Chapter 7

• JUDY’S POV
• The belt struck my hands with a force that sent a searing jolt of pain through my entire body. My reflexive cry echoed in the empty classroom, tears streaming down my cheeks as the agony spread like fire under my skin.
• I clenched my fists, trembling, trying desperately to hold back the sobs threatening to consume me. But it was no use. Each strike was more unbearable than the last.
• I could feel the tears soaking the blindfold. I believed he was satisfied seeing me in this state. But my voice was trembling with hurt and disbelief.
• “Why?” I choked out, barely able to form words over the lump in my throat. “Why are you doing this to me, Chris?”
• He didn’t answer. The silence was heavier than the pain he inflicted. His cold, detached demeanour was a stranger's—a cruel figure who bore no resemblance to the Chris I had once cared for so deeply.
• "Chris!" I cried again, louder this time, desperation lacing every syllable. "Please, just tell me what I did! Why do you hate me so much?"
• That was the moment he reached forward and pulled off the blindfold, his actions slow and deliberate, as if savouring the reveal. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, a mix of fear and shame tightening my throat.
• As the fabric slipped away, the light of the room rushed back into my vision, sharp and unforgiving, illuminating every tear-streaked line etched across my face.
• I knew without a doubt how I looked—utterly wrecked. My cheeks were stained with streaks of tears, my lips trembling from the effort of holding back sobs that still threatened to escape.
• My hair was dishevelled, clinging to the dampness of my skin, and my eyes, swollen and red-rimmed, bore the weight of despair I couldn’t hide.
• His lip twitched, almost imperceptibly, but it wasn’t compassion or regret. It was disdain. He raised the belt again, and I instinctively flinched, bracing myself for the impact.
• When it came, the pain ripped through me, and I couldn’t stop the scream that tore from my throat. Would no one hear me? And if ever they did hear me, would they care?
• "Stop!" I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Please, just stop!"
• The words hung in the air, unanswered, as he took a step back, his chest heaving as if the act of hurting me had exerted him. My hands trembled violently, red and swollen, the pain a constant reminder of his cruelty.
• He said finally, his voice cold, devoid of emotion. “You brought this on yourself.”
• His words hit harder than any lash. My heart sank, my tears flowing faster as I tried to make sense of his accusation.
• “What did I do?” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Chris, what did I ever do to deserve this?”
• His jaw tightened, and he looked away as if my question annoyed him.
• “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, his tone bitter, almost resentful.
• “Try me,” I shot back, my voice filled with pain and defiance. “You owe me that much after... after this.”
• His cold eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something—hesitation, guilt, maybe even pain. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that same detached, heartless stare.
• “You think you’re so innocent,” he said, his voice low but sharp, cutting into me like a blade. “You walk around like the world revolves around you.”
• “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice rising in frustration. “I’ve never thought that! You know I haven’t!”
• He let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t get it. You’ve never been on the other side.”
• I stared at him, confused and hurt. His words didn’t make sense. What other side? What was he even talking about? This wasn’t the Chris I knew—the boy who used to be my best friend, who used to care about me. The person standing before me was filled with anger and bitterness I couldn’t comprehend.
• “Chris,” I said softly, trying to steady my voice. “Please, whatever it is, just tell me. If I hurt you in some way, I didn’t mean to. You have to believe me.”
• “Believe you?” he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s rich. You think everything can just be fixed with a few words, don’t you?”
• “No!” I exclaimed, the tears streaming down my face anew. “I don’t think that at all! I just want to understand—why are you doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this?”
• He turned away from me, gripping the belt tightly in his hand. His shoulders were tense, his posture rigid, as if he were holding something back.
• For a long moment, he didn’t respond. The room was silent except for the sound of my ragged breathing and the distant hum of the school’s air conditioning. Then, without warning, he turned back to me, his expression dark and unreadable.
• "You," he said, pointing the belt at me, "you’re the reason for all of this. Everything."
• “What?” I asked, utterly bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
• “Don’t play dumb,” he snapped, his voice rising. “You have disobeyed me and now you’re asking me for the reasons?”
• “But I told you… Jason--”
• Another blow landed on my hands, this one sharper, more forceful than the last. A searing jolt of pain shot through me, so intense that it felt like my very breath had been stolen.
• My chest tightened, each heartbeat pounding against my ribs as if struggling to keep going under the weight of the torment. The sting radiated up my arms, leaving a burning trail that blurred the line between physical agony and emotional despair.
• For a moment, I thought my heart might give out entirely, the combination of pain and fear too overwhelming to bear. My knees on the cold marble made it worse for me to bear and I had to bite down hard on my lip to stifle the scream clawing its way up my throat.
• The tears that had been silently pooling in my eyes now spilled over freely, hot streams carving paths down my cheeks.
• I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—every nerve in my body was focused on surviving this moment. The classroom around me faded into a haze, the walls and furniture mere shadows in the periphery of my vision. All I could register was the sharp, unrelenting ache in my hands and the heavy silence that followed the strike.
• “Chris,” I said, my voice soft and shaky. “I don’t know what’s going on, but this isn’t you. You’re better than this.”
• “Better?” he repeated with a bitter laugh. “There’s no ‘better’ anymore. This is who I am now. And you… you just have to deal with it.”
• His words were like a punch to the gut. I felt my strength fading, my resolve crumbling under the weight of his hatred.
• “Please,” I whispered, barely able to speak through my tears. “Please, Chris, stop this. Whatever has happened, we can fix it. We can go back to the way things were.”
• He shook his head, his expression hard. “There’s no going back,” he said coldly.