Homocide Fifty || DNF

20. Heartless

George wakes up with a throbbing headache. The left side of his face feels as if it's going to fall off. It burns so badly.

Half-lidded eyes scan the room, slowly coming to his senses. His whole body aches. He's sat in a dim room, the only source of light being a small light bulb in the ceiling. The floor is concrete as well as the walls. it smells, but George can't decipher exactly what it smells like.

He looks at his hands. They're surprisingly clean given the circumstances he's in.

He coughs a couple of times, feeling sick in his surroundings. God he's stupid. He could've gotten the documents later. Another day, where Punz would be securely locked up. With no worry.

But now, the only thing he can think about is the proof.

His  hand reaches down his pockets. A wave of relief washes over him when he feels the paper in his pocket.

His body is slouched against the wall like he's been sleeping for hours upon hours. It's not even that uncomfortable, his body has adjusted to the odd position. He yawns.

Where is he? He sighs, readjusting his posture. He can't deal with this right now.

He can't. This is definitely a weakness of his. Being alone with his own thoughts. He tries his best to ignore them, standing up and inspecting the room. There's a small window but George can't figure out what's on the other side because it's completely dark outside. And it's raining.

He checks his other pocket, searching for his phone. It's not there. Of course it's not. Okay. Breathe.

Just breathe.

But he can't breathe when all he can think about is the fact that he's disappointed his friends. His plan didn't work.

In and out, he repeats in his head.

He's always had this thing with failure. It's like it's haunting him, and right now, nothing is preventing the thoughts from coming.

He usually distracts himself with work. Or with friends.

Suddenly he hears commotion coming from outside the door he's yet to look at. He instinctively reaches for his gun, but it isn't in his holster. It's gone.

His gun is gone. Another reason to be worried. He breathes heavily.

"Is this Davidson?" An unfamiliar, muffled voice asks outside of the door.

"Yep," a man says, sounding proud.

A few more muffled voices can be heard before George hears the door unlock. The door squeaks heavily when it creaks open, him wincing at the eerie sound.

A man in a suit with a completely black mask on walks towards him. He's got soup in his hand. George looks at the man and then he diverts his gaze to the rain outside.

The droplets are louder than normal. It feels as if he's underground, or just in a really isolated place.

"Soup," the man simply says, handing George the red-orange soup. It's got a few clumps in it, and even though George realises he's hungry just looking at it, he hesitates.

"Take it," the man says, voice muffled and face unreadable because of the stern and emotionless voice.

George takes the soup quietly, observing the man in front of him. "Who are you?" He asks.

The man looks at the ground. He looks ashamed.

He walks towards the door, swinging the keys around his finger before muttering "enjoy," and then he closes the door. George listens to him lock the door.