Romancing the Pain - Part 19
Title: Romancing the Pain
Rating: MA-15 (for violence)
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
Summary: Post episode 104 as well as my last fic, Come Back to Me. It’s basically its sequel; the events that occur after Silvia was released from the hospital.
A/N: *yawn* I’m so tired. Too much homework and too little sleep makes a very cranky me. I want my mama. *pouts* Or at least her famous batch of chocolate brownies with that awesome baileys sauce that she drizzles over it. *sighs* If we didn’t look so much alike I would question my parentage because I can’t cook to save my life. My mama on the other hand is like some culinary master chef. *rolls eyes* Ah I digress; I’m babbling. Next chapter...and before you wince and cringe and throw flaming marshmallows at me, it’s a gentle-ish chapter with a nice surprise. Enjoy, I’m off to collapse into bed. Night night.
ROMANCING THE PAIN - Part 19
Another day had come and gone. Pepa was alone in the storage room for it was the early hours of the morning and even her torturers needed sleep. But sleep was the furthest thing from Pepa’s mind. For the better part of the night, the bound woman worked at the loosened knot, twisting and yanking at the rope that tied her wrists. The skin had been grazed and scraped to a bloody mess and she could feel blood trickling from her wrists to splash absentmindedly onto the floor. Nevertheless, Pepa continued to work at the ropes; she ignored the way each twist and tug of a wrist sent waves of pain down her abused shoulder; the way when the shoulder jerked from each wrist movement it sent cracked and broken ribs to grate against each other in a fashion akin to nails down a chalkboard.
The brunette breathed harshly and blinked rapidly the one eye that was not swollen; she concentrated on each puff of breath, each flicker of her eyelid to keep from passing out. The pain from her numerous wounds was beyond intolerable, it was everywhere, nibbling on every inch of nerve endings and scratching under her skin like maggots trying to wiggle their way out. Pepa hadn’t eaten for days and the hunger gnawed at her empty stomach, presenting her with a consistent dull ache that banged against her stomach walls like a petulant child. However, it was the loss of blood from various open and still trickling wounds that had Pepa worried. She had tried to staunch the knife wound on her shoulder by pressing her chin to it, letting the remains of her shirt soak up the blood but she knew it was deep and needed stitches. The same could be said for the gash on her cheek; the skin around it was burning. That meant infection.
Pepa sighed as she wiggled her left wrist, visibly flinching as a few dislocated fingers brushed against her other wrist. The brunette closed her one good eye and pictured an array of knots, mentally unknotting each one, hoping that it would spur her wrists to do the same. She persisted, twisting, turning and tugging, rubbing the skin on her wrists raw. She could feel the rough material of the rope bite into her skin, imbedding bits of material into the abused tissue but continued her movements. Pepa gasped as she felt a length of rope fall to the floor; gritting her teeth she started to pull her wrists apart, nearly biting her tongue in two to keep from screaming as her shoulder wound howled in agony, the puckered lips splitting further open and spitting out a fresh flood of blood. But it was not in vain, she finally felt the rope loosen and slither bonelessly to the floor.
Pepa gasped, sweat beading her forehead and sliding down her face to annoy broken skin. She paid the pain no heed; too elated from her sudden advantage. She carefully brought her hands around and stared at them; at the bloody mess that was the skin on her wrists; at the dark discoloration that painted the bottom of her forefinger and middle finger of her left hand. She would have to push the fingers back into place or she would risk never using them again. Pepa bent down to retrieve the rope and shoved a mouthful into her mouth. She sucked in a breath and grasped her forefinger between her thumb and pointer of her right hand.
Heart thumping in her chest she counted to ten and yanked it back to alignment, teeth clamping down hard on the rope to stifle the scream of pain that threatened to bubble out from her lips. A brief sickening crack bounced off the walls before fading into the paint. Pepa’s breathing came out in harsh bursts; she wanted nothing more than to pass out but current circumstances would not allow it. She allowed herself a brief reprieve before attending to her other dislocated finger. Again chewing down on the rope she allowed a few tears to hover and fall off the edge of the corners of her eyes as she yanked the middle finger back into place. She gasped as the pain overtook her senses; rope falling out of her mouth to pile onto the floor. Pepa bent over and shook; the pain was overwhelming. The flayed skin on her back yelled out their agony at her bent position; it stretched the split skin out over the expense of Pepa’s back, breaking open already split skin. Pepa could feel warm blood leaking out from these wounds but could do nothing about it.
The brunette allowed tendrils of pain to fade to a dull throbbing before she righted herself to a sitting position, pausing to pluck out the plank of sandpaper covered wood and placing it quietly onto the floor. She leaned back against the chair gingerly, aware of her tattered back and stared at the ceiling. Despite this new breakthrough, she wondered if she was going to make it out of here alive. Wherever here was. She knew her chances were slim; she didn’t even know where “here” was and she knew that beyond that door, the building she was kept in would be heavily guarded. She needed a plan. But first; Pepa bent down again slowly and began untying her legs.
***************
El Gordo whistled a tune as he merrily made his way to the room Agent Miranda was held. He nodded a greeting to the guard by the door and motioned for him to open it. As he waited he pulled out his trusty hunting knife, kissing the flashing blade lovingly and buffing it against his creamy white jacket. Suddenly the guard in front of him thrashed and fell to the floor, blood pooling out from the stake of wood that protruded out of his back from his chest. Before he could move or yell out for help, El Gordo found himself cornered by a bloody, raging six-foot brunette whose eyes were more than a little wild. As she pressed his knife into the side of his neck, El Gordo finally experienced that shiver of fear that he happily instilled into his victims.