The Art of Breaking (2)
Continued from (1)
Eyes fluttered open gently only to see nothing but white. His mind was fuzzy, head heavy and throbbing, and it was too difficult for him to piece together where he was. He blinked slowly, trying to focus his blurred vision. The fog was starting to clear and he could hear the steady beeping of some sort of machine near him. Groaning, Mercury tried to sit up but couldn’t move. Perhaps it was because of the pain ripping through his body - it came in waves, rolling around his chest, fading into a dull thrum at the back of his mind before suddenly shooting through his torso like red hot blades stabbing at him.
He tried to speak but his voice didn’t seem to be working. It was only then that he could feel the large plastic tube down his throat, forcing his mouth open. His gag reflex kicked in immediately and he choked, jaw locking tightly around the offending instrument. Panicking at the sudden sensation of asphyxiation, he lurched upwards violently. Aat the back of his mind, he could feel something in his chest rip and tear as he moved to rip the tube out. The metal bit into his wrists from where he was handcuffed to the frame of his hospital bed.
Every instinct screamed at him to break free from his restraints and tear out the tube but he fought with every fibre of his being to calm down and take deep breaths from his nose.
He fell back against his pillow and forced himself to breathe.
But he couldn’t.
A simple twist and it would be all over.
Then her hold loosened and she stepped back.
Mercury gasped for air.
He wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed.
“You’re too soft, Blondie.”
Part of him had hoped that she would have done it, just to prove to her that she wasn’t as good as she believed herself to be. Or perhaps all he really wanted was to push her over the edge, to corrupt her soul the way he had tainted his own so long ago. There was something perversely appealing about the fact that it would be of his doing.
“It’s gonna cost you one day.”
The frequency of the beeps from the heart monitor was increasing rapidly. The pain was flaring up in his chest again - he had most likely reopened his wounds - but that didn’t seem important. He tensed, hands fisting, fingers digging into the palms of his hands.
He couldn’t breathe.
Or maybe he was just hyperventilating.
He thought he could hear someone yelling and holding him down but he couldn’t be sure.
All he could think about was how he couldn’t breathe.
He was surrounded by the police with their guns cocked and trained at his chest. Mercury grinned but the flicker of desperation betrayed him.
To go down without a fight would only be one of the many blows to his ego today but he wasn’t stupid enough to choose death over something like mere pride. No, he knew the fate of criminals like him if he were to be arrested. Nothing but endless hours of torture and interrogation awaited him before being executed or locked up for all of eternity.
Mercury made no move to surrender even as the police barked orders at him. Instead he turned towards her and stilled, relishing the way her glare burned into him, the anger and hatred finally coming to the surface.
He shifted his weight around; his boots felt a lot lighter now that he had run out of bullets. “It’s been fun, I suppose.”
Mercury aimed a shot at her.
He took eight to the chest himself.
