The Hostage Husband's Requiem

Carrying the bloodied Julian on her back, Cynthia gave me one final glance. "Babe, I swear, I'll be back in three days. Just wait for me, okay?" With that, she stumbled away. My heart went dead. I didn't say a word. Watching her leave, Blake lit a cigarette. "Next lifetime, open your damn eyes before you pick a woman." Ash fluttered onto my hair. A sob caught in my throat. I told myself to endure it. Just three days. Just a nightmare. Once he finished smoking, Blake dragged me into a pitch-black holding cell. To make sure I couldn't run, they shattered both of my legs with iron pipes. The air stank of sour sweat and the metallic tang of fresh blood. Crumpled in the corner, clutching through the agony, I whispered to myself: just endure it. After an eternity, the door cracked open and someone slid a bowl of water inside. Hope flared in my chest. Was the time up? Then the guard laughed, telling me it had only been an hour. Just endure it, I chanted. In that suffocating dark, every second dragged like an entire year. I held on until the edges of my sanity began to fray, until I was completely unraveling. Finally, the door creaked open. Blinding light spilled across the floor. Grinning like a desperate dog, I dragged my broken body toward the exit. I thought the nightmare was over. I thought Cynthia had finally come for me. Instead, the moment I reached the threshold, Blake's furious roar rained down on me. "That lying bitch! She swore she'd bring the ransom in three days, and she's out taking road trips with that little punk!" My face drained of color. My lips trembled violently. How? She promised. She swore she'd save me. Why didn't she come? Why? Blake spun around, stomping a heavy boot squarely onto my back, pinning me against the concrete. My ribs cracked under the pressure, blinding pain radiating through my torso. Glowering down at me, he hissed like a demon in my ear: "Look at this, you pathetic loser. This is your loving wife." "You're rotting here taking the fall, while she's playing happy couple with the bastard who caused it all. What a tragic joke." A tremor shook my chest. I shook my head frantically. "No... impossible. Cynthia wouldn't leave me." Blake chuckled coldly. Without another word, he shoved a phone in front of my face. A video was playing. Julian, wrapped in white bandages, was sitting side-by-side with Cynthia on a sandy beach. Their fingers were tightly intertwined as they watched the romantic sunset together. The golden light cast their long shadows behind them, painting a picture of star-crossed lovers who had finally found peace. That image pierced my heart like a serrated blade. The emotional agony eclipsed every broken bone in my body! My legs were shattered, I was locked in a dark hole, taking beatings meant for someone else. And she was on a seaside vacation with him. She abandoned me. Truly, completely abandoned me. "You see that?! She threw you away like trash!" My vision turned red. I screamed at the top of my lungs, "No! She wouldn't! That video is fake! It's fake!" Blake sneered, shoving the screen closer. "Don't believe it? Call her then. Tell her to wire the money, or I'm putting a bullet in your head right now!" He clamped a hand around my throat, forcing me to dial her FaceTime. Staring at the frozen thumbnail of that video, my hand hesitated. His grip tightened, choking off my air supply. Weeping, my trembling fingers dialed the number burned into my memory. The call connected quickly. But the voice on the other end belonged to Julian. "Who is this? Cynthia's in the shower." My breath hitched. The shower? She really threw me away to be with him? Blake snatched the phone, slamming me back into the dirt, and barked into the receiver: "Listen here, you little prick. Tell that bitch that if my cash isn't in my account immediately, I'm executing her husband!" Julian didn't sound scared at all. He chuckled mockingly. "Go ahead and kill him. Cynthia only traded him to buy time. She was never going to pay you. Why do you think she's on vacation with me?" "And by the way, you're the punk. Your whole crew is trash, especially that little tramp of yours. I ran her over on purpose! Come and get me if you can, asshole." With that, he hung up. Listening to the dial tone, the last spark of life drained from my chest. She never planned on saving me. She wanted me to rot here so she could play house with her ex without any guilt. I was such a fool. A blind, pathetic fool who clung to hope until the very end. Trembling with pure rage, Blake dialed back several times, only to realize he had been blocked. One of his thugs stepped forward, asking nervously, "Boss, what now? Do we kill him?" Blake kicked me viciously, roaring, "Are you stupid?! If we kill him, how do we get paid?" "He's not the pretty boy's husband, of course that prick doesn't care!" "Record a video of us beating the living hell out of him! Send it to the bitch from his phone! Let's see if she picks her husband or her side piece!" Fists, steel-toed boots, and wooden bats rained down upon me like a relentless storm. Blood sprayed from my mouth. A sickening sweetness coated my throat, as if my internal organs were rupturing. I curled into a ball, screaming through the blinding pain, but someone pressed their dirty boot hard against my cheek, grinding my skull into the dirt. Yet a foolish flicker of hope stirred again. Blake was right. I hadn't heard Cynthia's own voice. What if Julian orchestrated all of it? What if Cynthia was still trying to save me? They recorded my battered, bloody state and sent the video straight to Cynthia's phone. Through the swelling in my eyes, a desperate smile touched my lips.

Half an hour crawled by. The phone remained completely silent. Blake scowled, tapping the voice note button. "You testing my fucking patience? You've got thirty minutes. If the money isn't here, your husband is a dead man!" I stared fixedly at the dark screen, my chest tightening. Ten years of devotion. Would she really sit back and watch me die? Minutes ticked away into agonizing silence. The room grew colder, and Blake's temper flared hotter. Suddenly, one of his lackeys stared at his own phone and gasped, "Boss! She didn't reply to the text, but she just posted a photo dump on Ins with the pretty boy!" "Holy shit! She's wearing a bikini!" My face went completely numb. The floor dropped out from beneath me. Why? I shut my eyes tight, but tears leaked uncontrollably through the bruised lids. No matter how desperately I tried to make excuses, the bloody reality was shoved down my throat. Cynthia didn't care whether I lived or died. "Fuck this! Does she think I'm running a charity?!" "I get it now. Neither of those sick bastards gives a damn about this kid's life!" His minion whispered hesitantly, "So... we end him, boss?" This time, Blake glared down at me, a sadistic grin curling his lips. "Kill him!" "But let me blow off some steam first!" My eyes went completely blank and hollow, waiting for the end. He dragged a chair over, gripping a metal baseball bat. "Kid, don't blame me. Blame that cold-hearted wife of yours!" He ordered his men to drag me upright, then struck me across the face with the heavy bat. Darkness claimed me, only for a bucket of freezing water to wrench me back to consciousness. Before I could even gasp, a swarm of men closed in, beating and kicking every inch of my body. Slurs and insults washed over me: "Loser." "Pathetic bastard." "Worthless dog." The pain dulled into numbness. Then my hearing faded, followed by my sense of smell. The world spun violently, like being swallowed by a black tidal wave. My vision blurred until the light completely vanished. I was back in that pitch-black room. Lost in an endless void. Only this time, the thing locked in the dark was my soul. I felt myself slipping away. But I hadn't divorced Cynthia yet. I didn't want to die with the title of her husband tied around my neck. Two days later. The ICU. "The patient has multiple severe contusions, his left eye is permanently blinded from infection, broken nasal bridge, compound fractures in both arms, and both legs are completely shattered. Worse still..." Cynthia stared frantically at the hesitant doctor, her voice shaking. "Worse still what?! Doctor, please, tell me!" The doctor sighed heavily. "Given the trauma, the psychological damage is extreme. His mental state is heavily compromised. He may exhibit severe psychosis, self-harm, or suicidal tendencies." "You need to be prepared." Through the muffled voices, my eyes cracked open. Seeing this, Julian immediately rushed forward, grasping my limp hand. His face was twisted with guilt, but his fingers squeezed down hard on my broken bones. "Ethan! You're finally awake! It's all my fault. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have gone through this!" "If I knew they'd hurt you like this, I would've let them beat me to death rather than let you take my place!" I stared at him with hollow, glassy eyes. Who was this? What was he saying? Why did the sound of his voice make me want to vomit? And why did my hand hurt so much? My gaze drifted. Suddenly, Cynthia threw herself onto my chest, weeping hysterically. Tears streamed down her flushed face. "It's my fault... I was too late, I let them hurt you!" "I swear, nothing like this will ever happen again!" What was she babbling about? Did I know her? I wanted to push her off. Her weight was crushing my broken ribs. Then, she pressed her lips against mine, her salty tears dripping between our mouths, forcing a fragile smile. "I'll take you on our honeymoon, okay? Anywhere you want to go, anything you want to do." Her voice was cracked with sobs, her eyes searching mine desperately. Inside my skull, everything was pure chaos. Honeymoon? The moment that word echoed in my mind, my frozen brain suddenly ignited. Seeing a reaction on my face, joy lit up her eyes. "Babe, I knew you'd say yes. The nightmare is over. Let's just go back to the way things were, okay?" Babe? Husband?! My mind violently exploded with agony. Tortured memories came flooding back like a tidal wave. Residual phantom pain ripped through every broken nerve in my body. The white hospital room dissolved into shadows. Shadows of men beating me, kicking me, laughing as they spat on my face. Panicking, I clamped my hands over my head, curling my broken body into a tight ball, screaming in terror: "Don't hit me! Please don't hit me!" "I'm sorry! I know I was wrong! I'm a loser, I'm garbage, I'm worthless! Don't beat me! I'm going to die!" "No! I can't die! I haven't gotten divorced yet! I can't die!"