(no subject)
Notes: This is something that I'm writing for my own benefit to see if I even can write her dying in fire so uh yes. Character death warning. Also, everything that happens around it probably won't happen. IDK who would even want to light her on fire. It's just dark fic for the sake of being dark and for the sake of me writing cause she's loud.
Edit: APPARENTLY, I don't even get to the actual dying. There's just a lot of sudden torture and Josef. idk. failed attempt. -_- Warning: Character death, torture, molestation talks and shit. and fire...burning. You're best skipping the.. yeah. Skipping this unless you like reading torture.
Edit 2: and then I finished it. ._. even though who knows it might not end the way. exactly. but I had that scene in my head when I was trying to sleep last night so. The new section is under the second cut in case people only want to read the new part... and not all of it again.
They could do so many things to her. They could cut her, hit her, starve her, beat her, shoot her... and they do. They do so without hesitation, and she isn't bothered by their lack of hesitation when they move to hurt her. She can handle pain incredibly well for a girl her age. It comes with lots and lots of practice. She's not even afraid of death, certainly not her own.
They've stripped her of her clothes. She shivers in front of them, uncomfortable and embarrassed with the way they look at her without anything on. They're looking at her like they're taking off bits of her skin, like they want to take from her what she's already given to someone else. Their hands touch her where only Josef's hands have touched her before with no pleasure, no sweetness, no intensity. It's violent, angry, painful touches. She spits in their face. They slap her.
She knows why they're doing it. If they make her scream, he will hear. Josef. Her heart hurts. She never wanted to be used as an instrument to hurt him, and it's all she can do to hold back her screams, to kick the noises building up in her throat back to pained sounds that are as quiet as she can manage. When she does have to scream, she yells out I'm okay! It's alright! immediately after so that he knows. He knows she's fine
And then they toss her in the room with him, the room that he's been in that's attached to hers. He's restrained against the wall beaten, bleeding, too skinny. His arms are broken. Both of them are broken. She's not much better, naked, tumbling over him, smearing pearly white blood against the black as oil smears of his. Cuts and bruises and bullet wounds litter his body (the man that she loves so much more than herself) with pain and suffering. And he's so thin that it terrifies her. Of all the things to terrify her when she's been kidnapped and tortured, it's the sight of his body looking so wasted, so used, disappearing into nothing. She can see every rib, and it makes her cry. Tears burn and slip down her face. They've been here too long. They're not getting out.
His face. His face is so intensely filled with rage and darkness. His jaw looks like it locks so hard that it'll fall off at the sight of her curled against his legs. His knee pushing into her finely outlined ribs as she tries to stop herself from crying. He blames himself. She knows. She knows him enough to know. She doesn't blame him, and she's not afraid of his rage because she knows it's not meant for her. She kisses him, and they both wince from the pain that moving causes them, and then she starts to cry again while she tells him that it's not so bad. It doesn't hurt much. They'll be alright. And she knows he doesn't believe her but she smiles at him through the tears anyway.
See? They didn't break me. They didn't touch my heart. They can never have that.
And he presses a protective, trembling (with rage) kiss against her hair while she rests her head as gently as possible on his bruised chest.
What hurts more than anything else they've done to her is how much she wants to feel his arms around her again. One last time. And she can't. Because they're tied up. They're tied up and broken, and a sob escapes her, and he says her name again. One last time. Almost exactly like he always does but it's different too. It's rougher and shaking, and there's something else there. Concern. Love even. Elizabeth. She tries to hold on to it in her head, tries to make it the only sound she'll hear, no matter how this ends.
It's not long enough that they let her stay. They rip her away from him, and she tries to be strong but she finds herself reaching for him anyway, screaming and cursing and struggling until they kick her in the gut to get her to stop. She drops to the ground at their feet. They don't take her from the room yet. They make her watch. They tie her up like she's a hog, arms and legs behind her back, and they make her watch while they cut him up, and her heart breaks and breaks. Her chest feels like it's on fire, burning in every empty space, burning her heart away. She's crying, begging them to stop, begging them to leave him alone. Begging. Begging, begging. She's so young. She can't stop the begging from coming from her lips even if all it does is make it worse and by the time she realizes that, it's too late, and she dissolves into helpless, stupid apologies.
He's still alive but barely conscious, black blood pooling under him. Too much. There's too much. Her heart shudders painfully. His face is terrifyingly white to the point that she thinks maybe he is dead because it looks like the face of a corpse and even still there's that intense darkness and anger written on it as he struggles to breathe and stares at them like he could kill them by the very act of wishing it. And she believes that no one has ever wanted someone dead as much as he wants it for them now.
They take her away, and she's no longer struggling. She's learned what happens when she struggles and she can't stand the thought of him hurting anymore, not because she does something stupid, but her jaw's locked tightly in defiance still even as her hands tremble wrapped tightly together with rope. And it starts again.
Eventually they realize there's only so much that scares her.
Eventually they bring out the gasoline.
Panic runs through her like lightning at the smell. It's the smell that invades her dreams and in five seconds she turns from a teenage girl filled with pained, broken defiance to a terror ridden mess. She whimpers at first. No no non no nono no no no, she says with the words running into each other. Kill me please kill me please please. Terrified sobs breaking into screams. Logical thought has broken into pieces, the moment that they pour gasoline on her right foot.
Then she's screaming for him.
JOSEF, please. Please, please, please, make it stop, kill me, please. Please, save me. Josef. Josefjosefjosef, please.
Sobbing, incoherently through her terror and pain. The knowledge that he can't save her has not sunk in, has gone from her. Right now he's all that can save her. He's the only one that has the ability to do so. He's the only one that sees, that knows her, that can save her. And she screams his name again right before they drop the match on her foot and it erupts in flames and fire... then she only screams.
There's pain. There's so much endless pain feeling her skin burn away, being cooked off of her body. There's the smell of pork so sudden and intensely mingling with the gasoline and she pukes. She pukes and a minute later they put the fire on her foot out with water. It sizzles, and she nearly passes out from the pain, head rolling back against the chair, darkness closing in.
Josef, she whimpers again and again saying his name like its a painful prayer slipping from her dry, cracked lips. I love you. Josef, please. Please, help me.
And she doesn't realize that the door is open. She doesn't realize that he can see.
They force her awake again slapping her, tossing water on her face until she's coherent again, and start pouring gasoline on her left foot.
It's a ritual, an endless ritual that doesn't get any easier as they continue. Over and over. The sounds of her own screaming, the whimpering, the sizzling, the yelling, the creaking, the flames, the splashing all meld into one. The feelings... the terror, the pain (because it never once lessens even slightly), her skin cooking turning charred sliding away like its not a part of her and it isn't anymore, her need for him all blend together into a blur of what IS.
There's nothing left. There's nothing else. There never was.
The chair breaks from under her, burning still beneath her legs which are not her legs. Her head snaps back against the concrete floor. The bottom half of her body is not her own anymore. It's black and charred and unrecognizable. It's not hers not hers not hers not hers. The heat of the fire dried the tears from her face, and she's too tired, feels too much pain to think.
Josef. The whisper is so soft and cracking like dried parchment turning into dust and floating away in the wind.
The world dips in and out of view like her heads being stuck in a pit full of dark oil. Heavy. Too heavy. When she's aware of the room around her again, they're pouring gasoline on her face. She's choking on it, gagging, turning her face sideways and spitting it all out on the pavement under her. Her shoulders heaving with a useless attempt to cry, to sob. She can't. Physically can't.
Stop, please, please stop, she spits out, gasoline dripping out of her mouth. There's a flame. A flame on a match and she reaches behind her, tries to pull herself across the floor, away away away from the fire but screams instead when she hears the sound of ripping, stretching, breaking. It feels like the lower half of her is being shredded apart when she tries to move. And this is it. This is how it ends. In a moment. A breath. A drop.
The world goes dark. There's a clanking, yelling, anger anger anger, and a heavy thud.
And then.
And then.
When she opens her eyes again, he's kneeling over her. Black blood from his body dripping on her face, mixing with the gasoline and tears and vomit and sweat. She blinks trying to see him clearly through the haze of pain. Her hand reaches for his. She doesn't realize that he's already got a hold of hers. Cold metal of the shackles that once held him on his wrists press against her fingers.
I knew you'd come, she says, smiling at him, and it's as pained and delirious as her voice but it's there. Her faith has been proven. He never let her down. And you did. You see? You saved me. I was right. Everything's going to be fine. It's okay. It's okay.
She wonders vaguely in some part of her mind that still has enough coherency to notice why his face looks the way that it does. She's never seen that expression on him before. She can't place the meaning of his intensity this time. The darkness in his eyes. And it's so hard to see any of it right now. It's like looking through a very small hole.
His mouth is moving but she can't hear his words. It's like rushing water in her ears. She watches his mouth trying to read his lips, trying to make it make sense.
You have to say it louder. I can't hear you, she says, throat dry and wasted and she can't even hear herself talking. Josef? I can't- I can't hear you. What's wrong?
He blurs in front of her. The small hole that she had for vision has smeared the sight of him. It's a struggle. Every breath is a struggle. And she can't see or hear him anymore. It's only rushing water and a blur and pain and fear, fear because she can't hear him and can't see him and suddenly he's not there.
The pain never goes away.
And past the gasoline, past the vomit, past the pork of her cooking flesh, she smells him suddenly and intensely. His sweat. His body. The scent that is purely his own that she loves because she knows it so well and it makes her feel protected safe warm loved. And his bloody cracking lips press against hers with familiar intensity and finally, finally her heart stops rushing in a panic and the pain fades into nothing.
His kiss is the last thing she feels before everything goes black.
Edit: APPARENTLY, I don't even get to the actual dying. There's just a lot of sudden torture and Josef. idk. failed attempt. -_- Warning: Character death, torture, molestation talks and shit. and fire...burning. You're best skipping the.. yeah. Skipping this unless you like reading torture.
Edit 2: and then I finished it. ._. even though who knows it might not end the way. exactly. but I had that scene in my head when I was trying to sleep last night so. The new section is under the second cut in case people only want to read the new part... and not all of it again.
They could do so many things to her. They could cut her, hit her, starve her, beat her, shoot her... and they do. They do so without hesitation, and she isn't bothered by their lack of hesitation when they move to hurt her. She can handle pain incredibly well for a girl her age. It comes with lots and lots of practice. She's not even afraid of death, certainly not her own.
They've stripped her of her clothes. She shivers in front of them, uncomfortable and embarrassed with the way they look at her without anything on. They're looking at her like they're taking off bits of her skin, like they want to take from her what she's already given to someone else. Their hands touch her where only Josef's hands have touched her before with no pleasure, no sweetness, no intensity. It's violent, angry, painful touches. She spits in their face. They slap her.
She knows why they're doing it. If they make her scream, he will hear. Josef. Her heart hurts. She never wanted to be used as an instrument to hurt him, and it's all she can do to hold back her screams, to kick the noises building up in her throat back to pained sounds that are as quiet as she can manage. When she does have to scream, she yells out I'm okay! It's alright! immediately after so that he knows. He knows she's fine
And then they toss her in the room with him, the room that he's been in that's attached to hers. He's restrained against the wall beaten, bleeding, too skinny. His arms are broken. Both of them are broken. She's not much better, naked, tumbling over him, smearing pearly white blood against the black as oil smears of his. Cuts and bruises and bullet wounds litter his body (the man that she loves so much more than herself) with pain and suffering. And he's so thin that it terrifies her. Of all the things to terrify her when she's been kidnapped and tortured, it's the sight of his body looking so wasted, so used, disappearing into nothing. She can see every rib, and it makes her cry. Tears burn and slip down her face. They've been here too long. They're not getting out.
His face. His face is so intensely filled with rage and darkness. His jaw looks like it locks so hard that it'll fall off at the sight of her curled against his legs. His knee pushing into her finely outlined ribs as she tries to stop herself from crying. He blames himself. She knows. She knows him enough to know. She doesn't blame him, and she's not afraid of his rage because she knows it's not meant for her. She kisses him, and they both wince from the pain that moving causes them, and then she starts to cry again while she tells him that it's not so bad. It doesn't hurt much. They'll be alright. And she knows he doesn't believe her but she smiles at him through the tears anyway.
See? They didn't break me. They didn't touch my heart. They can never have that.
And he presses a protective, trembling (with rage) kiss against her hair while she rests her head as gently as possible on his bruised chest.
What hurts more than anything else they've done to her is how much she wants to feel his arms around her again. One last time. And she can't. Because they're tied up. They're tied up and broken, and a sob escapes her, and he says her name again. One last time. Almost exactly like he always does but it's different too. It's rougher and shaking, and there's something else there. Concern. Love even. Elizabeth. She tries to hold on to it in her head, tries to make it the only sound she'll hear, no matter how this ends.
It's not long enough that they let her stay. They rip her away from him, and she tries to be strong but she finds herself reaching for him anyway, screaming and cursing and struggling until they kick her in the gut to get her to stop. She drops to the ground at their feet. They don't take her from the room yet. They make her watch. They tie her up like she's a hog, arms and legs behind her back, and they make her watch while they cut him up, and her heart breaks and breaks. Her chest feels like it's on fire, burning in every empty space, burning her heart away. She's crying, begging them to stop, begging them to leave him alone. Begging. Begging, begging. She's so young. She can't stop the begging from coming from her lips even if all it does is make it worse and by the time she realizes that, it's too late, and she dissolves into helpless, stupid apologies.
He's still alive but barely conscious, black blood pooling under him. Too much. There's too much. Her heart shudders painfully. His face is terrifyingly white to the point that she thinks maybe he is dead because it looks like the face of a corpse and even still there's that intense darkness and anger written on it as he struggles to breathe and stares at them like he could kill them by the very act of wishing it. And she believes that no one has ever wanted someone dead as much as he wants it for them now.
They take her away, and she's no longer struggling. She's learned what happens when she struggles and she can't stand the thought of him hurting anymore, not because she does something stupid, but her jaw's locked tightly in defiance still even as her hands tremble wrapped tightly together with rope. And it starts again.
Eventually they realize there's only so much that scares her.
Eventually they bring out the gasoline.
Panic runs through her like lightning at the smell. It's the smell that invades her dreams and in five seconds she turns from a teenage girl filled with pained, broken defiance to a terror ridden mess. She whimpers at first. No no non no nono no no no, she says with the words running into each other. Kill me please kill me please please. Terrified sobs breaking into screams. Logical thought has broken into pieces, the moment that they pour gasoline on her right foot.
Then she's screaming for him.
JOSEF, please. Please, please, please, make it stop, kill me, please. Please, save me. Josef. Josefjosefjosef, please.
Sobbing, incoherently through her terror and pain. The knowledge that he can't save her has not sunk in, has gone from her. Right now he's all that can save her. He's the only one that has the ability to do so. He's the only one that sees, that knows her, that can save her. And she screams his name again right before they drop the match on her foot and it erupts in flames and fire... then she only screams.
There's pain. There's so much endless pain feeling her skin burn away, being cooked off of her body. There's the smell of pork so sudden and intensely mingling with the gasoline and she pukes. She pukes and a minute later they put the fire on her foot out with water. It sizzles, and she nearly passes out from the pain, head rolling back against the chair, darkness closing in.
Josef, she whimpers again and again saying his name like its a painful prayer slipping from her dry, cracked lips. I love you. Josef, please. Please, help me.
And she doesn't realize that the door is open. She doesn't realize that he can see.
They force her awake again slapping her, tossing water on her face until she's coherent again, and start pouring gasoline on her left foot.
It's a ritual, an endless ritual that doesn't get any easier as they continue. Over and over. The sounds of her own screaming, the whimpering, the sizzling, the yelling, the creaking, the flames, the splashing all meld into one. The feelings... the terror, the pain (because it never once lessens even slightly), her skin cooking turning charred sliding away like its not a part of her and it isn't anymore, her need for him all blend together into a blur of what IS.
There's nothing left. There's nothing else. There never was.
The chair breaks from under her, burning still beneath her legs which are not her legs. Her head snaps back against the concrete floor. The bottom half of her body is not her own anymore. It's black and charred and unrecognizable. It's not hers not hers not hers not hers. The heat of the fire dried the tears from her face, and she's too tired, feels too much pain to think.
Josef. The whisper is so soft and cracking like dried parchment turning into dust and floating away in the wind.
The world dips in and out of view like her heads being stuck in a pit full of dark oil. Heavy. Too heavy. When she's aware of the room around her again, they're pouring gasoline on her face. She's choking on it, gagging, turning her face sideways and spitting it all out on the pavement under her. Her shoulders heaving with a useless attempt to cry, to sob. She can't. Physically can't.
Stop, please, please stop, she spits out, gasoline dripping out of her mouth. There's a flame. A flame on a match and she reaches behind her, tries to pull herself across the floor, away away away from the fire but screams instead when she hears the sound of ripping, stretching, breaking. It feels like the lower half of her is being shredded apart when she tries to move. And this is it. This is how it ends. In a moment. A breath. A drop.
The world goes dark. There's a clanking, yelling, anger anger anger, and a heavy thud.
And then.
And then.
When she opens her eyes again, he's kneeling over her. Black blood from his body dripping on her face, mixing with the gasoline and tears and vomit and sweat. She blinks trying to see him clearly through the haze of pain. Her hand reaches for his. She doesn't realize that he's already got a hold of hers. Cold metal of the shackles that once held him on his wrists press against her fingers.
I knew you'd come, she says, smiling at him, and it's as pained and delirious as her voice but it's there. Her faith has been proven. He never let her down. And you did. You see? You saved me. I was right. Everything's going to be fine. It's okay. It's okay.
She wonders vaguely in some part of her mind that still has enough coherency to notice why his face looks the way that it does. She's never seen that expression on him before. She can't place the meaning of his intensity this time. The darkness in his eyes. And it's so hard to see any of it right now. It's like looking through a very small hole.
His mouth is moving but she can't hear his words. It's like rushing water in her ears. She watches his mouth trying to read his lips, trying to make it make sense.
You have to say it louder. I can't hear you, she says, throat dry and wasted and she can't even hear herself talking. Josef? I can't- I can't hear you. What's wrong?
He blurs in front of her. The small hole that she had for vision has smeared the sight of him. It's a struggle. Every breath is a struggle. And she can't see or hear him anymore. It's only rushing water and a blur and pain and fear, fear because she can't hear him and can't see him and suddenly he's not there.
The pain never goes away.
And past the gasoline, past the vomit, past the pork of her cooking flesh, she smells him suddenly and intensely. His sweat. His body. The scent that is purely his own that she loves because she knows it so well and it makes her feel protected safe warm loved. And his bloody cracking lips press against hers with familiar intensity and finally, finally her heart stops rushing in a panic and the pain fades into nothing.
His kiss is the last thing she feels before everything goes black.