Pain was an abstract concept until now.
I’d thought I understood suffering. I’d thought I’d known what it was to be broken, to be crushed beneath the weight of agony.
I was a fool.
The Devil had a way of redefining misery, of stretching the limits of human tolerance until all that remained was a whimpering, devastated husk.
I was that husk.
I was under the Devil’s grasp. I scread—no, I tried to scream. But my voice was gone, my tongue twisted into a useless lump of flesh.
My body which was once free and once strong, folded in on itself like a marionette with its strings cut. Every muscle shut down, every limb curled inward, returning to the prison I had known for seventeen years.
I was a child again. A helpless, broken thing.
The Devil stood over , his overly dark shadow stretching long across the cold marble floor. His eyes burned like an endless pit of fire and malice.
"You dare defy , Luis? I saved you from this misery, and yet, you test my patience?"
How was I to know that simply María José was part of the devil’s bigger plan? Who the fucking hell was she to him?
I an, of what use or heritage was she to matter so much to my dark master? This should have repelled from thinking about her further.
But the devil had forgotten that he had trained in his ways. This warning, this wall he so wanted to build between and her had only made her even more interesting in my eyes.
Once I was free from his shackles, I’d see her again. Holy shit. I forgot he could read my thoughts if he wanted to. I hoped he wasn’t trying to do so now.
I would have begged. I would have cursed him. I would have laughed like a madman if I still had control over my face. But I could do none of that.
He crouched beside , long fingers gripping my chin, forcing to look at him. "Two days. That’s how long you’ll sit in this body, rembering what I saved you from. And if you defy again, I’ll do it again. And again. And again."
Then, as suddenly as he ca, he was gone.
The silence was the worst part.
Not the pain—though, Dio mio, the pain was unspeakable—not the humiliation, not even the knowledge that I had once again been dragged back into the hell I had fought so hard to escape.
No. The worst part was the silence.
Because it ant I was alone.
Alone with the ghosts of my past, along with the nine years of mories... of pure helplessness... of the way before the devil’s ergence in my life that ca flooding back with vicious, rciless force.
.
The past banged into with the weight of a thousand bricks.
Seventeen years of staring at the sa four walls. Nine of them spent truly weak. Seventeen years of pity, of being forgotten. Nine of needing help for everything.
I could still hear the voices—whispers, murmurs, laughter behind closed doors.
"Poor Luis. Such a sha."
"A cripple like him? Tsk, tsk, what a waste."
"He’ll never be a real man. He’ll never..."
I choked on the mory. Or at least, I would have if I had the ability to move my own damn throat properly.
The Devil had mocked , had torn apart, and then had left like this—as if reminding of what I was before he "saved" .
"You’ll remain in this state for two days. Let this be a lesson."
I had wanted to fight back, to curse him, to demand he fix this now, but I had no voice. And even if I did, the bastard was gone—disappeared, leaving to rot in my own humiliation.
Thank the moon I couldn’t. Had I fought back, he would have discarded my entire being into a pile of ashes with just a raise of his pinky.
Rage grew in like a tumor, but my body was useless, limp, and a prison I had thought I escaped forever.
The rage kept company through the rest of the dawn until daybreak. The rage and the overwhelming fear that I would never escape this fate again.
And the....
... The door creaked open.
Rosario. My oblivious sex toy. Too bad there’ll be no fucking between us for the next three days.
"¡Buenos días, mi niño!" Her voice rang out like a bell, far too cheerful for the disaster that was my existence.
I heard her approach, her heels clicking against the floor, her cheap jasmine perfu and kitchen spices scent in the air.
Then, ca a sigh. "Ay, pobrecito, you had another bad night, didn’t you?"
Yes, Rosario. I had a particularly bad night. The Devil broke all my bones.
She shuffled around, humming so old ranchera song, before her warm hands touched my face. "You need a good bath, mi amor. You stink."
I knew that. But did she have to say it?
She rolled onto my side, her strong hands working effortlessly, undressing with the efficiency of soone who had been doing this for far too long. I lay limp, staring at the ceiling, while she prepared the water, the familiar scrape of the tal basin against the tiles grating on my nerves.
"Ah, Luis, I swear, n are useless. Completely useless."
Ah, yes. Here it was.
The Rosario Rant.
"My husband? Bah! Always running around, never ho. I should’ve married Pablo, you know? He was a real man. Had a job, a nice car..."
She tugged my pants off with one swift motion.
"...but no, I had to fall for a pretty face. And now, what do I have? A ghost of a husband and three children who eat like demons."
Rosario.
Rosario, I beg you.
Just let die in peace.
But no, she continued. And as she leaned over to grab the soap, her blouse shifted low, revealing her oh, so plump pinkish cleavage.
Ah.
Oh.
Now, was I a sinner? Yes. Did I have thoughts unbefitting a disabled man with broken bones? Also yes.
Because Rosario, despite her endless complaints, had a body built by the Goddess herself. And my position; helpless, dependent, and trapped... only made things worse.
Her cleavage was right there. Right there.
And I could do nothing.
"Honestly, Luis, I don’t know how you put up with all these n in this house. If I were you, I’d..."
She stopped mid-sentence, tilting her head at .
Oh no.
Please, Rosario.
"Are you blushing?"
No, woman. I am suffering.
She smirked, dabbing water over my chest, her hands skimming over my skin like she knew she was torturing . "Ay, Luis, if only you could talk. I bet you’d have so much to say."
Oh, you have no idea.
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