The Dumpster

Garbage pt.3 (gay? and torture)

I looked up. Blackness. I felt a rough burlap on my face and cold metal around my wrists. This was like my time in Russia. Damn. Last I remembered, I was with Mikael. In his new home.
"Mikael!" I cried out. Now it was exactly like my time in Russia. They ripped the sack off and I was hit with blinding white light. I blinked, willing my eyes to adjust. Someone slammed their hand against the rickety death trap that I was sitting in, and pushed me back until I was staring them in the face.
"Nyet. Krushnic is gone. I thought you would've known, but I guess not. So Johnathan Harley, let me cut to the chase, are you aware of the…uniqueness of your blood?" The man looked disgusted, almost apprehensive, as he spoke.
I took a deep breath and smirked. "You got the good cuffs. Haven't worn these in years."
"Ah, yes. When you were first detained." He nodded.
"No. When I was fucking your whore of a mother," I growled, spitting at him.
He shouted and shoved me back, "You were always known as the most charming of your kind. What happened to that boy? He got old, huh? I can tell."
"Get over yourself. I just happen to like Mikael more than you," I replied.
"Obviously. You were found with him, no? Sickening. You're scum. He's definitely on the blacklist now. He betrayed Interpol, and for what? You?"
"You sound a little jealous Comrade," I responded in my best Russian accent. Then it dawned on me. "Wait. Where is he? "
He laughed. "Who knows? Probably in a box just like yours, but in Interpol. We saw it fit to turn him in to somewhere that could judge him more accurately for his crimes."
"Who the hell are you?" I demanded.
"Ah. You shouldn't be the one making demands here, but since you asked so kindly. My name is Grisha Mikhailov and I was assigned to make your life a living hell," he said matter-of-factly.
"Oh goodie. They always assign me pretty boys. I'm looking forward to it Grisha. Give me your all," I laughed.

Surprisingly, he was more lenient than Mikael on the punishment. It made me feel like I was way underwhelmed. Unlike Mikael who went straight for physical pain, Grisha thought that since I had many diagnosed and undiagnosed "mental health issues", that enough mental wear and tear would break me. Unfortunately, I went numb to that years prior. Lucky me.
As I had water dripped on my forehead for hours at a time, I had an abundance of time to think. And think I did. When I wasn't with him, I was left alone in solitary confinement. Which gave me more time to think. He really underestimated my ability to contemplate under pressure. I'll admit, I was kind of offended.
I couldn't take him on without a weapon though. At least that's what I thought. He definitely had a physical advantage. He was shredded. I couldn't beat that. But with a sharp object I had a chance. How would I get it? Fuck.
That was the hard part. I could overpower a guard that was outside my cell as they were escorting me and take their gun. But damn. It was a gun. That just wasn't my style. A knife would be better. No. I smirked. A fork.