Making It

This story has been floating around in my head for years, just got around to writing it down.
Reviews are, of course, highly valued. :)

The only sounds were the whir of the loft fan, rattle of the flimsy metal door and harsh breathing of the youth held down by chains. Outside the warehouse, country animals spoke to each other, inside, Jonah ground his teeth to stop groaning.

A question asked, but Jonah was concentrating on counting, waiting out the pain. Silence then a push, harder and deeper than before. Nine grinned down at his prisoner and leaned close to the boy’s face.

“I don’t like being ignored.” He had a soft, accented voice, an evil mouth with a hint of French. Jonah felt his arms being drawn even tighter above his head when Nine tugged on the chains. His wrists were beginning to ache from the constant pressure, and the hard metal promised to break the skin if pulled any tighter. The tactic they were taught in the army for dealing with pain was to count. 1…2…3 It always worked at training camp.

“What are you thinking about? ” Nine absentmindedly raked his nails against Jonah's chest as he talked. “Not rescue I hope.” Jonah didn’t say anything; in fact, he didn’t even give Nine the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence. “Guess how many boys exactly like you I’ve taken care of during my lifetime?”

Nine leaned his head close enough so Jonah could smell cheap cigars and beer. “One hundred and forty seven.” Nine carefully placed his hands, one on top of the other, to Jonah’s stomach, right over his belly button.

“Now, try and guess how many I broke?” He drove the heel of his palm hard into Jonah’s stomach, digging in circles. Jonah’s body tensed the moment Nine touched his skin. Eyes narrowed slightly, fingers squeezing the chains, Jonah was thrown from his counting.

“All but three,” Nine whispered, still pushing hard on Jonah’s abdomen. “I broke all but three. And those three probably prayed for death by the end.” When he finally let up, Jonah’s body was quivering, the muscles fluttering involuntarily. He was in pain but nowhere near giving up. Nothing he wasn’t prepared to handle.

“But don’t worry,” Nine was saying, moving his hands farther up Jonah’s body. “I don’t plan on killing you. I’ll break you long before that.” Jonah let his mind wander to the seminars on torture. Detach yourself from the pain. Think: you’re moving along a gentle stream, drifting slowly on the surface. A lily pad floats by. Right. Three years in training, and now he was boating down the Mississippi. Nine noticed Jonah’s lack of attention, and placing his hands under the boys ribcage, drove them straight upwards.

The prisoner answered nothing.

“We’ll leave this as a standing rule,” Nine said, cracking his fingers against Jonah’s skin. “Whenever the pain gets to be too much, you just tell me, and I’ll stop.” Jonah was countries away, in Ohio, where Shannon lived. She was a pretty girl, with hair that always ticked his neck. Eventually, he hoped to go back there, see her again, maybe hear her laugh, feel her touch.

The man gathered his strength and began pushing into Jonah’s upper stomach. He worked with a slow, methodical evil, boring farther and farther, inch by inch.

Nine’s voice was strained with the effort he was exerting on Jonah.

One... Jonah felt his eyes tear up, and he promptly snapped them shut. Remember what they said, count. One, Two, Three, Four, Oh crap, Five, Six, Seven.

“Does it feel good?” Nine leaned his body weight on his hands. It felt as if he was trying to dive into Jonah, touch his heart, and rip it out. Jonah felt his breath become short, his eyes roll, and his throat refuse entrance to the incoming air.

Jonah, at that moment, thought was going to die. His eyes went to the back of his skull. This isn’t exactly the way he would have chosen. Just in time, Nine stopped the assault on Jonah’s stomach. His eyes reluctantly fluttered open, and his chest, giving a great heave, desperately drew in a breath.

He felt Nine run a long finger down his body from throat to navel. Jonah shivered and quickly shifted his green eyes to meet the man’s black holes. Nine smiled, knowing he had caught a little of Jonah’s wandering attention.

“How now, Jonah?” Nine questioned. Using his fingernails, he dug into the flesh right above Jonah’s belly button. A moan of pain threatened to release itself from his mouth as blood began forming, but Jonah swallowed it down and continued counting.

One, two, three. Jonah’s mind was on his squad. They had been flying over enemy territory when a rogue missile took a wing off their plane. Jonah had tried to get the rest of his squad out the door before he bailed himself. He made sure Aadan, his best friend, was gone before he went.

“Up for some more?” Nine massaged his own hands and shook his arms, obviously gearing up for another assault.

Nine moved his hands farther onto Jonah’s lower abdomen. He didn’t bother with questions this time. Jonah barely had time to catch his breath before Nine’s hands were pushing into him once more.

Oh God. Jonah’s hands tightened on the chains holding him down, his head tilted back and his eyes closed as he tried to avoid the deep, throbbing pain. Oh God it hurts, One, Two, I can’t, Three, Four, Five, Not farther, please, Six, Seven

Nine grew impatient; he could feel the boy’s organs moving aside to accommodate his hands and knew he was getting through. If only the boy would scream. Jonah’s chest was heaving, and a sheen of sweat covered his toned body. Nine climbed on the counter, straddled Jonah’s legs, and forced his hands even deeper into the boy’s body, as far as his own muscles would allow.

As much as Jonah tried to fight it, a choked sob ripped from his throat. The minute he gave recognition to the pain, Nine stopped.

“That’s enough for tonight; I think I have your attention.” Jonah was breathing furiously, every breath a necessity, but every breath, a new wave of pain. Nine unchained Jonah’s bonds from the counter and pulled him to his feet.

“Follow me.”

Jonah walked, shadowing Nine’s footsteps, angry at himself. He was supposed to be able to withstand any form of torture. That’s what the seminar had said. He was slowly learning that the seminars might have been wrong.

"Get in.” Nine pushed Jonah into the room and followed behind. "And I hope you sleep well. I'll be with you bright and early tomorrow." Nine came close to Jonah and stood facing him. Their eyes met, neither blinked or looked away, a battle of wills. A couple days as a prisoner of war had not quite extinguished the fighter in him, and Jonah spit in his torturer’s face. Without warning, Nine slammed his fist into Jonah's tender middle. A small gasp, and Jonah sunk to his knees.

"Don't miss me when I'm gone.” Nine smiled as his foot connected with Jonah's jaw, sending black dots in front of the boy’s eyes.

I hope you die a slow and painful…

Nine kicked him again, sending Jonah flying against the wall. The man raised Jonah to his feet by his hair. Holding a tight grip on Jonah’s wrists, he drove his fist into the boy’s chest. A sharp crack resounded throughout the air, followed by a moan of pain. Jonah sunk to the floor, clutching his broken rib with his arms.

Nine was finally gone. Jonah's mind was running with thoughts of rescue. Hopefully, Aadan and the others were already on their way. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to last much longer. He felt his stomach do a flip, and his muscles screamed in agony as he threw up. Exhausted, and in too much pain to crawl to the cot, Jonah fell into an unconscious sleep on the hard stone floor.