My body gave out, and everything went dark.
…
When I woke up, I was in a hospital room. The TV was on, looping the footage of me being whipped. Every grunt, every groan I’d made in pain was turned into entertainment for them.
My back was raw, blood mixed with spilled liquor, and I felt like a lump of mud left in a corner. The bar owner had found me, barely alive, and dragged me out. I couldn’t even cry. Nothing came out.
The door opened slowly and Celine walked in. She looked fine, rosy cheeks, like nothing had happened. “Those two weeks in the hospital,” I said, bitter, “you faked it, didn’t you?”
“So what?” she said, tossing a plastic bag at me. “As long as I look pitiful, Argus will do everything for me. Soon I’ll stand by his side like I’m supposed to.” I caught the bag and froze. Inside was my father’s urn. My hands shook as I opened it. Empty. Completely empty.
“What… what did you do? Where’s my father?” I yelled.
Celine just smiled, enjoying the look on my face. “Ashes are useless. Why waste land burying them? Better the wild dogs have them.” She shrugged. “Oh, and I might’ve suggested stopping your father’s treatment at the hospital. Waste of time, really.”