[ The mocking voice in the back of her mind whispers things to her; like how ironic this is, the way the position are inverted. Maybe how she should put a gun to her back and shoot, like in the simulation (not just a simulation, the pain felt real, the touches, sounds, smells-- everything felt real and made her doubt and wore her down. She could withstand pain, but she was only human. And after the shock it was, from the cuff being turned off, sometimes she finds herself flickering her eyes to it, to see if the light is still there, like an anxious weight in her chest, like they could do it again and she hates that she reminds it so well and how much it had hurt, how much it had shown the power the CDC has over them, their property).
There's a fraction of a second where her strength falters and the grip loosens, but it's only in the blink of an eye. Parker grits her teeth and takes the free hand to punch her in the kidney, hard to leave that soaring pain ringing to her body. Once, twice, and again. Almost to the point where the grip around her throat doesn't matter. She doesn't care. Like Shepard is some kind of punching bag for her to let go of her anger.
Each hit makes her want to shout, "Hit me. Hit me. Stop defending and hit me." But she doesn't. She can't. Can't justify it. Doesn't want to. ]
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There's a fraction of a second where her strength falters and the grip loosens, but it's only in the blink of an eye. Parker grits her teeth and takes the free hand to punch her in the kidney, hard to leave that soaring pain ringing to her body. Once, twice, and again. Almost to the point where the grip around her throat doesn't matter. She doesn't care. Like Shepard is some kind of punching bag for her to let go of her anger.
Each hit makes her want to shout, "Hit me. Hit me. Stop defending and hit me." But she doesn't. She can't. Can't justify it. Doesn't want to. ]