He was expelled from the building with such force that he stumbled all the way across the alley and smacked into the wall opposite. His hands came up to brace him and absorb the impact but he remained there momentarily, his head falling to rest upon the object in a thoroughly downtrodden manner. The cool of it pressing against his burning forehead was something he wished to concentrate on, to find relief in. But that was impossible. He could hear Mandy behind him - he\'d been thrust past her - but he needed just a few moments more, to collect his wits before he faced her. Just a few moments.
The whipping had been hideous; he\'d been totally right in his accusation of barbarism earlier. Watching his beautiful Mandy be rudely stripped - the lovely shirt he\'d begun the evening admiring taken unceremoniously from her, her bra ripped because the demons had no patience for clips - and strung from two free-standing poles had caused him to cringe. Such a position of humiliation was nothing compared to what he\'d felt for each carefully delivered stroke. Shiroan himself had delivered the blows and he\'d not held any strength back, as far as Kerr had been able to tell.
Her screams...
The noise she\'d made would be with him for his entire lifetime, he was sure of it. He\'d never borne witness to such pain and though he knew she\'d tried her damndest to stifle all noise, she hadn\'t been able to. It was too strong; too overbearing. Mortals - no, modern mortals - weren\'t built to endure such horrible processes.
He was deathly afraid that when he turned around, there would be nothing of her left; no more light in her eyes, no smile playing near her mouth, just a hollow shadow of the delightful human being she\'d been. Until he\'d destroyed her. And still he could not comprehend how utterly he\'d wronged her, how he could have walked blindly into this trap, how much she must hate him. As much as he loathed himself, surely. The fact that Ben had been taken seemed almost a relief, for he didn\'t have to witness it... but something coiled deep down inside him knew that he would have to turn and face its dimensions one day... and it shivered with delight at the notion.
Surely sanity fails, like this? In times like these; circumstances so dire. Surely it will be alright if I simply... fade away for a little while? She won\'t be sorry to see me go. She\'ll agree, she\'ll feel it necessary to allow her hatred room to vent. Will she hate me? I have probably granted her that ability... now...
Almost angrily then, he pushed off the wall and spun to face her. She was a crumpled mess, shivering and clutching her clothes to her front in the only display of modesty she\'d been permitted. He was sickened by the tangy smell of her blood adrift on the night air - no doubt it had entirely coated her back, from the strength of it - still seeping slowly out of her tiny frame. She would not be able to wear any clothing for days; wouldn\'t be able to take the wounds to anywhere public like her place of work, either. She would need caring for.
He strode over to her but made no move to touch her, or speak. What words could he find to make this better? What words were there in existence that ever made anything better? What wouldn\'t just sound like an excuse? Nothing and none, that\'s what. So he simply stared at her, his expression akin to an animal caged until all its hope had fled and left behind only a shadow of existence - spurred by tenacity, not by any true desire to see more of such an empty life - in the eye and a forlorn mask of abandonment over it\'s features. The stained tracks of bloody tears were obvious on his face even in the limited lighting; he\'d sobbed for her from the moment they\'d moved toward her to remove her clothes and he would continue to cry for her... for him... for them... until... he couldn\'t fathom an end to such feelings, yet. Ever. He peered desperately into her eyes, waiting to see if she would even acknowledge him.
