By the time the second lash connects, he's got enough air in his lungs. Crying out, his muscles burning with tension as he fights his urge to flee, Shinjirou makes no attempt to swallow down the pain and rage he's felt the entire day. It spills out as screams and gasps, leaving the sensation of a knife being shoved down his throat behind.

"I, I'm not sure?" His voice is raw, just like his back, or so he imagines. It certainly feels like skin's tearing. The third time, his scream pitches high enough to let an echo of it ring through his head, ears pulsating. His chest heaves, and for a second he isn't sure that up is still up and down still down.

Once the world has stopped turning, he whimpers, "To help me."