20. Here comes the boom

Twenty

Here comes the boom

H ours had passed under Marklov's brutal torture. His abuse. His destructive words. His laughter reverberated in my one good ear, an incessant reminder of his cruelty. I am almost certain he completely blew out my left eardrum. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, each one a testament to my growing despair.

His words hurt me more than any of the blows that he had given my frail body. My face is so swollen that my eyes involuntarily close, the puffiness forcing them shut despite my efforts to keep them open.

I'm drained, and it seems like surrendering might be my only choice now. However, my stubbornness won't even let me entertain the thought of quitting and giving him the satisfaction of victory. I'm puzzled as to why he thinks I have any link to what's happening on the outside world when I have been confined in here with him. Even more, why he believes I have someone coming after him. Its not like I went around saying, "If I ever disappear, it was Marklov Aragon, this is what he looks like and this is where he lives." He was simply dead to me, buried with my childhood.

The floor beneath me is painted crimson, and under different circumstances, I might have found it beautiful. The rich, deep red could have been striking, almost mesmerizing. But knowing it's my blood staining the floor, any appreciation for the color fades. The realization that my suffering is what created this ghastly masterpiece only deepens my sense of despair, making the room feel like a macabre gallery of my own pain.

Marklov is preparing to strike me again. He takes a step closer, cracking his neck and grunting.

"Boss!" One of Marklov's men shouts as he sprints over, I can see a glimpse of panic in his demeanor, he leans in to whisper something urgently in Marklovs ear.

The sudden change in Marklov's expression makes it clear that something significant is happening. His face goes from a wicked grin to draining its blood. I try to focus, straining my ears to catch snippets of their conversation, but my condition is beyond terrible. I probably resemble a bag of hamburger that's been left out too long, battered and bruised beyond recognition. The pain and exhaustion make it nearly impossible to concentrate, my mind swirling in a haze of confusion.

"Get her dressed!" He yells out to his men.

I let my head slump down, trying to relax as much as I can. The weight of exhaustion pulls at me, and all I can think about is how badly I need to sleep. Sleep makes everything better, a temporary escape from the chaos. Maybe a bottle of Tylenol and a gallon of water wouldn't hurt either, offering some relief from the physical and mental strain. As my eyes begin to close, I force them back open. "Not yet, T, not yet." I can't give up yet.

Marklov storms out of the room, leaving a tense silence behind him. His men slowly lift me onto my feet, their hands rough and unyielding. I feel nothing but the intense throb coursing through my body, each pulse a reminder of my suffering. Blood is still spewing everywhere, painting a gruesome picture of my ordeal. The metallic taste of blood floods my mouth, and my vision blurs as I try to stay conscious. Every movement sends waves of pain through me, but I force myself to stand, knowing that showing weakness is not an option.

One of the guards let go of me, making me his partners issues as he went to grab a duffle bag stashed in the corner of the room. After one of the guards sit me down on the bed, the other rummages through the bag and pulls out a stack of clothing.

"We gotta clean her up, man," says the guard holding me upright, his voice tinged with concern.

"Boss's orders were to get her dressed. Nothing more, nothing less," snaps another guard in a hateful tone. You can tell he would do anything to stay in Marklov's good graces, even if it meant groveling at his feet or sucking his cock. The tension between them is palpable, and I can feel their conflicting emotions swirling around me as they argue over me and what to do.

The first guard hesitates, clearly torn between following orders and his instinct to help.

"Look at her. She's a fucking mess. We can't just throw clothes on her like this, it's inhumane," he insists, his grip on my arm slightly tightens as if to emphasize his point.

The other guard glares at him, his eyes cold.

"I don't care what you think. Boss said to get her dressed, and that's what we will do. If you wanna question his orders, be my fucking guest, man. But I'm not risking my neck for her. Besides, we're not here to fucking make sure what he does is humane. You know what exactly the hell you signed up for."

Their argument continues, the room growing more tense with each passing second. I sit there, feeling like a puppet with my strings cut, unable to muster the strength to intervene or even move. My mind drifts, the voices of the guards blending into a dull roar as I struggle to stay conscious. The pain and exhaustion are overwhelming, and I can barely keep my eyes open. All I can do is hope that whatever happens next won't make things worse for me, I don't think I will be able to survive it.

The guard who is holding me upright grabs a cloth and a bottle of water. Dampening the fabric he attempts to dab off the blood covering my face. He's going to need a lot more than that to clean up this shit show.

I appreciate the kind gesture, though. "Th..Thanks," I let out in a silenced voice, probably unrecognizable. At least I still have my manors through this twisted shit.

He stops, realizing he's doing more damage to me than any good. Every touch makes my body jolt. And it causes me to whimper out in pain.

The douche guard threw the clothing at his partner, huffing out. "Here, since you want her to be treated like a God damn Princess. You get her dressed your damn self."

He reaches down picking up the clothing, he slowly pulls an oversized shirt over my body, the fabric sticking against my blood-soaked skin as it covers my upper half. His movements are deliberate, almost methodical as if he's trying to maintain some semblance of my dignity in this undignified situation. Then, he bends down, carefully lifting one of my legs to slide it into a pair of black pants. My legs are shaking, it is up to him because I have no strength left to give. My legs are dead weight.

The vibrations course through my body, leaving me confused about the whole situation. Despite the pain this man unintentionally causes me, I fight through it because I'd rather be somewhat dressed than sit here butt-ass naked.

"I'm going to check on the boss and see what the next orders are. Keep a close fucking eye on her, don't fuck it up, Lover boy." the cocky guard spat out, uncrossing his arms with an air of arrogance before striding out of the room. Now, it was just me and the man who, despite everything, was trying to make it seem like I was still human.

His eyes held a tiny flicker of compassion, starkly contrasting the indifference that surrounded us and consumed me. This small act of kindness, though insignificant in the grand scheme of things, felt like a lifeline amid my turmoil, almost like he knew I didn't deserve all of this wretched shit from Marklov. He is scarred and I can sense it. I would almost feel bad for him, if he didn't let the torture go on for hours.

"W..w..water," I said in a raspy voice, attempting to lift my hand and gesture to it, but my arm wont move. My body feels like a phantom, I feel as if I am doing one thing but in reality I am just sitting here. The guard leans me against the wall and shuffled over to grab some water for me. He tilts the bottle up, holding it for me while I take a sip of it, but my throat is too swollen, and it causes me to choke, my body instantly rejects it.

Pity fills his eyes. A sense of sadness covers his face. I think this man is in the wrong line of work, but luckily, I need this. Blood is gurgling up my throat, something is very, very wrong. The metallic taste is overwhelming, and I can feel the warmth of it spreading through my mouth, contrasting sharply with the cold sweat on my skin. I begin choking again, but this time on my blood. I must be bleeding internally. That is just fuckin' perfect. I'll probably be dead soon. Great.

My brain kicks into overdrive, sending urgent signals to stay awake. I know that if I go under now, I might not come back. The guard posts up by the door, he looks like a shaken jar of nerves. He's jittery, constantly glancing at me and then peeking out of the doorway, probably wondering when his buddy will return. His anxiety is almost palpable, adding to the tension in the room mixed with my ragged breathing. Each second stretches out as I fight to keep my eyes open, my training kicking in to slow my heart rate and keep my senses sharp but it only works for so long until it needs more. My survival instincts are in full gear, and I cling to the hope of making it through this.

Where the fuck did Marklov go in such a hurry?

I am shaking, my skin is cold and clammy. I didn't eat, and my body's sugar levels are probably deathly low, adding to the horrific health condition of my body.

My mind is beginning to fade into darkness, the edges of my vision blurring as if a heavy curtain is drawn over me. Each breath is a struggle, my chest heaving with little effort to keep going. As my thoughts start slipping away, I hear loud and muffled noises. They seem distant, yet they pierce through the fog in my mind, jolting me back into my haze state.

My survival instincts kick in even more, and I fight to stay conscious, driven by a fierce determination to survive long enough to figure out what the hell is going on out there.

Suddenly, the muffled noises become clearer, transforming into the unmistakable sound of gunfire. And a shit ton of it.

I angle my head, pointing my right ear around to get the three "D's: Distance, Direction, and Description. I can't see much, so that would be absolutely no help in this situation. And the fact I am in a basement.

The distant gunfire grows louder, echoing ominously through the walls surrounding me. My heart races, each beat painful, staggering and painful. My body tenses letting me brace for the possible danger closing in on my position. The guard takes a look at me, and back down the hall. He tries radioing to his partner but the line is dead. He runs out of the room leaving me to defend for myself.

With no protection, no weapon, just my bare hands and sheer determination, I just have to brace myself for whatever the hell is about to happen. If Marklov and his men burst in, I'll fight with everything I have. I just need to muster up just a little strength to regain control over my body. One thing for sure is I am not leaving this place with Marklov. Sweat mingles with fear and a mixture of my blood that covers my skin, but I can't let it paralyze me. This might be my only chance to escape this prison and reclaim my freedom.

The walls seem to close in on me, their oppressive presence almost suffocating. Despite this, my willpower only grows stronger. I must survive, escape, and end this nightmare, no matter what it takes. The thought of freedom fuels my determination, even if it means risking everything, even my own life. At least I would have died trying, fighting with every ounce of strength I have left. The desperation and resolve intertwine, pushing me forward, refusing to let this be the end.

Attempting to gain any balance and what strength I can muster up, I force myself to grab the headboard and pull my weakened and frail body into an upright position. My muscles scream in protest, every inch a battle against the fatigue that threatens to overpower my body.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was having a heart attack—my chest aches, and the tightness is absolutely unbearable. It feels like a vehicle has crashed into me and now lies on top of me. The line between anxiety and heart attacks is almost indistinguishable without the proper knowledge.

My body is fighting with my mind. One is demanding that I sit my ass down, and the other is telling me to get the fuck out of here. The struggle is real, and it feels like I'm being torn in two different directions. As soon as I stand up, my legs buckle beneath me, causing me to hit the ground with full force. The impact sends shockwaves through my entire body, and I can't even pinpoint where the pain is radiating from. It hurts all over, from my head to my toes, like every nerve ending is on fire. My arms feel like lead weights, and my vision blurs as I try to make sense of the chaos within. The room spins around me, and I can barely catch my breath.

The gunfire begins to be accompanied by explosions, creating a cacophony of chaos that reverberates through the air. The ground trembles beneath me with each blast, adding another layer of intensity to the already overwhelming situation. My heart races, trying to keep up with the rapid sounds and sensations trapping me. My mind trails back to Iraq making me concerned for my being.

It's like being caught in the middle of a storm with no clear path to safety.

A part of me just wants to accept defeat and surrender. But I'll kill that shit real fuckin' quick. I'm not one to ever fuckin' back down, and I won't start now. I'm a badass, and giving up isn't in my vocabulary. When things get tough, I dig in deeper and fight harder. Every challenge I've faced has only made me stronger, and this is no different. I'll rise, push through the pain, and come out on the other side even more resilient. Surrender isn't an option—I'm built to survive and thrive, no matter what gets thrown my way.

The gunfire begins to amplify, and the walls start shaking as explosions go off around the house. The loud noises are causing my tinnitus to act up in my one good ear. It is almost unbearable, each blast sending shock waves through the air and rattling my bones.

Dust and debris fall from the ceiling, and the room fills with a haze of smoke and chaos. The floor beneath me trembles violently, making it nearly impossible to stay steady.

I can feel the fire in my chest rising and constricting airflow to my lungs, but I know I can't afford to lose any more focus now.

Every instinct screams at me to move, to get up off of this blood-soaked floor.

I place one hand in front of the other, pulling myself towards the door. The guard had left it cracked just enough so the latch didn't click into place, locking me in.

My body protests with every inch I gain, pain radiating from head to toe, but I can't afford to stop now. I feel as if I am pulling a ton of bricks through the war zone. The air becomes thick with smoke, now seeping through the door's crack with the rising scent of gunpowder, making it harder for me to breathe.

I can hear the chaos upstairs, the shouts, and the relentless gunfire, but I focus on the door. It's my only chance. I grit my teeth, ignoring the searing pain, and push myself harder. The door is so close, just a few more pulls, and I will be there. My heart races, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Freedom starts just beyond that door, and I won't let anything or anyone keep me from it.

My blurred vision begins to tunnel. It feels like a painful and agonizing eternity before I make my way to the door, hoisting myself through and out into the smoke-filled hallway. My body is giving out on me. It has completely slowed down, my arms won't move, and my legs feel paralyzed. The amount of blood that I have lost is critical. I don't even know how I am still alive and breathing.

Gazing down the hallway, my head begins to spin. Before I can react, I see a shadowed figure running into every room that aligns the walls. They are empty, and I assume I am the only one being held down here against my will.

"G, slow down, man!" a man's voice shouts over all the chaos surrounding us. The figure begins to close in on me as I lay here, losing more blood.

"She has got to be here somewhere, man. I know she fucking needs me!" A man's panicked voice, laced with anger, yells out.

That voice, I am all too familiar with it. It is the voice that replayed itself over time and time,, keeping me sane. My mind is in disbelief. It can't be…Could it really be him? Did he come for me after all? I try calling out to whoever it is hoping they can hear me. And I am not hallucinating.

"Ghost"

My voice is too hoarse for anyone to hear other than myself. My eyes started to fall heavy, and my body shut down after all it had endured. I fight to stay conscious, hoping the figure is not just my imagination.

"G, she's over here!" The man calls out in a panicked voice. The man looks down at me and assesses my condition. He quickly stood up before the other man approaches us.

"I don't think you want to see her G. She's fucked up…like bad brother. She needs a doctor." He let out.

The man shoves him out of his way, "I didn't ask for your God damn input, now help me out or go help the guys!" He commanded.

He brings himself down to one knee, carefully grabbing my head and placing it in his hand. I can't stay awake much longer. "G..Ghost?" I let out in a hushed tone. "Don't worry, Little Killer," he says softly. "I am here, you're safe now."

Darkness consumes me, pulling me into an abyss where time and space dissolve—the roar of the chaos that surrounds me echoes through the void. I feel a surge of coldness, like icy tendrils wrapping around my body, dragging me further into the unknown. My mind races between the urge to rest and the desperate need to push forward.

Suddenly, a blinding light pierces the darkness, cutting through the shadows and smoke clouding my vision. The faint light at the end of the corridor grows stronger, illuminating a familiar and foreign path.

I feel a sense of peace wash over me as I reach the light. The chaos fades, replaced by a serene calmness. Am I dead? I am no longer in pain.

Whatever lies beyond this light, I know I am ready for it. With that final thought, I surrender to the darkness, embracing the unknown with hope that this madness is over.

I am finally free from it all. No more pain, no more suffering.