PublicBookshelf Book Club
Weekly tips on great novels to read.
Deidre hit the cold stone floor and heard the cell door slam shut. Too weak to move, she lay still. The world was one of haziness and blood - her blood. She smelled it, and it rendered her hungry and made her want to sob. But her energy was gone, along with her voice, depleted after all her screaming and struggling.
Her lower body was shredded from what the men had done, her upper body bruised and broken from their blows when she'd tried to fight them. Her head had a gash in it, her vision blurry and her nose broken and streaming blood into her mouth and down her throat.
No more pain. It was there, at the corner of her mind, waiting for the barrier that left her numb to fall. After a lifetime with a brain tumor and more surgeries than she cared to count, she'd learned how to separate herself from the pain.
As long as she didn't move. Agony would tear down the brittle wall between her and her sanity if she did. Tears trickled out of her eyes to the cold floor.
What did I do to deserve any of this? It wasn't the first time she'd thought such a thing, but it was the first time she wasn't able to find any sort of silver lining in her situation. There was no demon lord to save her, and no matter what she said, she hadn't been able to convince her attackers to take mercy on her.