Suit yourself, doll."

My middle finger tenses, knowing what's about to come and I close my eyes, ready to scream and wail. Never in my life did I think I'd find myself in a situation like this, being tortured and mutilated. The first thing he did when he came in was say his name was Cobra, strolled over, smoking a cigarette, then casually snuffed it out on the back of my hand. He hadn't hesitated and sat in the seat in front of me, asking me where Addie was. Each time I don't answer, a piece of splintered wood is shoved right under my fingernail.

"It's a shame," he says absentmindedly. "You have pretty fingernails."

I hold my breath and wait for what's to come.