Man in the Wall (Who is he?)

Chapter 42 - Soul torturer

Vivian's POV:

I find myself staring at the musclebound herculean before me. To say that he's built like a brick shithouse feels like an underestimation.

Where on God's green earth do they find these men?... It beats me Jess, but I doubt we want to find out. Right now we have more oppressing matters to attend to.

"Do I work for you?" I question Michael as I get up from the bed.

If one had told me last week that I'd be questioning an extremely intimidating man, I would have called them irrational. Micheal looks big enough to crush skulls in one hand. Deep down I know that I'm taking a huge risk questioning his authority, but what do I have to lose really? My mind is practically scrambled as is and if it wasn't for Jess keeping what little part of me sane, I'd be crawling walls.

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Unless I work for you and earn a weekly wage or a monthly salary, I'm not calling you sir, Michael," I say rather bitterly.

Don't you think that you're being a little too bold right now? By the looks of it, he could kill you just by staring at you long enough... Jess voices and I battle with myself not to yell out loud. Of course, she would have an opinion regarding my attitude.

Bold my ass! It's enough we have to deal with Steven, now this guy too... I respond. I've gotten used to these internal conflicts between myself and my subconscious. Some would say it to be a derivative sickness, one I placed upon myself. Yet, I have to agree to disagree. I say it to be beneficial, an intellectual nourishment which keeps me on my toes.

"And just who do you think you are speaking to me like that?" Anger begins to rumble in his chest. With clenched fists and a rooted jaw, he takes one threatening stride into the room.

"I'm Vivian. A human being. Not subject 016 like some cheap no-name brand you pick off a shelf." I straighten myself out. There's no way I'm allowing him to feel some form of power over me. I would be lying if I said that he doesn't already, but that's not something he needs to know.

"I don't give a fuck who you are."

"You asked-"

"Enough!"

And I decide that it is.

My eyes scan his body from head to toe and I have to say that I'm rather petrified now that I've taken a proper glance. His muscles have muscles, pouring through his clothing and I fear a deep intake of breath will rip his clothing to shreds. It has never occurred to me that I'd one day come face to face with a real life hulk. The only difference being this one lacks green pigmentation.

A deafening silence fills the room and I query whether or not Micheal is having some or other conflicting battle with his thoughts. Thoughts most likely drowning with my face on a crimson pedestal of torture. The air is so brittle, I fear it could snap and if it doesn't, I might.

"Soo..." I drawl after a while, trying to ease the thickset tension hovering between the two of us, "Are we just going to stand here or can I go back to my room now?"

"You're one of them," is all he responds and I find myself quite dumbfounded by his statement. 

My face morphs into that of confusion. One of who? 

As if reading my mind he continues, "One of those smart-mouthed bitches they brought in 9 days ago. We compl-" yet my imbecilic self does not allow him to finish.

"9 days!? It's only been 9 days!? I feel like I've been here for months!"

The realization hits me harder than any object currently would. I recall every painful blow that has ever seared throughout my body since I've arrived here. My memories seem to be my soul torturer at this very moment and I wish I could grab at them and throw them in the trash where they belong. I don't want them in my head, I want them gone, I want to forget.