The Broken Wolf

Prologue - Killian

Killian POV

My name. 

My name...

Four walls. No mattress or bed. A bucket in the corner.

It's a very small room. You'd think I'd be used to the smell, but I'm not. Not when the sweat of me and the blood and everything else lingers so disgustingly in here. No ventilation.

I have small drawings on the stone walls. I chipped away a rock weeks ago to use it as my own pencil. It's dulled out and gone now. But I trace the drawings with my finger. The sun. The clouds. I don't have any windows here, which has left me to draw my own sky.

The only light comes from the line under the door. All my drawings are ground level because the walls are too dark otherwise.

Today.

If they come for me, then it has to be today.

My hands reach for the wristbands. The ankle cuffs. They deplete whatever is inside me. And yet, they used to feel heavier. Now they're lighter almost like they're fading. Or maybe I'm just growing.

I don't understand. They were happy with me. Pleased. But I can't remember what happened. I can't remember anything other than...the feeling.

I'm scared. But I think I've been living with this fear for too long now that it's become a natural thought. It's become part of my existence.

My body trembles as I look at the wristbands. There are small metal loops. It's how they attach me to the chair when they take me into the other room.

I coil within myself thinking of that other room. Of that chair.

I can't remember. Not all the way.

Something happened and I can't...

My mind goes within itself. There's a wall. A huge, massive wall.

I'm scared to even try to see what's on the other side.

I know I did something. Something bad. It was so bad I can't remember, and it was so bad that he was proud of me.

Proud of me.

I sink my head into my hands. Listening carefully to whatever is happening outside the door. Pulling my knees close to my chest as I try to count the beats outside. I gnaw at the wristband. Suck on it and make it as wet as I can. I've been trying to break through it for weeks now, but it tastes awful. Salty and gross and leathery.

It makes me so thirsty. But I do it anyway. Listening.

I don't know who I am. What I am. I can't...I can't remember my name. I have one. Everyone has a name.

But what if I don't? What if instead, it's what he calls me? Pet. That could be my name too. I could just be that...Pet.

It's why I'm in this cage. Why I have a leash. Something far and deep inside me reminds me that I think I once had a pet too. I frown at the thought. Trying to remember. I can't see the memory, but I can feel it.

Feel the warmth of the sun. A ball in my hand. The sound of her laughter. A woman's laughter.

Throw the ball, baby. She says to me with a beautiful voice. It doesn't sound real. It might not even be real. Max wants you to throw the ball.

Did I have a pet? My eyes close and I try to remember. But I can't see it. I just see me. A boy begging for food at the end of the table while he throws me scraps. A boy being asked to follow orders and commands. To stay still. To cry out. A boy being stripped and touched and forced to bathe in water that burns my skin.