Messy

Rowan

Pain had a taste, one that I was very familiar with.

All through my life, I have known what it felt like, tasted like and looked like.

It was metallic, thick on my tongue, mixed with the coppery tang of blood. It was the sting of sweat in open wounds, the way my body protested every breath I took.

My body was beat in a way I didn't think was possible. I wasn't in control of my own body anymore.

Soren groaned beside me, his head lolling forward, hair matted with sweat and blood. His wrists, like mine, were still bound behind the chair, the metal cuffs biting into raw skin. We were both stripped to the waist, our chests heaving, muscles trembling from exhaustion and agony.

Leon sat in front of us, perched comfortably on a wooden crate, twirling a thin, sharp blade between his fingers. His expression was almost amused, like an artist admiring his unfinished work.