𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 || 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

8 - 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐝

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(y/n)'s POV
"Kill him," he whispered in my ear from where he stood behind me, his tall, threatening figure towering over me.

My hand shook uncontrollably as I aimed directly at the man's forhead. The man pleaded, begging for his life. He screamed out the names of his family, hoping they would bring hesitation into my mind. Yet all I could think about, all I feared, was the thought of what father will do if I don't pull the trigger.

"Kill him now, (y/n). He betrayed us, and he will only continue to do so for as long as he breathed. You're not doing anything wrong, bad people deserves to die." Father continued whispering in my ear, his hands planted on my shoulders. "Pull the trigger, my little lioness." He ordered for the last time before I finally moved my finger the last inch, a loud bang echoing throughout the alleyway, my father's now ex co-worker collapsing limply onto the ground, his eyes wide and lifeless as a final tear rolled down his blood splattered cheeks.

I jolted up in my bed, my gaze darting around the room as beads of sweat rolled down my face. Just another nightmare. I laid back down with a sigh, already knowing Tennon has heard everything. "How long?" I asked, loud enough for him to hear from where he stood outside my cell.

"You tossed and rolled for approximently five minutes, a few whimpers here and there." He spoke up, walking in front of the bars so we could see each other. "So, was this another wet dream or another nightmare?" He asked with crossed arms, his expression somewhat amused.

"A wet dream?" I scoffed, "I could only hope to recieve one of those instead." I muttered, sitting up in my creaky bed, leaning my back against the hard wall. I saw his mouth open as he was clearly going to speak again, though I felt pretty done with this topic. "How is everything going after the riot?" I asked before he could dig any deeper.

"Well, there was a total of eighty-four deaths, inmates and employees included. The clean up teams are working hard to fix what was broken and remove every drop of blood that remains." He shared the information that he's not really supposed to share.

"Good luck with that, the floors were practically painted red." I sighed, closing my eyes while leaning my head back against the wall. Even melatonin doesn't help me sleep better. These damn nightmares are what's breaking me, not this cell, not this asylum, just my memories coming back to haunt me.

"You'll have a visitor in around half an hour, thought you should know." He said, suddenly feeling the need to share yet another thing he's not supposed to. "A psychologist." He added.

"Tell her it's not going to happen." I uttered, annoyed he would even agree to let another psychologist try to convince me their sessions would be good for me. I see therapy sessions as a way of torture, call me dramatic, but nothing can or will change my mind. I have no interest of reliving my life in a small room with a nosy stranger.

"First of all, it's not a she this time, and he's quite young, around your age, actually." He revealed, and it would be lying to say that didn't spike my interest just a little.

"He's still bearing the same intensions. We've been through this, already, Tennon. I am nothing more but a task to them, a broken object they need to fix in order to get paid and feed their petty families." I explained, again. It seems like my cellguard has been having a hard time absorbing my words lately.