He tried to stifle his groan as the wound opened a little more, the warm blood on his skin offering a stark contrast to the sheer agony of it all.
"Fuck you," he seethed.
He was strapped to a hospital bed, not able to lift any part of his body more than a centimeter. The wipe against his arm made him stiffen, his suspicions confirmed once the needle came into sight.
He pulled against the restraints though he knew there wasn't any use.
"Please-" he tried.
Undeterred, the needle went into his arm and immediately his blood felt as if it were boiling. He wanted to claw his skin off as if it would help ease the pain. The woman standing over him began to collect the blood seeping from the cut she had made across his stomach.
In an attempt to block out the pain he pushed his body further into the bed, a small cry emerging from his clamped mouth. The yellowish lights suddenly brightened to a sickening white, the glare making his head pound. Sweat beaded his forehead.
Once again a weak beg for mercy escaped his lips, this one softer and a little more slurred. Everything around him blackened.
When his eyes opened again, they were bloodshot. They danced around the room, eyeing up every little thing that could possibly be used to subject him to more torture at any given moment. Eventually his eyes met the woman in the lab coat again, who was sitting beside his bed with a pen and a clipboard.
There was no small talk.
"Do you know where you are?"
"A hospital." He didn't recognize his own lifeless voice.
"Where is this hospital located?"
"Somewhere in Massachusetts."
"Can you get any more specific?"
He shook his head, and she made a note on the paper.
"What's your name?"
He paused and pressed his lips together. "Winston."
"Last name?"
His pause lengthened, and the woman took it as he didn't know.
"Why are you here Winston?"
"I don't fucking know-" he said through gritted teeth. His head began to throb.
"Okay. What are you feeling right now?"
"I'm pissed off cuz for some god forsaken reason you are still talking to me."
She ignored his tone and pressed on. "What are your physical symptoms?"
"My head hurts." Winston stared blankly ahead at the ceiling.
He felt her cold fingers press against his neck.
"Heart rate is elevated," she stated.
"Wow. Any more fun facts?"
"Watch yourself." She warned.
Winston swallowed and continued to stare up at the ceiling, his eyes and lungs burning with every passing second. He wished he was dead. No one was coming for him, so death had to be better than the torture he was subjected to.
"Do you remember how you felt when I gave you the treatment earlier?"
"Sure."
"Rate the pain you felt then on a scale of 1-10."
"Uhm, seven, I guess."
"And now?"
He took a shaky breath. "Four."
She stood up briskly and went over to the counter. Winston heard the sound of a sink running, then the latex gloves sliding over her hands, and the opening of a drawer.
"I'm going to give you the second dose, and I'll need you to rate your pain one final time before you pass out again."
"Lovely."
His muscles tensed up upon feeling the wipe against his arm.
"One...two..." She pushed the needle into him. "And three."
Immediately he felt the same burning sensation in his veins as he had the first time round. He clenched his jaw and tried to focus on breathing. The brightness of the room amplified.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"We're trying to cure you Winston."
"No you're not," he clenched his fists by his side as his muscles tightened like they were ready to snap at any moment. "You're trying to kill me."
His body began to feel like lead against the thin mattress, and a loud ringing pursued in his ears. He groaned and shut his eyes as tight as he could manage.
"Give me a number."
"One, you asshole."
His eyes rolled to the back of his head and once again, the room went black.
A groan escaped his lips the moment his eyes opened, immediately shutting them again to block out the light and the ringing.
"We brought you a visitor today."
He furrowed his eyebrows but said nothing, not sure of who it could be.
The door opened and a chair scratched against the floor alongside where he lay.
"Hey Winston."
He opened his eyes. Then he blinked, unsure what to say. Was this real?
"Darren? I-I thought you were..." He tried to sit up, desperately wanting to embrace his friend but to no avail.
"So did I," he drawled out.
"Darren." Winston took a breath before beginning. He tugged on the restraints. "You've gotta get me outta here man, they're trying to kill me. Please. They've been injecting shit into me for weeks. I-I can't be here any more." He looked around the room to confirm they were alone and lowered his voice. "Will you help me?"
Darren's eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes had a vacant look as if he was staring at something beyond Winston. "They're trying to help cure you, can't you see that?"
He was taken aback, and suddenly he was made aware of how much the room was spinning. "Cure me of what?" He cried.
"From your hallucinations. You've hurt a lot of people because of them. You hurt me."
Winston shook his head. "I-I don't hallucinate. I've never hallucinated. What did I do to you? Who did I hurt?"
Darren remained quiet, and with every passing second Winston grew more and more angry.
"Who the fuck did I hurt Darren?" The ringing in his ears returned, his body burning. He yelled again and again, each time his voice getting louder. "Who did I hurt? Who did I hurt?"
He closed his eyes and slammed his head against the bed. The anger drained out of him and in its place flooded absolute despair. "Who did I hurt?" He whimpered.
When he opened his eyes a tear slid down his face, and Darren was nowhere to be seen. He openly sobbed, wishing that he'd somehow be able to piece together the story in his mind, but he wasn't even sure what of it was real.
