Taken

Chapter nine

I want to draw away, but I can't even turn my head. I want to shiver, but I can't even twitch. My vision is still blurry so I take a few more deep breaths.

I stare at the man and he stares at me. It's almost like we're having a contest to see who can stay silent the longest, and I don't intend to lose.

In the near-silence I become aware of a tricking. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a clock.

The man and I continue to stare at each other, silent and unblinking, as the minute hand circles the clock once.

My eyes should probably be dried out and painful, but I feel nothing.

The minute hand circles the clock again.

Doesn't the man have anything better to do?

The minute hand circles the clock again. Minute after minute passes where neither the man nor I move, make noise or blink. Another minute passes and then another and another. I half wonder if this will go in forever.

There's a loud click. The man jumps, and I catch him blink as he does so. Sweet, Sweet victory. A small light in this world of pain. The aliens may be stronger and faster, but I have them beat in patience and perseverance.

I allow myself the barest hint of a smile, then strain my eyes trying to see what caused the click.

I can't see because I can't turn my head with the stupid full body cast.

It really sucks not being able to move, one of those murderous pink creatures could be in the doorway and I wouldn't even know it. At least the man is in my view.

The man clears his throat, "Your actions are concerning. Perhaps your mental health should be evaluated?"

I stare up at him, anger and confusion warring instead me. My mental health is fine, thank you every much. The fact that I've been kidnapped makes me think that everyone involved needs a mental evaluation, and probably an extended stay in a mental hospital. Like, what did they expect me to do? Go along with being kidnapped?

"You can't be serious."

The man's brows knit together, "I am most certainly serious."

"Well, what did you expect me to do when you kidnapped me? Sit around like a perfect little doll?"

The man's face reddens, and I worry that I've said the wrong thing. I realize that I really shouldn't be antagonizing these people. One lost temper and I could end up like one of those cute flying monsters that tried to eat me earlier. These aliens that have kidnapped me could squash me like a bug, and they don't even seem to realize it.

"You must heal before being presented to the council. I must make certain that you do not injure yourself again."

Presented? That makes it sound like I'm some sort of show or spectacle. Disgusting. My face heats, and all I can think of is how to spite this man. Reason flies out the window, and I force my legs to bend. It excruciating, and a scream tears out of my throat, but seeing the man's horrified face makes it completely worth it. He runs from the room.

My anger dissipates, and I become aware of two things. First, I'm an idiot and will probably end up dead. Second, this freaking hurts. I think my legs are broken in about a million places, and I just jiggled all those shards around.

Also, aren't casts supposed to not bend? For a bunch of obsurdly strong aliens they have pathetic casts.

The man reenters the room, a lab coat wearing woman trailing behind him. She catches sight of my legs and gasps. She turns to the man, and says something in the Alien's language. The man nods.

"You need calm." The woman's words are clipped and uncertain.

I weight her words. What exactly does she mean by that? She moves closer, and I catch sight of her bag. She opens it up, and starts laying it's contents beside me. There's needles, and tubes, and vials. This is bad.

"Get away from me!" I don't mean to shout, but I'm panicking a little. I've never liked needles, and these ones are big.

The woman flinches and looks up at me, "Relax." She point at her equipment "For relax."

I shake my head, "No, no relax." She seems to know that word pretty well, so she'd better understand me.

She pauses for a moment, "Say...say need relax..." She turns to the man. He steps forward.

"Word of your exploits made to the council. They've ordered that preventative measures be taken for the duration of your recovery."

I get a sick feeling in my stomach. I can imagine all sorts of things that could be preventative measures. Maybe they'll put me in a strait jacket, or lock me in a padded room.

I take a deep breath and try to be calm and rational. Anger got me into this mess, and it's not going to get me out. I'm formulating my words when the woman grabs hold of my head. She's holding a needle, poised to strike.

"Relax." She says again.

I don't even have a chance to protest before she pushes the needle into my forehead. Pain radiates through my skull.

The man clears his throat, "The forehead is a bit unconventional, but its the best option considering that the rest of you is encased in a cast. Besides, any medication inserted through the IV that was just placed will spread quickly, meaning you'll no longer be in any danger from your mental instability."

The woman tapes the IV in place. She begins drawing up a dose of a bright magenta liquid. I could be wrong, but anything that color really shouldn't be in the human body.

I'm really panicking. My heart is trying to cartwheel out of my chest, and my stomach is on the verge of turning inside out.

"This really isn't necessary."

The woman injects the magenta liquid into my IV. My face relaxes against my will, and the rest of my body quickly follows. After a moment none of my muscles are responding, I can't move at all. I'm panicking, and I panick even more when I remember that stuff like this normally stops the lungs and heart too. I check in on my breathing and beating, and all seems to be normal.

Ok...that at least is good.

The woman leads over me and prods my face, "pack boxes?" She asks.

The man steps in, "She's asking if you're able to move."

I glare at the man. It makes me realize that I still have control of my mouth and eyelids. Weird. I'm pretty sure that's not how this sort of thing works.

I turn my attention back to the man and debate how to respond. "Well, I'm not doing cartwheels, am I?"

"No, you're not, but I don't see how that relates to our current discussion."

I glare at the man and refuse to give him the satisfaction of a serious answer. Whatever happens, whatever I'm put through, I refuse to become their complacent little puppet.