111 Slaughter

They cut me open like I was their next slaughter, uncaring of the damage left behind each time their scalpel marked my flesh.

And they certainly didn't care to make the cut neat as they dragged the blade across in jagged lines as if they were drawing across my abdomen just for the sick fun of it.

I was aware of every single cut across my skin because the anesthesia was starting to wear away and I could finally feel my arms and legs.

Every single drag of their scalpel felt like the burning of hell left in its wake.

And, from the location that they were cutting, I could tell that they were trying to remove my womb.

But the only thing I could do now was pray that they didn't hurt my children, prayed that they didn't cut my womb open yet.

But, I knew that they weren't stupid enough to damage my womb before they are able to carefully analyze it, that's the only reason they chose to keep me alive as they worked.

After removing my womb, I doubt that they would bother suturing me back up because I would be useless to them.

I was as good as dead by that point.

Choking back a pained whine, I kept my mouth sealed shut; although, the pain was far worse than anything I have ever felt.

"We don't have time to mess around, Candy," the deeper male voice replied in an unbothered manner as if he was used to her psychotic ways and didn't care to chide her for her behavior.

After his words, the cold slide of something sharp against my cheek immediately pulls me away from my thoughts until I could only think of the scalpel slowly dancing across my face.

My own warm blood trickled off of the scalpel and slid down the sides of my face, dripping onto the shell of my ear before collecting on the rim.

The anxiety was almost palpable.

Cold sweat started to collect on my neck when I calmed my fear with a steel-strong resolve.

I don't know where I got the strength to remain conscious because the pain was truly unbearable for a person with low pain tolerance like me.

This is the only time in my life where willpower was starting to win because I have to survive for my children.

"Don't be such a party pooper, Scar. I'm just going to carve my name onto her face, it won't take more than a minute," Candy informed with this whining tone of voice.

"You're fucked up, Candy," he replied with a husky dark chuckle that was more encouraging than insulting.

Then, he dug his own scalpel deeper into my lower abdomen, turning the blade just enough for my stomach to bubble revoltingly in response.

The mind-blowing pain rendered me motionless.

After his statement, there was a slight pause when I felt the extremely painful sensation of my cheek getting cut open.

Candy's cold scalpel came across my left cheek, trailed down to my chin and curled back up again.

Quietly, I dragged in a choked breath of air at the mind-numbing pain that nearly drew tears to my eyes.

"I hate it when someone is prettier than me. It makes me want to cut off their face and step all over it," she confessed, her hand becoming heavier as I felt the scalpel cut completely through my cheek and dig into my gums.

The pain was terrible, filling every nerve fiber with the sensation of burning fire.

It hurt so badly that I had to fight the need to throw up when I started swallowing down mouthfuls of my own blood.

Even my veins popped out from the restraint I showed myself, trying hard not to tense my body or grit my jaw in case they noticed.

And, in order to distract myself, I bit hard on my tongue until it bled, continuously biting until I could barely will my teeth down on the abused flesh.

Pain meant I was still alive.

Pain meant I was still breathing.

I chanted the mantra in my head, trying to fill my brain with different thoughts to keep my mind busy.