Caught in the widows web

Slogging along

TW: mentions of self harm PTSD and SA please read at your own discretion

Another day came and went in the monotonous gray room. The conform bricks almost laughed at my helpless state on the hard cot. From one prison to another, this kept repeating in my mind and i couldnt help but laugh at the irony of it. I wondered if my little friend in the screen had ever really intended to save me, though i didn't know if she had yet to even meet me; faces flashed across my vision of who she could be but none seemed to quite fit. Thinking of it i hardly even knew her, a mysterious savior can't really be a savior at all now can it? I rolled over staring at the toilet in the corner that was tucked behind a wall of concrete, a blindspot in the camera's field of vision that gave me the only semblance of privacy, humanity, that i could grasp to. Sitting up my bare feet swung on to the cold hard floor and i made my way over to a mirror. Why they allowed something like a mirror in a place such as this was beyond me, perhaps to torture me with my unsightly form. I stepped in front of the glass reflection, pulling at my dreary clothes, probably the nicest i had ever worn. Then i just stared for awhile, i knew i looked crazy but i gazed at myself all the same because it was all i could do to convince myself i was better off than i had been in that house. I watched my scars slowly become noticeable against my now clean skin, their pale white stretching up across my body. I thought of my brother, what were they doing to him while i was stuck in here? I heard no word of him since i'd been shoved in this damn box!

One punch came to slam against the concrete wall by the mirror. I gasped but i did not pull away, smiling at the horrible pain that clawed its way up, lavishing in something familiar. Another one came and broke the skin creating beautiful wonderful red. Bone after bone broken in my hand, shattering pieces piercing out of my skin as my knuckles failed, creating a crumpled mess. The only thing more painful was the feeling of wrongness in my head that pulsed like a heartbeat, i shouldn't hurt myself but i couldnt help it. It felt so good, it felt so horrible that it made me feel content, amazing. Then when i could take no longer, i slammed the opposite hand into the mirror, pieces of glass making fast friends with the floor. A click sounded  among the shattering noises of my bone and glass. I took a shard into my palm, and with a heaving guttural grunt i threw it toward the door with a strength i didnt even know i had.

A yelp sounded and i flipped around to see a flicker of red but not the type of red i was accustomed to...no this was the red of death. The type of red that brought dread to settle into my gut. The type of horrible red that i had grown to hate among many things in this damned place. Her and those piercing green eyes of hers. I had come to know her as agent romanoff and she had been a right pain in my ass since i'd gotten here.

"Well goodmorning to you too". Oh that voice, deep and low with a sort of huskyness that made a feeling of loathing settle in my gut, its warmth spreading up to my cheeks.

"I owe you no grace" i laughed smirkingly, she simply nodded her head in acknowledgement and sat on that same metal chair she always sat on. She put a file down on the sink beside her, flipping it open to collect a document. Then a piece of paper came to rest at my feet, tauntingly.

"You still haven't told me anything".

"What's there to tell?"

Picking up the piece of paper with my right hand, i shivered in pain. I could hear a crunch as i forced my hand around it, ignoring the broken mangled bone. I read it over taking in every word with great eagerness, hoping to distract myself. Then, i cautiously handed it back to her, wincing as she took my hand as well with the document, a finely groomed eye brow almost kissing her hairline. She gave me a look which spoke volumes over words, 'whats this?'. I smiled down at her, ripping my poor hand out of her grasp and ignoring the hate that shot down to my stomache settling into a feeling of anxiety that fluttered against its lining.