Straddle

4. The Awakening

I wake with a siring pain throughout my whole body. 

I feel paralyzed as I look up to see a dim light illuminating above my head in the form of a light bulb. The room is dark, the bulb and the moonlight being my only source of light. I release a jagged breath, causing a numbing pain to surge throughout my body from my side.

I feel breathless as my body switches into a stage of shock. My mother's voice rings in my ear.

"No matter what," she says, "always survive." "And if you can't," she sighs, "don't let them get what they want"

I scan the room instinctively, and spot a small blinking light that is well hidden, but not well enough. It seems to be a camera. I tilt my head at it, staring at it. Blinking, I sigh, averting my eyes from the small motionless light, that are the eyes of my captors. 

I look a at my arm which has a deep cut upon it. Ripping a piece of my shirt, I take the ripped fabric and wrap it around the gash.

I stare at my wound, trying to remember how I obtained it, but to no avail.

Must have hit my head pretty hard.

Huffing, I bring my head up and curl my knees up into a sitting, fetal position. I look straight ahead at a blocked corner of the room which I assume is the bathroom. 

God, I think to myself, I hope I never have to resort to using that. I continue to stare in disgust, shuddering. I know I'm a wimp.

There's something knocking on me on the back of the head.

They will kill you.

I ignore it. I concentrate on my steady breathing. I try to recall the patterns in time, and other events but I draw I blank, still unsure what the time is. Or what day it is. I pray I've only been here a little while, but my heavy, weak body with a completely empty stomach supposes otherwise. 

Wait a minute, where exactly is here.

The institution located in a hidden part of southern California is a closed off area, with a small cottage seeming to be unused for decades. This is not a cottage of any sort. I don't even remember a means of transportation. I groan at my useless memory. 

All I remember is attempting to put up a fight with a grown man named, David? Zach? I choose David; he looked like a David, my mind decides.

Aggravated with myself, I get up, struggling a bit, and start technically doing drills. 

I bring my fists into a proper left hook, the right, the left, then right, jab, jab, trying to recollect my mind which by the way feel like it has been shattered into millions of little pieces. I look up to find the small light, but it has disappeared, indicating that I am no longer being watch. A sigh of relief I didn't know I was holding escapes my mouth.

That relief does not last long as I hear footsteps, 2 pairs of feet to be precise. They approach quickly. I go back to my curled up position, remembering my training. I hear 2 voices, one sounding younger than the other with a fond voice, the other older, with a rough voice. I sit down again, silently.

Show no emotion. Do not crack.

I hear the unlocking of the metal door, creaking as it is jarred. The man, whom I presumed is named David as I reflect the rebel encounter, comes in holding something in his hands. 

His eyes flicker from the person outside the door to me; he closes the door. My face is blank, as my eyes stare intently into his. As he moves closer, I get a clearer view of him, and scan him like a robot.