The Prisoner Project

THIRTY TWO

"What happened?"

The single guard that had brought Banshee into the room shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure, Miss." He locked the wheelchair in front of the table, and tipped his head to me before leaving.

Silence settled into the room like a cold chill at night. My eyes were flying. They whisked from the bandages that ran from knuckles to his elbows, to the blood and dirt in his nails. I noticed the bruises all over him. They were new and purple. If they had been looked at, I couldn't even tell.

Then, I zoned in on the wheelchair and noticed his feet were chained too.

"I saw you yesterday." I muttered, the disbelief could be read from several miles away.

It was only then that he looked up at me. His heavy eye bags looked worse because of his blackened eyes, and his nose too had suffered damage. His entire face was so marred. Before, looking at Nicholas required expertise because he was jarring. Now, it was just torture. His bruised lips parted slightly on realising that nothing separated us both.

He gauged the distance between us and the look on my face. All I could smell was blood. It repulsed me as I realised that this smell was something familiar to him. After all, he often left his victims unrecognisable.

His lips tilted up. "Bizarre, isn't it?"

"What happened to you?"

Banshee winced as he shifted in his chair. "Why did you have them drag me out at this ungodly hour?"

I didn't voice my frustrations at his blatant ignorance of my question. It would seem as though I cared for him. "I had questions."

"Curiosity will kill you, Aria."

I shrugged, trying to avoid the fact that he looked like he had been mauled. "It already has."

Banshee chuckled. His cheekbones hollowed when his lips pursed. "Touché."

I couldn't take my eyes away from the fact that he was in a wheel chair. The man who held the problems of the world on his shoulders had become too weak to keep up with the bastard. "Are they broken?"

He followed my gaze to his legs. "Does it matter?"

"No." I replied truthfully. Looking at them, I could tell that they worked fine enough. They wouldn't chain them if otherwise. He was probably just weak from blood loss.

Before he could retort with a smart reply, I gestured at his many cuts and bruises. "Are they self inflicted?"

He paused, briefly. When he spoke again, his words had reduced to whispers. "Would you believe otherwise?"

"No." I whispered. "You're untouchable."

At that, he smiled sympathetically. "That's not true." He glanced down at himself. "Look at me, Aria. The only person who has the power to hurt me is me and I've never missed a chance to do so."

I felt my heart twist at his small confession. Banshee had put his own self in that wheelchair and that thought disturbed me. It meant all his injuries had been self inflicted.