𝙰𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 | 𝚃𝚘𝚖 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚡 𝙾𝙲 (𝟷𝟾+)

13 ~ Growing Tired

Ruth Rogers

I don't know how long I've been hunched in the corner that gives me the most warmth in the cold, dark room, but I don't want to leave it. Whenever I try to sleep, they come in, demanding for answers that I just don't have. Each day I feel myself get weaker and weaker, everything Harrison taught me flew out the window as soon as they grabbed me; it left my brain as soon as my heart picked up it's pace.

"Happy two months, Sweetness!" Alan's voice boomed through the empty room that I coward in. I flinch at the loud voice, along with the door that flung open and hit the wall, whimpering quietly as my stomach begged for food and my eyes plead for rest. He strides over to me with a grin on his face; like every greeting. The poorly wrapped wound in my side screams in pain as he hoists me on his broad shoulder, bouncing with every step as I bounce. It hurts- really fucking bad to the point where I can't make a single sound other than an oof  from when I hit the bone on his shoulders.

He struts me to the room; the room with the oddly placed metal chair in the centre, shelf's, metal hangers and treys occupied with many different things. The metal chair wasn't an upgrade from the first chair I had; the wooden seat with tight ropes around my ankles and wrists, but it was warm. This chair, however, had its own leather cuffs of the handles and legs, ready to hold one down. It's cold- no matter how long you sit there, frozen in warm blood, it's still cold to the touch.

Throwing me down into the chair with a huff, he quickly does the cuffs up on my ankles and wrists with a hum of a song. Each day he seems jollier, until he gets to the questions that I still don't fucking know.

"Now, you gonna tell me today? Or has Big Tom really drilled it into your brain that he doesn't want it out?" Alan smirked, his hair falling over his eyes gently. The greys and browns that sit on his head aren't gelled backed as usual- it suits him better if I'm honest with you.

"For the hundredth time- I don't fucking know" I mumble, gasping as he grips my chin to lift my gaze to his. He lets go of my face- just for a second before his palm strikes across the cheek, flinging my head to the side. I groan and splutter at the impact, the pounding only increasing in my brain from the force.

"You're in for it now, Sweet cheeks" He chuckles, leaving the room to get more people to help.

It's the same each fucking day; he wakes me up from my non-existent slumber, hauls me to the chair, asks me a singular question and get's his son to help, along with another guy or two- the was a girl once, the wife I believe. She was beautiful to say the least; long brown hair that went to her ass, slightly wavy but oh-so flowy, honey eyes and pink plumb lips. Perfect curves in her tight dress. I've said this once, and I'll say it again, if they didn't kidnap me and torture me, I'd have a threesome with the wife and husband.

Other than the fact that these insane fuckers were gorgeous, each day I felt myself get weaker and weaker to the point were I Can't even stand to use the squat-toilet in the corner of the metal room I stay in. The bags under my eyes feel like bricks handing off my face, and I'm surprised they aren't hanging off my face to slap my cheek each time I move. The wounds- healed and infected or fresh and warm are excruciating against my flesh and thin material of the poor excuse of a shirt. Dirt, rocks and muck stick in the scabs that grow, or get wedged when they're open and new.

I haven't showered or had a decent meal that wasn't mashed potatoes every second day. I sleep on the floor with a dirty old rag that smells like gasoline- which I don't mind, I quite like that smell; but it's gotten sickening. The pillow I lay my dirty hair on shouldn't even be considered a pillow- it's small, stained and hard. My body cramps all the time from the rolled up shrimp-like position I stick in at night in the freezing cold. Lips permanently tinted blue, like the splotches of bruised lined with purple and yellow. Finger tips red and raw and nails chewed, cuticles bitten back to the point of blood and all I can think about is him.

His face, hair, arms, legs, everything. I'm here because they want to know about him. Him and his job. I don't blame him- far from it actually. Because how could it be his fault? He wouldn't know that these people would come after me, but more so after Harrison or one of his workers, or brothers. But me? It didn't pass his mind once. Every time something or someone hits my head to the side, or makes me cough and splutter out blood and my potatoes- all I think about is him. Him and home, though, the difference between the two is thin.

I wonder if that Spider-Man plush has turned up and if someone opened it or just left it- maybe even left it on my bed, knowing I was coming back. I wish I could've hugged it, just to feel how soft it was before getting dragged her; probably not leaving her alive, or in one piece in the hands of them. This whole situation causes me to giggle. The psychotic sounds bouncing off the walls, back into my ears as I wheeze and cry. Tears cascade down my face, though my laughter never stops as it all hits me in one go- I'm going to fucking die here.

It's funny really- how I thought I'd only be here for a day, maybe two and Tom will get me and be my all-mighty hero with a cape and muscles. But yet, I still sit in this chair, the cold freezing my thighs in the thin layer of shorts that ridden up as I was thrown onto the metallic.

Sometimes, I think that the others aren't even trying to find me- that Tom just forgot since our argument, and I can't help the sob that escapes my lips at the thought. All I've done is deny the thought of me actually loving him, but I can't keep running from it. I'd try to think about home, my bedroom, the others.. But all my mind goes to is him and his dumb handsome face. His dumb voice, stupidly beautiful eyes, and don't even get me started on his hair- oh god, it's so soft.. I could run my fingers through it for hours on end and not get sick of it.

Maybe, if they find me alive, we can go back to the way it was- when we were happy, doing Marvel marathons and talking on end about embarrassing stories of our younger selves. Maybe we'll be more than friends- we might apologies for the words said during our argument and kiss to seal the deal! I don't know, maybe that's a hopeful feeling. But I'm not waiting anymore. I'm just waiting for the day these people come to realise that I'm useless and that they should just kill me.

My head lulls as the doors creak open again, trying to stifle my giggles and sobs. My body shakes as I try to stop my laughter, looking like a maniac in the process.

"Gee, we really did a number on you huh, sweets?" Alan lifts my head, the muscle in his jaw jumping at how innocent I look with my doe eyes.

"I can take a little more" I slur, smiling bashfully at him as the blood falls down my front teeth. He sucks on his, pushing my head around as he looks at me.

"You kinda looking like Harley Quinn.. Smiling, giggling in the worst situations" He cackles, slapping my cheek. I let out a louder giggle, holding my breath to tone it down as I look back up at him.

"I prefer Marvel.. But she's hot" I bat my lashes. He huffs, grabbing a tie from a trey and a needle.. Oh fuck.

"This'll shut you up, don't you say?" He smirks. tying the material around my arm tightly, making me wince and smile. He grabs the syringe, poking it into the small bottle of liquid and filling it up, flicking it lightly to get rid of the bubbles before grasping my arm again.

As he injects the unknown substance, I feel the coolness flow through my body, to my toes and the top of my head as I succumb to the fluid.

"Mmm.. What was that?" I lull my head back, feeling it take over my body entirely. Alan chuckles, taking the tie off my arm roughly, leaving a red burn mark behind.

"The start of something great, sweetness" He caresses my cheek as I feel my vision blur.

"W-What was it?" I try again, shifting in my seat.

"Neuromuscular Agent... Temporary paralysis. You're going to watch us- watch us break you apart, then once it's worn off, it'll be like you've been hit my a fucking bomb" He laughs. I feel the tears slide down my cheeks as I look at him, unable to move or speak as it completely kicked it.

Why'd did I have to read outside?