Scars And Stories

Chapter 12

A/N: Sorry for the late update.

In the prison...

Patrick's morning went by slowly, as it always did. He woke up in his cell at seven in the morning, after spending most of his night attached to the chair in the room he was brought to by two of the guards in the middle of the night.

Patrick sat silently at a table in the cafeteria as his friends were casually talking about nothing in particular. He stared down at his plate as he picked at his food with a plastic fork.

He couldn't get the guard's words out of his head. He didn't know what they could have possibly done to him, and he desperately tried to figure what horrors it could be. The events of last night were a complete blur. He barely remembered what he saw when he woke up during a few minutes that night. He only remembered seeing things in a purple shade, though he didn't know if it was the lighting or his actual sight.

"Hey, are you okay?" Isaac nudged him, drawing Patrick's attention to him.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." He shook his head as he narrowed his eyes and looked back at his plate, still lost in his thoughts.

"What's that on your arm?" Joe questioned as he pointed to Patrick's rolled up sleeve with his fork. A small bruise was on his forearm, as well as a sting-like mark.

Patrick looked down and was about to answer that he didn't know when Ben spoke up, his eyes narrowed and a worried expression on his face. "What did they do to you last night?"

The dirty blonde shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as he muttered, "I don't know. It's just..." He sighed and looked down at his hands, "...I woke up in the middle of the night and they brought me to a room. I don't know what they did." Patrick clenched his fists. "I just never know what fucking happens."

"Hey, it's okay," Isaac placed his hand on Patrick's back.

Patrick's sight slowly started to turn purple and his heartbeat began to grow faster as anger boiled up inside him. "It's not okay. I'm sick of-" He suddenly stopped as he heard his voice becoming deeper and realized that everything he saw was now completely purple. He looked around him, mouth agape.

"Are you okay?" Dave trailed off as he looked at him, confused.

"I-I-" Patrick stuttered just above a whisper. He looked into space, confused and scared.

"Your eyes," Joe started, his voice was shaking a little, "They're-"

"Yellow?" Patrick inquired with his voice mixed in tone as he looked over to Joe, his eyebrows knit together and his eyes full of fear.

"No, they're black," He answered his friend. Like Patrick and all the guys sitting at the table around him, Joe was scared, but mostly confused. Patrick's eyes have never been this color before when he got like this, they were usually a glowing yellow. But not this time. The black color wasn't only in the iris of his eyes, but it replaced the white of them, like some of the guards'.

Patrick abruptly stood up as he felt a sudden pain in his head. He shut his eyes tightly and placed his hands on each side of his face as the pain became unbearable. He stumbled backward and tripped over his feet, falling to the ground and drawing every gaze in the room over to him.

Joe rushed up to his friend and knelt down beside him. He grabbed his shoulder and turned him so he was facing him. "Hey, calm down."

"Make it stop!" He shouted.

Two guards barged into the room and ran over to Patrick. One of them pushed Joe away, causing him to fall backward, and the other grabbed one of Patrick's arms, lifting him up. The other guard grabbed Patrick's arm as well and dragged him out of the room as the dirty blonde failed to walk normally. Patrick cried out in pain, his deep screams echoing in the room.

As the three men left the room, the cafeteria grew completely silent. All the prisoners looked at one another with the same confused expression that read What just happened?

A loud scream resonated down the corridor and into the cafeteria. But this one wasn't like the others, it didn't sound like the person was in pain. It sounded like they were angry, almost enraged. And even though the voice was deep, they all recognized that it belonged Patrick.

****

Ryan reluctantly opened his eyes. Everything he saw was purple, and he didn't know where he was. He slowly looked around him as he heard a muffled voice - Brendon's. As his gaze wandered around, he realized he was in the backseat of the Impala. He was lying on it with his right arm draped over the edge. He weakly lifted his arm up and saw an IV drip attached to it. He followed the transparent tube filled with a dark liquid until his eyes landed on the bag attached to the head of the driver seat. He spotted a weird looking machine sitting on the front seat, the wires coming from it stuck to his temples by electrodes.

He sat up with what little strength he had and placed his hand on the drip, ready to tear it off. But as he glanced out the window, he saw Brendon standing out there, a few feet away from the car in the middle of the parking lot, on his phone. His lips moved but the sound coming out of his mouth was barely audible.

Except for the muffled sound of Brendon's voice, everything was silent. Ryan looked back at the IV drip and stared at it for a few seconds, as if he was stuck like that. He couldn't bring himself to snatch it off. He had no control over his movements, or even thoughts.

The silence around him was slowly replaced by voices mumbling incomprehensible things in his head. The noise became louder as Ryan's eyes started to close against his will, and it suddenly stopped when his head hit the fabric of the back seat, now unconscious.