PG13; language.Word Count:
No cameos dudes. This preceeds the 'four year war' talked about in Teresa's bio, but she's what I call an 'island character' so move along. Title and summary come from PTS.OF.ATHRTY
by Linkin Park
.Summary: 'You love the way I look at you, while taking pleasure in the awful things I put you through.' Pride
I was going to fall. I knew it.
"You don't have a weak body. Just a weak mind."
You're going to have a weak bladder by the time I'm finished with you, I thought, gritting my teeth to prevent the words from escaping into the air where I couldn't take them back and would likely pay for them later.
My arms were burning for the release. I was shaking as I tried to hold myself up from the floor with just the strength in my arms. My hands were twined up in the chains that hung from the ceiling of the training room above me. Olson's motivational shouts were hardly helping either. If anything they made me want to let go faster just so I could get over there and crack that came cane he was holding against his
coccyx and see how much he
"Come on. You still have ten minutes." I heard him call to me, though my eyes were closed I knew he had moved in front of me. He was circling me. "If you drop before the time's up I'll have you do twenty more."
Making me start the stupid exercise over again was the least of his threats I had learned that much. Wilbur Olson was in the prime of his life, aside from the odd scar on his annoyingly tanned skin there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. That cane wasn't for a busted knee or anything so mundane and acceptable. If I let go of the chains that I was holding Olson would strike me with the cane. I'd deserve it too. If I couldn't do something as simple as support my weight here in the safety of the training room at the Manor then what hope did I have of being an affective weapon in the big wide world? Not a very good one.
A weapon. An odd way to describe myself, I know, but its the truth. Every one of my uncle's knew that I could single-handedly put them on disability pay. That was why it was so ridiculous for me to consider failure in the training room where the worst I could expect was a few bruises for my failures. In the big bad world of hunting, out side the safety of the Manor the worst I could expect was closer to a broken neck. Or becoming some beastie's next meal.
As I contemplated the greater problems that faced me in the long run I realised my arms were shaking with the effort I was exerting. Slick with sweat my fingers and palms were slipping on the chain. With a gasp I lurched towards the floor, chain running through my hands a few inches thanks to my lubricated palms. I squeezed my eyes shut against the wrenching pain in my shoulders, the muscles tensing instinctively to keep my desperate grip on the chain. Damn it. Olson was watching me with a sneer when I finally opened my eyes again. I had to blink a few times as sweat slickened my lids and blurred my vision. The bastard was waiting for me to fail. Hunger for punishment glowered in his hazel eyes. I hated him for it. Gritting my teeth harder than ever I hung on with all I had. Not to avoid the cane. I could take it. I wanted to avoid giving the son of a bitch the pleasure he would feel at smacking me about a bit.
Sometimes I wondered why I stuck around and endured the training. The answer always came easily though. Leyland. My foster father. The one man in all the world for whom I would do anything.
There were those I hated within the Manor., but I could endure their abuse, their methods
, all for Leyland. All for the one who understood me and loved me best. I wanted to be strong for him. Wanted him to trust me above all others. To rely on me as his General. So I trained. I would endure and Olson would not get his satisfaction.
At least that was what I hoped. I was convinced that he set the time limit for this exercise just out of my reach. That he tired me out sufficiently through the other activities that that when i came to the chain there was no option open to my body but failure.
The cane cracked solidly against my back for the slip Despite myself I cried out. Pain rippled through me in spasms. Then I let go.
"Tsk." Olson passed air through his teeth and then clucked his tongue. "Twenty eight minutes. Very poor performance Tess."
I couldn't reply to that, though I wanted to tell him just where he could shove my performance along with his cane. My throat burned as I gulped down the sweat soaked air that filled the room like an invisible fog. After letting go I had crumpled to the floor in a heap. Only a few inches, but the chain room the floor was left uncovered so that shocks from the wood ran a race all the way from my knees to my hips and through my ribcage. Shoulders shook. Hands quivered. I kept my eyes down. Damn that bastard.
"I think we need to up the ante."Crack..
My head throbbed and screamed as the cane impacted my temple. For a moment I was robbed of my sense of balance and rocked dangerously close to the floor. Another strike to my lower back stopped me as I instinctively arched away from the pain. A hand met my head as it tipped back before I could react defensively. My hair was caught up in Olson's thin, cold hand. 'Hands as cold as his heart', that was what my other uncles said about him behind his back. The were wrong. Olson didn't have a heart.
Beneath me the unfurnished floor of the training room started to move. Actually I was the one moving but my head was spinning so much from pain and fatigue that I couldn't tell the different. Olson dragged me by my hair to the window. Using his can e I saw him flick the iron catch out of the corner of my eye. Then he kicked the windows into swinging open. Thrusting my head out into the daylight he crouched slightly, bending down with one foot on the low set inner sill. He spoke in my ear. "Maybe with a little incentive, a little real danger added to the mix you'll perform to a satisfactory degree."
Then he dragged my body over the sill so hard and fast my voice caught in my throat. I grabbed helplessly at eth ledge on the outside as my weight tipped over into the thin air beyond. My fingertips dug into the weathered stone.
Below my legs scrambled for purchase against the side of the building.
Below me was a three story drop onto gravel.
Olson withdrew his stopwatch form his pocket and sneered down at me.
I was going to fall. I knew it.
This time I really was going to break my neck. Olson would probably get off on that too.