Broken (part 2)

He came in the next morning and took the bloodied mattress away. When he came back he had a hose and sprayed down the room.  All evidence of the previous night’s anger and violence quietly gurgling down the drain.  He finished and left the room without a word.  A few minutes later a tray arrived and I mechanically retrieved it.  When I was done every scrap was gone.
Again the days passed slowly.  The cuts healed, leaving behind a thin spiderweb of scars, like a city roadmap tracking the pathways of my shame.  Each evening left me more anxious, for I feared another visit. Finally, inevitably, it came.  He stood there in front of me with no clothes on and told me what he planned to do.  But instead of grabbing me, he looked down at me for a minute and said, Okay?
I was shocked, was he asking permission? I didn’t get it.  I stood up as straight as I could and said, No!  He stared at me for a minute, then advanced on me. He punched me square in the face, blood exploded from my nose and mouth.  I dropped like a bag of rocks to the floor and he kicked me repeatedly in the stomach.  My breath went out of me and I felt ribs crack.  Then he picked my up off the floor and tossed me back on the concrete slab.  My head slapped into the unyielding bench with a thunk and stars swam in my eyes.  He leaned over me and whispered in my ear, Don’t make me angry.  Then he left.  I had resisted again, but for the moment I was unsure if I would survive.
I did and my life became a relentless cycle of hell.  For I still held onto my sliver of hope, that someday I would be free of this.  And so it went that I would heal, maybe a little bit less each time.  Then he would return with his ultimatum and I would push him further and further in his rage.  It never showed, he was emotionless in his violence, but my body was brutalized and my psyche pummeled.
He came one time with a propane torch and burned my chest, my feet, all the hair on my head.  Another was battery cables that he attached to my nipples, my ears, my tongue.  There more beatings, more whippings which left me bloodied.  But always days or weeks to heal in between.  
The worst was when he actually took stakes and nailed my hands to the wall.  My feet were left barely touching the ground if I stood on my toes.  But I could only do that for so long before they would slip out from under me, my full weight once again on the stakes tearing my hands apart.  By morning I was delirious from the pain and blood loss.  It was a full month I think before he returned.
And finally I thought enough, when he entered the room I rushed him and beat on him.  All of my anger and fear and despair flowing out in waves.  He just stood there as I flailed away, then suddenly he pushed me away and stalked out of the room.
When he returned he had rope and hogtied me before leaving again.  Next he returned with heavy weights which he placed at the foot of my bed.  He tossed me onto it, untied my feet and retied them to the weights, leaving me spread-eagled on my back.  He exited the room and returned a few minutes later with something in his hands I could not see.  He reached down and took my balls in his hands and the next thing I knew I was in excruciating pain.
He came and looked down on me and said, let me explain what is happening.  I have never had any interest in your penis, so I have placed an elastic band around your scrotum.  Within a day your testicles will die from lack of blood flow.  They will shrivel up and disappear.
He left then, but I hardly noticed.  I was in such pain I could hardly think straight, but one thought ran over and over in my mind.  I was no longer a boy and I would never be a man.  I struggled, but there was nothing I could do.  He had me too tightly tied to do anything but bloody the ropes.  Slowly the pain lessened and a tingling set in.  As I lay there the litany just ran through my head, I would never be a man.
And that is the moment when the last of that little boy’s resistance died.  After suffering month after month and somehow holding onto a piece of myself, he had finally found a way to take it.  I knew I was his now and the next time he gave me a choice I would not resist.
I was broken.