Heavenly | H.S

68 | The Machine

No perspective.

The high pitched sound of slow, repetitive beating.

The sterile smell.

A white hospital hung from her frame, patterned with tiny blue diamonds. The thin plastic name tag pinned to her chest read, 'Winter,' As if that was going to help her remember who she was.

She lay on a cold metal slab, wrists and ankles locked in thick leather straps that bit into her skin. The restraints were unforgiving, designed to hold someone stronger, someone dangerous. And Winter had fought. It took five of Roman's best men to pin her down. She remembered the way their fingers dug into her arms, the sharp snap of her nails breaking as she clawed and screamed. One of them still clutched his eye when he left the room, blood streaked across his cheek. But five men and a syringe full of sedatives later, here she was.

A final strap circled her throat, This one was a little looser, so that as she thrashed around and her body fought for her to escape, she didn't choke herself to death. Her pulse throbbed against the leather, a fragile heartbeat beneath layers of terror.

The sound of the monitor ticked on, measuring the rhythm of her heart, slowed by the drug. She wanted to tear it out, to drown in silence rather than be haunted by that relentless sound.

Two figures moved around the table. Doctors. They weren't real doctors of course. Their gloved hands moved with calm precision, setting out instruments that were there to hurt her. Real doctors save people. These men were here to destroy her. To rot her from the inside out.

And sitting in the corner of the room, lurking like a predator—Roman. The man in command.

Winter returned from her job having not completed it. Roman wasn't surprised. He hadn't expected her to hurt Harry, of course she wouldn't. Winter was loyal. Especially to the man that might have saved her. Roman had only wanted to see how far he could push her, if she was really devoted to him, or if she was still the weak, scared girl he thought she was.

Roman knew exactly how to make her stronger.

And he had to break her first.

"Please. I'm sorry." Winter's voice was weak, shallow. Filled with nothing but terror. Nobody was coming to save her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please."

Nobody answered.

From the cold metal beneath her, Winter could only glimpse flashes of movement. Wires snaking across the floor. The hum of machines warming up. The clink of metal tools against trays. This had happened in a dream before, maybe she hadn't made those machines up. As a tear slipped from her eye, running down her cheek to drip onto the metal she lay on, Winter pleaded to any higher power that could hear her to let her out. She didn't know how many more times she could go through this and make it out alive.

A tear slipped down her cheek, pooling in the hollow of her throat. She begged whatever force would listen to let her out. But she already knew the truth.

No one was coming.

"No, no, no." she begged, silently, her voice shaking, thick with fear. "I'll be better. Please, I'm sorry." Despite the restraint around her neck, she shook her head from side to side. The pleading breaths escaped her. "I can't take it. I can't do it. I'm sorry." A broken sob escaped from her lips, a sound she choked on. "Please don't."

Roman stirred, the sound of his boots dragging along the floor echoed around the sterile room as he stalked towards her, slowly. He stopped at the foot of the table, towering over her trembling body. He hummed, a sound that could almost be mistaken for a sweet lullaby. Except it was the sound of sick satisfaction. Seeing his greatest creation in the palm of his hands, exactly where he wanted her to be. He knew the more that she broke, the stronger she would get.