The pain would be the same.

“Are you ready for another anniversary present, my dear?” His chuckle was rancid with malicious intent. “I think you’re the one who owes me a present after I let you sit on my couch. Don’t want you believing you’re worth more than you are.”

The landing was so close. My speed increased just a little.

He growled as my feet grazed the top step. “Running won’t change what I’m about to do to you, Pim.”

His oath shoved me forward like a phantom hand between my shoulder blades. It was no longer a battle between slow and quick, strong or weak, brave or meek. I was a warrior who faced combat head-on. But I was also a defeated soldier who wanted to sprint from enemy lines.

Go!

Instinct made me do it. The animalistic need to hide gave no room to argue. I couldn’t stop my legs from breaking into a scurry, just like I couldn’t stop my heart from tearing through my kick-bruised chest.

I shouldn’t.

I’d be punished.

I should fight my terror and drop to my knees. Like always.

But I couldn’t. Not this time.

I bolted.

“Pim!” He chased me. Just like I knew he would.

My brittle legs hurtled my skinny body from the corridor into my room. There were no doors to slam, no locks to secure. Even my ensuite had no barricade—no privacy offered at any time.

I supposed I was lucky to have my own space, but it was just another element to Master A's board game of pain. No matter where I ran, no matter where I hid, he found me. Because he was god in this house, and I was merely his whore.

My mouth parted with a silent scream as he appeared in the doorway, panting with angry-sharp eyes. “I thought we’d taught the lesson of no running a few weeks into your stay?” Storming toward me, he growled, “Did that fucking prick somehow undo all my teachings the second he touched you? Did he? Answer me!”

Every cell cowered, my blood dried up, my heart stopped beating.

Melting to the tiled floor, I went one step further in begging. I didn’t bow with my chin tucked and shoulders rolled. I threw myself entirely on the ground with my arms outstretched as I’d seen monks do in deep prayer, pleading for mercy but knowing I wouldn’t get any.

“That won’t save you this time, bitch.” My breath caught as he stomped on my left hand, twisting his foot so my skin pinched and did its best to spiral-fold.

I screamed in my head.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain!

My silent scream was so loud it made my eardrums bleed.

“You liked him touching you, didn’t you!? Don’t fucking deny it. I know the truth.” He trampled harder on my hand, putting his entire weight on the tiny, breakable bones. “You think I didn’t notice? That I wouldn’t see the way you looked at him? Fuck, Pimlico you’re mine!”

I screamed again, drowning myself in the gonging sound of agony, but the room remained silent while he stomped again and again, doing his best to shatter delicate fingers.

“Just because you won’t talk doesn’t mean I don’t fucking know when you’re lying to me!”

Turn it off!

Now!

Fighting a rush of overwhelming nausea, I forced every nerve ending to withdraw deep inside. I did what my body had taught me. A mantra filled my head while the pain receptors in my hand switched off.

After all, that was what pain was. A siren to tell me all was not well and that action had to be taken to avoid worse damage. No shit, not all was well. I got that message loud and clear. I didn’t need to hear it over and over.

On or off.

Click.

Off.

It didn’t mean I could ignore the throbbing, bellowing agony ricocheting up my arm. It merely allowed me to compartmentalise and stay alert so I could pre-empt what came next.

His shoe lifted from my hand only to pull back and jab sharply into my ribs.

I fought the urge to curl around the new flare. It didn’t matter that he’d kicked me only hours ago. It didn’t matter that my previous bruises would become new bruises, which would bleed beneath my skin.

All I could do was remain straight and prone for his abuse. I would blanket myself in whatever numbness I could and accept two things: either I’d survive this, in which case I could nurse my wounds in private and finally give in to building sobs, or he’d kill me and then none of it would matter anyway.

Kill me, get it over with.

“Why won’t you motherfucking speak?!” He kicked me again, going for my hip, painting me with livid colours. “Talk, goddammit.” His sharp shoe stabbed my upper thigh, then my knee, calf, and ankle. “Say one word and I’ll stop.”

No.

Never.

This battle was not new. I’d endured it many times before. However, he was more vicious tonight, all because of Mr. Prest.

Damn him.

Curse him.

Never come back.

Don’t you ever come back.

Turning his attention from my left side, he angled himself on my right, kicking my ankle, calf, thigh, and rib. At least my bruises would match. A Morse code dotting my flesh. Would it blare a plea for help? Or would it repeat the knowledge that I was his to do what he wanted?

“You won’t speak to me, but you spoke to him.”

What?

“You spoke to that fucking asshole who thinks he’s better than me.”

No!

“You think you can lie to me? Even your silence drips with the fucking truth.”

What truth?

There is no truth!