My chest heaves, vision becoming clearer and clearer, only to realize I'm still in the same freezing, vacant room, the metallic stench filling my nostrils.
My hair is matted from blood in the back of my head, throat scratchy and limbs aching. I hear my breaths, watch the humidity of them fog space in front of me from the temperature of this room, each one a labored sigh, working to get the burning in my lungs to calm, even just a little bit.
The door creaks open, a scrawny guard yet with what I've found to unfortunately be undeniable strength, as the bruises on my neck prove, from when he oh-so-kindly shoved a needle back into my arm when I woke up for the first time, I suppose because the second I saw him I shoved my knee right into his crotch.
He places porridge on a plastic tray with a flimsy spoon next to the bowl, a few feet to my side, guess his ego has been deflated ever since his balls endured a certain kicking, not so confident in fighting me anymore.
Sure enough, he warily creeps over to my left arm, sinking the syringe into it, a weakening drug I'm sure. He moves back and looks at me for five minutes or so, my muscles becoming even weaker, breaths becoming less frequent.
Seeming reassured that I won't attack him again, he, still cautiously but less so then before, walks to my other side and crouches down, unshackling the handcuff, a deep red circular imprint around my wrist. He shuffles out of the room, closing the door and leaving me to awkwardly scoop the oatmeal, prodding at the quickly cooling dish.
I bring it to my lips, sucking it up and taking the dreaded bite. Not even twenty four hours ago, I was eating comparitively much better now oatmeal, much less... sour.
I shuffle to the right, scooting on the concrete as it scrapes some exposed back, a rip on the back of my shirt.
I pick up the bowl, awkwardly holding it with the spoon tucked into the inner crevice of my thumb, and place it in between my stretched out thighs, much needed warmth. I cradle it in between my inner thighs, using my free hand to shovel spoonfuls into my mouth, I figure I should just get it over with.
What a sad fucking sight.
I swear today, yesterday, I was the happiest girl on planet Earth. Now... now I'm confused and wounded in God knows how many places.
I know something is off, I would be an idiot not too, the fact that Luca's guards worked against us, or me— I don't know at this point —is not lost on me.
The same God storms back in, a harsh jolt from my thoughts. He has a more serious look on his face as he looks down at me, quickly removing the food from my lap, placing it next to me before working on my wrist, placing it back in the cuffs.
He back-walks to stand close to my feet, socks on them that are one of the very few things that keep me from getting complete frost-bite. Two others come in, along with the wonderful Clementine behind them.
Clementine stand off to the side, huddling herself in a corner as she watches, eyes narrowed my way, and I don't, nor haven't, have time to wallow in the fact that the one of the very few trusted friends I have, has not only left, but completely betrayed me.
One of the men crack Shia knuckles, wringing them out right in front of my face in some obnoxious display of his strength, bringing my attention to him from the dramatically loud sound. The middle one rolls his shoulders back, I recognize him as the incredibly large man that pinned me against the wall, Clementine's... friend, it would seem.
"Boss wants us to ask a few questions." He states, lisping a little bit from his much too large gold tooth, I have to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of it when he says "Bawth".
