MEMORY
He broke my finger.
The middle finger on my right hand.
Not because I'd done something. Not because I'd said something wrong.
Just because he could.
"Power," he said, watching me gasp through the pain. "That's what this is about, Elena. Power. Who has it. Who doesn't. You thought you had it. Standing in that courtroom. Exposing me. You felt powerful."
"I felt..." I couldn't speak through the pain. "I felt like I was telling the truth."
"Same thing to people like you. Little people. Truth as power. Morality as superiority." He crouched down. Eye level with me. "But real power? Has nothing to do with truth or morality. Real power is this. Me deciding whether you breathe today."
"Then kill me."
"Not yet."
He stood up. Looked at my broken finger with something like satisfaction.
