PURITY

𝙒𝙚𝙖𝙠

Joey's pov

An overwhelming pulsing behind my eyes wakes me up from my sleep. I look around the small bathroom in a daze, the lights are off and I'm freed from the ropes that bound me. There's half dry rags on my wrists and ankles that I shuffle off of me. A harsh burning is all I can feel as soon as I push them off and I wince in pain. I roll my ankles and wrists trying to bring some circulation to the burning skin.

There's a bag of what I only assume was once ice that rests on my forehead. I push that off as well and sit up slowly. Dizziness and nausea overtakes me almost instantly and I lean over the toilet, emptying my stomach. Well what was left inside... Tears stream down my face as I do so and the heaving isn't helping my head at all. It seems like my body wants to get rid of my organs as well as the food I've had. I stay hunched over the toilet for a good three minutes, hoping that everything has finally come up.

I stand slowly, relying heavily on the counter to do so. My whole body is a shaking mess as I stand. I take in my appearance in the square mirror. I'm a wreck. A total fucking wreck. My hair is greasy and hangs in my face, My clothes are stained with sweat, throw up, and quite obviously blood. I'm so pale that I could pass as a ghost, there's multiple bright red lumps on my forehead, sweat and tears are obvious on my face, and my wrists are a nice black and blue. I stand there for a moment, looking myself over. Oh death just take me now...

I groan in pain as I begin to stumble over to the bed. I don't think I can stand for all that long since my ankles are jacked up. I sit down and look around the average sized room for a way out of this hellhole. There's a window but I already know I wouldn't make it that way. Normally it would be no issue to sneak out a window, but obviously these aren't normal circumstances...

I can't even choose what to think right now, my body is in too much pain to care about what my mind is thinking. I don't even think I'm thinking at all... There's just a constant pulse of pain. I could just lay down on this bed, curl up and choose to never wake up. Maybe starvation will get me before anything else. Wishful thinking in my case. I decide against that idea rather quickly.

So in hopes to find anyone besides the asshole who took me here, I hobble out of the bedroom and down the stairs, practically falling twice in my efforts. Thank god for railings that's all I have to say.

There's chatter coming from what I can only assume is the living room. And where there's talking, there's people. Plural. There may be some hope left.

I limp into the doorway, immediately catching everyone's attention.

There's eight of them sitting around on the couches and chairs. They all seem to be at a loss for words besides one. He sits with a smile as he watches me, he's the ass who hit me with a damn baseball bat. Each one of them looks me up and down in shock. I know I look like shit but maybe they could make it a bit less obvious.

"Jesus Shawn!" The tallest one snaps at the one who knocked me out. He stands up, ready to walk over to me.

"Sit down Jim. He's fine." Shawn says lazily from a large leather recliner in the corner. "C'mere kid." He motions for me to come to him. I don't dare move any closer to him. I don't even know how much longer I can stand, let alone walk. "I don't bite Joey. Come over here." He smiles.

I feel a sudden surge of anger, he shouldn't know my name. He shouldn't have taken me here. He shouldn't have hit me and tied me up. "You don't bite but you sure as hell swing a bat." I growl, my voice hoarse from not using it.

Some of the guys chuckle at that.

I shoot them glares and they all shut up quickly. "I want to go home. And you'll be taking me." I point to the tall man who Shawn labeled as Jim.

More chuckles arise from the men. Jim shakes his head slowly, looking down at his lap.

"You see Joey, I can't let you go. You're going to be staying here awhile and don't try to run because I don't think your ankles will let you get very far." He points to my shaking legs, "you'd just be hurting yourself rather than helping yourself." He comments.

I feel as if my legs are about to give out. The pain is so overwhelming. I give no response, I really don't have much of a choice but that sure as hell doesn't mean I'll make it easy on them. Almost as if on queue, my legs give out on me. I fall to my knees with a yelp, hunching over in excruciating pain. Thank god my stringy hair is long enough to cover my face as my tears fall. Two of the guys rush over and help me up. The taller one, Jim, carries me in his arms to the kitchen, sitting me down in one of the chairs.

"Can you move your legs?" He questions as he squats down to look at my legs.

I nod silently, moving my legs slightly despite the shooting pain.

"I'm going to put your legs up, we'll get some more ice on your ankles, and hopefully the pain will dull." He mumbles and rummages through the freezer, putting a few ice cubes in two plastic bags and wrapping each in a red dish towel, one for each ankle. He presses them softly to my ankles, I whimper in pain. I don't think I've ever been hurt this badly in my life. And I feel as if It's only going to get worse from here...

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Written by j0eYj0rdis0n
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