The Vortex: Rectification

Chapter Two.

Chapter Forty-Two.

Everything feels fuzzy, more disorientated than Dracius' normal fun where me and torture are concerned. Every piece of me feels elongated, locked in place by an invisible clamp as my entire body is wracked with tremors. I don't know if it was the screaming or the pressure in my lungs that has robbed my ability to breathe from me, but the renewed sense of agony that spreads through my already battered right side is like being doused in cold water and then lit on fire.

The pleading for a safe place, as it kept whirring around my head and the only barrier between me and them breaking my mind completely fades away. My ability to hold onto any rationality might never come back to me, not when my body feels numb, and I can feel the cold of the concrete against me.

I thought that they would kill me, that the rectification for it being the day of my birth would finally take me out, but despite my years of theorising I can still hear the loud, rapid beat of my heart as it echoes through me. I feel hollow, absent and empty as the sharp ringing in my ears slows and all I can hear is my heavy pants, the wheezing of each inhale and the loud blaring of alarms somewhere in the distance.

Vaguely I can recognise my own relief at knowing they won't continue to focus on me if any part of their large and extravagant home is under attack. I never saw it, nothing but my own little hallway and cell graced my eyes since the moment I arrived.

It's hard to work out whether it's the block in my hearing that doesn't clue me in to them leaving, I know, despite the lingering zaps of pain down my veins that they no longer have their wands on me. I have time, I wasn't born until close to midnight so maybe leaving me here to die slowly is the real punishment. Penance for the pain and lies I have told and caused.

I wiggle my fingers, the arm under my body crushed and vaguely familiar to two times I have found myself trapped before. The subconsciously deep breath I take before trying to slide myself off of the arm has me screaming through my teeth, dust catching in my throat and a violent string of coughing to follow.

All the progress I made of turning off of my arm is lost, saliva and blood catch at the back of my throat until I am forced to push my broken body back to the side.

It's the muted sound of yelling that has me attempting to peel damp eyes open, a brief pause in coughing as my body battles for oxygen wins out. It seems so far away, but I have never been able to hear the people outside the basement before.

The sting of light flooding my eyes feels like a walk in the park when compared to everything else rushing through my body in this moment. Despite the bruises my left arm, it doesn't face nearly the same treatment as my right which means as I push my hair away from my face trying to save myself from the blood splattered down my cheek and the hair in my eyes.

Desperation rains down on me as that muted kind of murmuring that I could hear is now beginning to get louder, my ears feel no closer to popping than they had before and that can only mean one thing. People are coming for me; and I gave up hope that it would be good people a long time ago.

The smallest sense of familiarity settles somewhere within the chaos in my chest, dark wooden flooring and crème coloured wallpaper with little flower details line the room. I can see the scuffed white table legs mere feet from me, the image of... landing on that isn't lost on me.

Until the change in scenery really dawns on me, tired and sore eyes flicker down to my limp arm and for the first time since the dizzying feeling has faded. It feels like the for the first time in longer than I can remember that tingling in my veins isn't present and buried under everything else. There are red gashes, old and fresh bruises up and down my pale skin but the dark gleam of the potion no longer sits there also.