Break, not bend.
It kept happening. The darkness would split and bits of light would creep through. The silence would turn into a fuzzy, dim noise, and everything would be fire in her nerves. Nic would open her eyes and gasp painfully for air. Life. In an instant she went from the depths of death to living again. It filled her with rage, with hope, with love, and with fear.
The fear was what always stuck on repeat as it kept happening. Him. That face and that sadistic grin. There would be some banter and usually she'd run her mouth--it was all she could do, really, make threats and tell him that she was going to kick his ass. He was always unmoved, would tell her how she fights like her mother but even she eventually fell. And he'd give her bits of insight, these tiny little hints of what he was doing, why, and just how long he'd been waiting for this.
Then he'd snap her neck again and the blackness would return.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
This time, though, when the light came back, Nic didn't even move to sit up. There was no smartmouthing, no threats, no trying to escape.
She was too emotionally worn out to give a damn anymore.
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