𝐀𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐌

chapter Seventeen

You found sleep an easy solace to obtain. Your body has now become so naturally heavy, as though weighed down by the thick bubbling sludge-like blood within you, that your body adhered to the table.

Even if the binds weren't nearly as tight as one would imagine, you still didn't bother trying to escape.

Where would you go? You're just about cursed, death doesn't look over you, you are death. You'd even wondered if fatality would even affect you anymore. Would you even realize you were dying?

You almost lulled off to sleep with these morbid thoughts, or would be morbid if it weren't for your apathetic illness, but the sound of approaching wheels made you open your eyes.

At the end of the bed stood River, his computer atop his wheeled table standing there. He stood with his usual confidence, one leg loosed as though already tired before he'd even started.

River’s eyes, as usual, seemed to glow and peer right through your soul. Of course, your soul welcomed the invasion. To this man, you've worthwhile to hide.

“Creepy. You sleep like a corpse,” River spoke disinterested and walked to your side, “…but well.” he’d waved his hand in a lazy gesture at your laying form.

It made you wonder what he'd seen from his perspective. A blackened sleeping body, unmoving, opening its sullen reflective eyes in silence, as though they'd never been closed at all.

You couldn't help but recall the first zombie you'd ever seen. Huddled beneath a bush, staring at you with dead still eyes.

You’d shudder, but your body would refuse to.

“Anything new? Sensations, strange sounds, tastes?” River asked passively.

“No.” You answered robotically, your voice not fluctuating. You sort of wanted to ask what sort of strange sounds you should be looking out for, but it occurred to you that the sounds could pertain to your rotting process.

For example, the sound of your brain squishing in, collapsing.

You wanted to be scared, but your body didn't seem to pay any mind. Your mouth couldn't even frown.

It's not like you're limp. You can move and use your senses just fine. It's just that, for some reason, you feel empty. Not like a void, but like a wall. Like you're solidified in a heavy concrete wall.

River took a crude elegant hand to your stomach, pressing down. Your stomach sunk in, empty, and any fat you had just got smashed down effortlessly as well.

“You don’t seem to be rotting, so you needn't worry about that. You do need to eat.” River confirmed briefly.

Frankly, with how your stomach was pushed around so effortlessly, you sort of wondered if his assessment were wrong.

“I can’t start on my experiments without making sure you can heal properly, so it's best if you don’t put up a fight.” River proceeded on, bending down to rummage around beneath his computer table.

You didn't find it in you to respond.

You expected an IV, or some kind of similar general nutritional fluid, but instead River pulled out a flask. He opened it and peered inside, narrowing his eyes.

With what you initially perceived as an unnecessary amount of force, River walked behind your head and put you into what you could only think of as a head lock with his hand gripping your jaw.

River shook the container a bit, swirling the thick sounding liquid, before bringing it to your face which now expressed slight concern. Would drinking this hurt? Who would it hurt? What even is it?