Alleyway Torture

Again and again the rough hands shoved her head forwards. Her face was numb but her eyes stung as the icy, salt water hit her, cascading down her drenched shirt as she was pulled to the surface. She no longer shivered, nor felt the scars searing her skin; they were past hurting but her whole body ached. Remembered and real pain were one.
Though her eyes were sealed closed, she knew there were two barrels and noone to hear her scream. Time blurred as hot water and cold water blistered her skin and softened the lacerations across her skin, tearing them open. They bled heavily, mixing water and blood in a foul concoction. Her lips burst too, spilling blood down her chin and across her face. She coughed, her clogged nose ripping and ending the vile chain reaction.
She gasped as the blood flowed down her throat, bile rising to meet it on its way down. The man slowed his rhythm as she retched and swore in a tongue she did not know. She growled back, copying the strange sounds so foreign to her before lurching forward and emptying the last of her food onto the concrete. The man laughed as she blinked at him in the dark.
He muttered something in her language, but his accent was thick and his arms moved to her stomach, forcing her to retch again. She emptied her stomach of bile too many times to count, until she could barely move. The man just laughed. She felt him lift her and set her down on a sterile bench, but noone came to heal her. The crack of the whip as it arched toward her was all the warning she received, a day later, that he was back.
A knife drew patterns up and down her arm and dangerously close to her eyes. The blood crusted on the lashes, sealing them closed, but the pain never ceased. Once a day stale bread was forced down her throat, and a cup of water was sloshed after it. It was all the kindness she received.

She ceased.