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“Pathetic,” he spits, tone dripping acid along your spine.
You’re in no position to protest — couldn’t even if you wanted to. He’s right, after all; you are pathetic. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here, throat in his hand, coughing up your own blood because you have some kind of sick obsession with death.
You’re a mess and it makes you smile, a crooked thing against your bloody lips. This is what you’d wanted — craved — what they could never give to you. The memory of them makes you sad, but the sharp pain in your skull from Sixty yanking on your hair is enough to wipe the emotion away.
“Useless. No wonder they had tossed you away! Not even good enough to play your role proper, are you? Pathetic little toy they no longer need?”
He says it with mock sympathy, fake drip of care laced in with just the right amount of menace. Sixty does not care how you feel, how his words cut deeper than any wound he could inflict. You, in all your fucked up glory, are glad he doesn’t. He fuels the fire of your pitiful needs — that woeful desire to be ruined beyond recognition.
“Would you like to know the catch to that?”
You nod, weakly, gurgling more spit and blood as you try your best to look him in the eyes. Big, beautiful mocha irises that make the pain a little easier to stomach. Too pretty a picture for something as detestable as you.
“You never were good enough! Always such a broken little toy. So little to do, yet you could barely manage that.”
The tears are flowing freely now, which only serves to make the android laugh. Your gut rolls and you feel the need to vomit but you’re not sure you have the energy. You’re tired and normally, you’d be in bed, cuddled and coddled till the fuzziness went away. But they are not here, don’t want you, and Sixty’s plan of action is nowhere near the same.
“I could snap your pretty little neck,” a lone finger rubs at the bruises left there and it’s only then that you realize the hand had ever left.
“I could choke you to death. Crush your meager flesh under my shoe and watch you struggle for the air you won’t get. I could use weapons since you fancy my knives so much, but I think watching your worthless life come to an end would be most enjoyable. Because that’s what you are, right, darling? Worthless.”
You shudder, leaning forward in your seat. Another cough brings forward more blood, another dizzy spell. He’s saying something else but the ringing in your ears is too loud. You wonder if you might get lucky enough to have him end your miserable life or if he’ll just bang you up enough to use a few leave days until enough of the cuts and bruises fade.
“What would your previous lovers say if they could see their pet now? Beaten and bruised and loving every minute of it.”
Your lack of answer has Sixty rolling back his arm. The slap rendered is hard enough to knock you to the floor, ringing sound increasing tenfold. All you can do is lay there, staring up at this merciless android.
“Please,” you sputter.
“Oh, how adorable. You think I’m going to stop because you beg? You may sound pretty but I make the rules. You came to me. I’ll do with you as I please.”
You find it funny how Sixty thinks you’re pleading for your life. In all actuality, you are pleading for your end. How wonderful would it be to die under the graciousness of his hand? A foot meets your throat, gradually applying pressure until you’re struggling. You can’t breathe — not that you really could prior to this moment. The blood comes quicker, easier, and the supine position you’re in making you sputter and choke under Sixty’s expensive loafer.
“Awh. Gonna give up already? Shame. You’ve been a disappointment to us all. Gavin and Nines will be so happy that I took care of you.”
Your vision begins to blacken around the edges and your body stops struggling. Your hands are tied behind you anyways, so you figure what’s the point. You barely muster a smile as your breathing fades out, blood flowing from your mouth down the sides of your face.
“T-thank you,” you mouth, hoping he can see.
Finally, you… are free.