Chapitre 511: 30. Hallelujah.
Damon knew how to annoy me the most, to make me try to escape, to try to break free, to electrocute me so that I was fucking helpless when no muscle worked. Time after time, the weakening grip of my even decreasing rage slipped away, and getting it was so hard and I knew soon it would be the full impossibility to get my rage. Time began to lose its meaning again as device after device bruised and tore. I had metal feelings and vague symptoms ranging from a fever to aches and pains all over my body.
Nothing specific diseases but nausea, dizziness, muscle pains, joint pain, tinnitus, dry mouth, sore eyes, and everything else that metals made worse, and pain tore through my mind, through my body, weakening me, making me again weak, torn victim who could not be able to move on her own soon enough.
There was no mercy, no empathy, only his enjoyment and sadistic pleasure, no love, no affection, nothing good in him. He looked so different, even though he looked exactly the same, but that twisted with pleasure. His expression made him look so evil, so dark, like there was no more of that guy that I used to know inside him.
Like every time this side took over, there was some piece of him dying or lost, and he was turning into a sadistic monster and I was not sure if I could be with him. I was deep in my mind, so grateful to Adam and Charles. Grateful that I had men in my life who loved me, just loved me, and did not hate me, not see me as a victim to be tortured. I was not sure if there was soon any part of Damon left that I wanted or would want to be with.
He put me in, stretching so hard that every major joint was torn out of place and almost tore my limbs off. Then he injected something into my joints that when my ligaments were trying to heal, that jelly inside my joints was so damn bad that I lost consciousness several times from that pain. I did not want to move anything in my body, but he put me in machines that made my body move and twitch. I was not all the time conscious, not even near. The pain was just too much.
He put me in various stabbers, cutters, bruisers, and beaters, and every time, good thing, he didn't give me a grade on how well I was healing. My body is resilient. I must say that, time after time. I did try to heal, even slower, but always there was healing happening, despite all the metals, herbs, and trauma that he inflicted on my body and on my spirit too. I was the strongest creature in the universe, resilient at least, and I was not going to go down so easily.
Then, there was always rest in between, lying on some kind of pallet with a thin mattress. I could feel my blood soaking into the mattress. Damon would always come and sit next to me, talk to me, and tell me how much he has enjoyed, how much longer I can take it, and how far he is willing to go. How much he needs this.
His voice would be the same, chatty, with no genuine emotion on it, and he would look at me like a piece of meat, stinking that damn wet dog and maybe astray. I had seen him sometimes drinking human blood from bags, and it was straight up weird as he normally had my blood or any supernatural blood, and if it was a tight spot, only them human blood and he would require that a lot.
But now, just one bag of human blood, made that smell of ashtray faint away. He brushed my hair off my forehead so that I would eventually start to back away when it was so wrong. It seemed to please him that his touch was no longer something that I wanted.
He said, " You'll be fine. Even this, baby, will make you stronger, you'll see. See, Bran said it to me. It's so much easier for me when I'm not denying who or what I am. I am what I am, and this is what I want to do for you now and enjoy. Why should I suffer and deny my nature? I'm not good, and I don't want people to think of me as good because I don't want to live up to those expectations. People see good and they expect good. That is not just me. I am an ancient creature. I have so many horrible experiences in my belt that those just made me who I am. You will see when you get older, when all the trauma will start to affect you, who you are, you were once upon a time, and it is just how that works. I hurt the most, always that one I love the most. "
He touched me and looked for the sore spots, properly rubbed them, and again I started to pull away quietly when he tried to touch me. And he was pleased. I did not want his touch. It started to turn into something that I hated or feared almost because it brought pain and suffering more, weakening me, hurting me.
But the wet dog just stank and he showed no empathy or mercy as he again dragged me to device after device to torture me. And then there was always this really creepy stroking, touching torture where he would say equally creepy things. Now he had moved on to describing my injuries and how they were healing, how long it was going to take, how I was going to last.
His hands were on me all the time, making me try to move away. Of course, there had been all the time again his weird ass medical experiment and infusing those murky bags into me, dictation and whatnot too. Just like every session before this, he did not specify anything about those bags, not at all. He did most of his dictations when I was too weak to move or in the machine, some sort, not able to hear much of anything he dictated, mostly describing my injuries, how well I was healing, and what had come after what machine.
He was once again, sitting next to me, pressing the same time my side, my ribs were not mended, and they were shattered. He moved his hand, feeling bone fragments crushing under his palm and me not really breathing.
He said, " You've now been little over eight weeks, almost two months and you're getting pretty much finished, those symptoms took everything out of you, but as you can see, the salt water baths took the symptoms away, although I think it must have hurt quite a lot when you couldn't stay conscious."
That had been an awful experience, and I had screamed so long as I had been conscious. I was now weak, not able too much to move, and wanted just to be but severe pain in my side, tore through my mind, making me moan and writhe in pain in his hands.
He stood, up and said," But come on baby, let's walk again, let's see if you can come and get something to eat, not that I know if your organs are working, and I don't really care but I'll just sit up and come on, let's walk. "
I was so tired. I'm lucky I stayed awake, and he kept dragging me to sit up and walk. My mind was a mess. I was dizzy, not able to walk even two steps without falling over from pain or exhaustion or some trauma in some part of my body.
I could never walk to the table, even though I could smell and see the bump, even the feeding liquid, but no, I always ran out of strength and lay on the floor before Damon carried me to another torment, it could be a bath that burned like acid. They were herbal baths. They just had the wrong herbs in them that I couldn't stand. It could be some device, whatever.
He always told me that I had time to come to eat as long as he was eating and after that, he cleared the table. I had no strength to even crawl to the table. Not even near. This was just one more way for him to torture and torment me some more. To really show me how freaking weak I was.
Something in me just made me try. I mean, if I would have my mind clear enough to see if that feeding liquid or bump would do any good to me. If my organs were gone, those would have been quite useless to me. At that point, my body would be just full of rotten mass so that I might draw energy from literally eating my organs.
I might had a chance to save my energy, but no, I just crawled, trying to get to that table and I had no idea if he had actually compelled me to try to go there or used his telepathy to make me crawl or was this just some sort of self-preservation instinct trying but failing.
Time had gone by again. I was weak, not able to move anymore, thin as a rail, and feeling feverish already. He came to me after dictating again his notes and typing something onto the computer. I was lying on this pallet, bleeding, in pain, drifting in and out of consciousness. He sat next to me. Looked at me, letting his pleasure show from his expression, his pure unadulterated pleasure of seeing me in this state.
Then he said, "I think you're ready now. You lasted another two weeks, but now we'll go to the pack house, and I'll see that you start to recover slowly. It's time to get you better again. You feel warm. Maybe there is an infection coming along too. We will see about that too. What we will do about that then? And how bad it will be."
After he had gotten those damn scratchy and moldy blankets from somewhere and wrapped my body in them, He lifted me into his arms, and I was unconscious for most of the journey as I didn't have the strength to stay awake. I had no idea how long it took for us to get a pack house and where we were even going. Eventually, I realized he was already carrying me to the pack house, and we went into the cellar.
He put me in a cage on a mattress, there was a pillow too and said, "Here's a good blanket so it's not cold, and I'll put a bump on the drip. I'll come and see you all the time. That way, you'll slowly start to recover."
He put a big bag of his stuff in the drip, and I didn't even know if I had circulation or not. He put a thick blanket over me. He gave me a few pillows to sleep and then closed the cage door. He walked away.
I passed out from time to time, but then pain and malaise woke me up. I felt like I could not breathe properly. My whole body ached, and I was so damn nauseous and thought that maybe the infection got to me, but as I woke up more, I noticed one thing.
The bump didn't suit me; I started vomiting, and it hurt. I got the cannula torn out, and my whole arm was covered in a red rash, and I realized I had developed another allergic reaction to Damon's bump. The bump that had dripped into me, felt like acid in my vein and even it smelled like passionfruit mere smell made the nausea so much worse and gave me really nasty headache too.
I heard the cellar door opening. He walked in, flicked the light switch, and looked at me, throwing up, moaning from pain. When he came over and touched my bare skin, I screamed, because that touch burned like pure acid had been poured into my skin. He watched as blisters appeared on my skin where his fingers had been. A red rash spread from there too. I moaned from pain because my skin felt so bad. He looked at me for a moment, his expression was truly horrified, and I smelled passionfruit. Then he turned around and walked away. Not saying a word.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone