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Ch 21
Aisha woke up to an empty bed. She had overslept. Panicked, she jumped out of the bed; for sure Manu would be angry, she disobeyed him last night; she also overslept and failed to have his coffee ready, though understandable, this was another infraction that had to be punished. She rushed into the living room, to find Manu drinking a mug of coffee and Lila, semi-reclined on a pillow, on her gurney, still hooked up to a full IV bag, drinking another. He must have changed the bags while she overslept.
Indeed, Aisha realized, it was the smell of fresh coffee that woke her up, otherwise she would still be asleep. She approached Manu, with her eyes downcast, humbly apologized for her tardiness and begged to be punished for it.
“It is not for oversleeping that I shall punish you,” Manu’s angry words did not match his calm demeanor. “You disobeyed me last night.”
She fell to her knees tears exploding from her face and kissed his feet, “Yes, master; I did. I know I must be punished,” and, in a barely audible voice, she added. “Have no mercy on me, I deserve none.”
She herself did not know where those words, or the strength to utter them, came from. Manu, looking down on her prostrate form, smiled faintly; he did know.
Today’s program would start at 11:00. The hands on the clock, on the wall, made their way, inexorably, towards the appointed hour. Lila drank, water, juice and coffee, while Aisha kept her IVs going. Both of them noted Manu’s frown whenever the IV bag was renewed. While visibly unhappy about it, he did not argue, nor did he directly order Aisha to refrain from changing the bags as they emptied themselves into Lila’s veins. Aisha wondered how Lila managed to convince Manu to allow this hydration, which he had expressly forbidden the night before.
In the perverse nature of their relationship, it was perhaps, strangely appropriate that Manu’s love for Lila be manifested in his efforts to weaken her, so she would succumb to her death faster, sparing her longer hours of agony. It was also heart-breakingly appropriate too, that her love for him translated into prolonging her suffering, so the sheik would be pleased, and her lover avoid the retribution that was sure to come, if she died too soon.
A few minutes before eleven, Aisha helped Lila to the bathroom; it would be her last chance to use a bathroom like a human, and her last moments of privacy. In the lavatory, her tears flowed, her knees shook, all of her body trembled.
“I can’t do it, “she wept.
Then, composed, she stood up, opened the door and stepped back into the living room. It was 10:50
“Let us go,” she said.
Aisha joined her nipple rings with a short chain; a second chain, attached to the center, and leading through the nose ring, served as a leash.
She followed Aisha up the stairs and into the lawn. The sun, already merciless at this hour, beat on her lacerated skin.
The bleachers surrounded an empty space in the lawn. She followed Aisha closely, to avoid having the leash pull painfully on her nose ring. Studiously, she avoided looking at the object she knew laid on the grass, at the center of the bleachers. When Aisha stopped, she did too.
Aisha removed the chain from her nose, and nipple rings. Freed from the weight of the chain, her breasts rose up proudly on her chest. Her eyes remained focused on the grass in front of her, her attention riveted on each blade of grass, her shoulders slumped, defeated. She wished her ankles were shackled, she wished her wrists were manacled to each other. Instead, she stood, nude, her skin torn, lacerated, her breathing ragged, in the center of this open air theater.
Her arms hung at her sides, her legs shook, her knees trembled, threatening to give way and let her fall to the ground. She did not care, she wished she would fall, and never stand up again. Tears streamed silently from her eyes, coursing down her cheeks, dropping, like cool dewdrops on her naked breasts.
“It is time,” Aisha said, her voice breaking.
Aisha helped her kneel on the grass, beside the wooden cross she could no longer ignore.
Kneeling on the grass, her training and composure finally left her. She knelt, knees together, her hands over her face, crying, her frame shuddering with her loud sobs.
Slowly, she regained control; her hands came down from her face to lie on her knees; her knees opened, her thighs spread, and finally, with a supreme effort, her head rose, and she faced the public that watched her, sitting on the bleachers. She now knelt as a slave girl, ready to fulfill her master’s wishes.
Manu wore dark glasses, not so much as protection against the sun, which he did not need; he wore them in an effort to hide his tears. He needn’t have bothered; all eyes were riveted on the naked slave girl that knelt, so valiantly besides the implement of her torture.
At 11:00 precisely, Aisha touched her shoulder. Lila turned towards her friend and kissed her deeply on the mouth. She then turned towards Manu, who knelt on the far side of the wooden cross. She leaned forward and, embracing him, kissed him too, on the mouth. When she let him go, she whispered:
“Thanks for everything; truly. I love you.”
“I love you too,” his words were drowned by the applause from the tiers, as she laid her nude body, along the vertical plank. She rested her head on the upright behind and looked up to the blue, cloudless sky.
After a few moments, she closed her eyes.
Lila felt hands, lifting one of her wrists, extending her arm, along the cross beam; small hands, that had to belong to Aisha. She felt coarse rope, across her palm, and across her forearm, attaching them, firmly, to the cross. She kept her eyes closed. Of all the atrocities that were done to her, this one, was the only one she had not planned in full detail.
“Crucify me,” was all she told Manu, and left most of the details to him.
Now she wondered if he was planning to just have her hang, tied from the cross, until she died. She would last longer that way, certainly, but that was not what the crowd expected.
Her other arm was tied, too, to the crossbeam, in the same fashion. She felt ropes at her knees, tying them also to the unyielding wood. She opened her eyes.
Manu was at her right wrist, in his hands, the nail, at least six inches long and half an inch in diameter. She looked at his face, sorry that the sunglasses covered his eyes; she wished to see them once more.
He placed the nail against the hollow of her wrist; he held it with his hand, while in his other hand he held a heavy mace. She knew that, once he swung the mace, once the nail sunk itself in her flesh, she would no longer be herself, or his’; she would belong to the pain alone. Before he swung the mace, she made her last request:
“Promise me something,” she asked.
“Anything,”
“After you nail my arms to the cross, before you nail my feet… fuck me one last time.”
Unable to speak, he nodded.
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