Quintessentially Q

He sighed, grabbing a lock of my dirty hair and twirling it around his finger. “Do you know what would happen if you didn’t get a fix in an hour or two?”

“You’d shake so hard you’d probably bite off your own tongue,” Leather Jacket announced happily, adding, “You’d be so consumed with the need for a fix you’d pick at your own flesh. You’d climb the walls. Tear off your fingernails… You’d willingly sell your body for a meagre drop of what you need.”

I shoved White Man away, hunching with my head in my arms.

Is it true? Would that happen?

But I didn’t have to believe them for it to be real. Already my skin itched for relief and my mouth watered for something other than food. I couldn’t exist in this world. I wanted the endless smog, the warm comfort of oblivion.

I looked up. I sat on a desk in the corner of a large room with threadbare carpeting and filing cabinets. A tatty cobweb-covered lightshade hung in the centre of the room.

I squinted, trying to focus. I didn’t know if it was the drugs or lack of food, but my vision was fading. My hearing was dulling. My body failing.

Coughing loudly, I almost fell off the desk with the wracking episode. I wheezed and every rib dug into my skinny sides. I didn’t need to be a doctor to know I had pneumonia.

The constant chill, the heavy, lethargic limbs, the sloshing in my lungs when I went from lying to standing all pointed to the illness.

White Man clucked his tongue. He stood over me looking regal and collected in his baby blue polo and jeans, belying the true evilness inside him. At least Leather Jacket wore his intentions on every inch of his body. White Man looked like a favourite uncle or distinguished businessman.

“You passed your final lesson today. How does it feel to be a killer?”

I sucked in a breath, trying to stop the memories from overtaking me.

The loud boom as the gun went off.

The kickback of the heavy weapon.

The smell of gunpowder and bloom of red on the innocent girl’s forehead.

I squeezed my eyes shut as my fingernails scratched my forearm, finding some relief from the slowly building itch.

White Man didn’t leave me alone. “Did you enjoy breaking that girl’s leg?”

Slamming my hands over my ears, I forced myself to forget.

Forget the thwack of the bat against her femur.

The snap of bone as it gave way under the force.

I whimpered, rocking on the desk.

White Man grabbed my hands and inspected my fingernails. Broken, dirty, a thick layer of filth wedged under the tips.

“Did you like scratching that girl until her br**sts ran red? It’s her blood under your nails.”

My mouth hung open as I stared at the horrible evidence.

Images of scratching her, sobbing as I dragged my claws across her stomach and br**sts haunted me. By the time Leather Jacket let me stop she looked like she’d gone head to head with a cheetah.

I wanted to collapse into a puddle and cry. I wanted my soul to leak free from my eyes and escape this ruin. These memories of what I’d done.

White Man stroked my cheek. “You did well. And your action today proved to me that you’re ready.” His lips twisted in a sadistic bow. “Do you want to know what you’re ready for?”

I shrivelled inside. My heart chugged with terror. I didn’t know and I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t listen to more atrocities. A salty tear escaped my scratchy eyes.

Kick her.

Punch her.

Scratch her.

Kill her.

And I did.

Over and over.

I relived the moments where I became Leather Jacket’s toy—his obedient monster. Oh, my God, I remembered their agony. Their terror. The sound of their bodies breaking, repeating like a horrible symphony in my head.

More blood. More screams. More…more…

“Get out! Get out!”

White Man cooed, “There, there. Do you want something to take the edge off? Make it all go away?”

Yes!

No!

They owned me. Drugs were now my deliverance. My reality was something I could no longer endure as I’d dirtied it, torn it to smithereens, and filled my soul with corruption.

Seconds ticked past, and I shook so bad my entire body jiggled like a flesh-picked skeleton.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He stroked my hair, trailing his hand to my breast.

I moaned a little, tugging free, but he pinched my nipple, keeping me in place. “You can try and fight it, but ultimately you know you won’t win. Already you’re craving. We’ve given you a high dose…you have a long way to fall, little girl.”

“Wh—what d—do you w—want?” I chattered, scratching openly at my dirty arms. The itch was spreading, consuming me.

He licked his lips. “Such a sweet question. But you know what I want. I want you to beg.”

I shook harder, trembling as ramifications bowled into me. He wanted me to beg…for what? Drugs? Sex? For him to do whatever he wanted to me?

I can’t.

I won’t.

But you know you will…eventually.

Icy panic turned my shivering into quaking. I dry heaved as my lungs ached with liquid and sickness. “Please. Just let me go.”

He stroked my hair, pulling me against his chest until my cheek rested on his shoulder. “Soon, little girl. Soon we’ll sell you, but you aren’t quite broken yet. I made the mistake of selling you whole and it landed me in a lot trouble. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

His voice soothed me even as his words signed my death warrant. “When I sell you, you’re going to be so dependent a master will be able to do anything to you and you’ll want it. Your mind will be so fragmented you will accept orders as life-lines, as you can no longer think for yourself.”

I cried silently. Hating the promise in his voice. Hating that all of this would come true. I was so close to being the perfect slave. My addiction to Q was overshadowed by the need to have the fog and jittery warmth. I’d never been this close to losing myself.

I’m already lost.

It petrified me.

“Please…please…” I no longer knew what I begged for.

“That’s close enough,” White Man murmured. “Ignacio.”

Someone grabbed my arm, and the small prick of the needle was pure elation. I wouldn’t have to listen to bones snapping or see blood gushing. I would drift uncaring and remote.

“Precious, I’ve enjoyed this journey with you. You’re not ready yet, but after tonight…perhaps you will be.” White Man kissed me on the forehead as my body gave out and I hung lifeless in his arms.

False warmth welcomed me and I sighed, letting my body sink deeper, faster.

At the bottom of the fall, Q was waiting.

His arms crossed over his powerful chest, his suit glistened black, looking like velvet. “This isn’t you, esclave. My Tess wouldn’t be this weak.”

I giggled, rolling in the fog, letting it cuddle me in its chemical embrace. “I’m no longer your Tess. I’m nothing anymore.”

“Don’t say that. I’m coming for you. Fucking fight. Don’t waste my journey to find you.”

“You’re too late. You’re too late.” A fluffy cloud danced in front of me and I reached for it, falling flat on my face.

A livid Q paced, his perfect shoes kicking up wisps of fog. “Fight dammit! Se battre comme vous le faites toujours!” Fight like you always do! His voice seeped through my stupor, making me hate myself.

Instead of screaming back, I hung my head and let his wrath crash over me. “I can’t. I can’t. I’m done.”

“You’re not done. You hear me. Fight!” The command forced some sort of energy into my body, only to amplify my wounds and reinvigorate awful memories. I deflated further to nothingness. I closed the door on Q’s beautiful face. I cut myself free so I no longer had to endure. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough.”

The world went dark as the smog whisked me away.

“Goodbye.”

*****

Cold woke me first.

A biting freeze on my ni**les.

I groaned, trying to swallow the thick furry aftertaste in my mouth. My entire body felt foreign, frigid.

Where the hell am I? I thought hell was supposed to be unbearably hot.

I could do with heat. My lungs were heavier with liquid, and every breath I wheezed with a struggle. The punishment of beatings and abuse turned my body into a wasted object, no longer useful for anything apart from the garbage.

“She’s awake. You may precede, Ignacio.”

My heart raced, chasing away the last of the smog I lived in. My brain kicked into gear and I looked around.

Shit.

I was in some sicko’s idea of a bedroom: a satanic bedroom. Black curtains hung lopsidedly over a boarded-up window, peeling wallpaper hung off the wall like dresses half shed, and a red lightbulb in the grotty chandelier turned the entire room into nothing but sick shadows.

My stomach twisted as I looked down. I was shackled to a scratchy bed, naked, wearing only gnawing rope on my wrists and ankles. The knots held my legs open, completely vulnerable.