HE'S MINE → JASON MCCANN

00:06

A/N: Lets just pretend it didn't take me over a month to upload this chapter. 🙃

I'm posting chapter seven soon. I wanted to post both 6&7 together, but I know how bad you guys want an update. Soooo here you go. Hopefully you guys like it.  😅

Chapter six |
J a s o n p o v

→

This place is depressing.

Everything to the discolored walls, to the molded ceiling, to the poor lighting.  I just hate being here—I admit it, this place fucking sucks.

And it's my fault. I shouldn't complain, I brought this upon myself.

I'm the reason why I'm sitting here.

I'm the reason why I'm not laying next to the only person I've ever really loved.

I'm the reason why she probably hates me.

I'm the reason why I'll probably never see her face ever again.

I'm the reason for causing pain to everyone I've ever met.

I'm the reason for all of my problems.

"If you want to kill me, why do all this?" I ask, whiling straining to look at them. The "doctor" comes in with a clipboard in her hand. My eyes watch over her as she does her daily routine in which she prepares an injection of an unknown fluid. She walks over to me, emotionlessly injecting it into my arm. I tilt my head back against the table, shutting my eyes momentarily.

This place has taken a toll on me mentally & physically. At this point, I feel unbothered by everything that's going on around me. I've given up completely.

The bright lamp hanging from the molded ceiling blared over my eyes. The two men, dressed in black attire, stand over me while I lay strapped to the chair. My skin, that's gripped tightly by the leather straps, starts to tingle, slowly becoming numb to the pain. I feel like a fucking science experiment being laying here.

My inner thoughts replay over & over in my head as I try to shut them out:

This is your fault.
You wanted this.
You did this to yourself.

"What's the fun in that, McCann." The man says, grinning sinisterly at me. What the actually fuck?

"You know a significant amount of information that's important to us." The other man says firmly. He crosses his arms over his chest which emphasizes how unhealthily large his muscles are. I look up at them closely.

"I'm not saying a word, sorry." I shrug, while resting my head  back. I close my eyes, hoping they would leave.

"Then shall we start?" The man asks sarcastically, picking up a blade from the side table. Which is filled with different types of torturing devices. This place is sick. He stands over me in an intimidating posture as his piercing eyes stare profoundly into mine.

"I prefer those ones. They're my favorite." I say, causally.

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