Breaking Free (BXB)

Chapter 8-Haze

I woke up from my stupor in a different room than before. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I groaned, pain slamming into me, sharp and twisting and screaming. It was everywhere, overwhelming my mind and body and forcing me to remember what had happened. Every dreaded detail and cut and bruise. A single tear slipped down my face and I curled into a little ball. I had never felt more like a kid than I did right now. I couldn't see anything in this place, it was so dark. The putrid stench of long-stale human waste suffocated the room. I scrunched up my nose in distaste and tried to imagine the drawer of my mom's perfume my dad and I had kept for years.

My mind floated off into thought, and I squeezed my eyes shut, the memories flooding me all at once. I couldn't place how long it had been since that man had come in here with all of his instruments and his wicked grin, or how long it had been since the light had died, or how long it had been since I had heard anything coming from above. Everything felt warped in my mind, twisted and lost in a haze of dark memories swarming around my mind as if it was a wasp's nest.

My chest ached as I tried to put everything together. The knives, the pain, the electricity, it was all too much. Everything was so slow and fast and real and fake all at the same time. I felt like I was watching myself from above, detached from the world around me, cursed to be alone with only the pathetic version of myself lying below. More tears streaked down my face, cleaning off the layers of dirt and grime I had picked up. I felt like my body was in free-fall through my own consciousness, grappling for something, anything, and coming up empty.

They hadn't cuffed me to anything this time, I was too frail to try anything, even though I wanted to.  Gradually, I unfolded my body, each muscle and bone and injury screaming in protest, fire coursing through my body with the slightest of movements. I groaned and squinted my eyes shut, rubbing my wrists gently. The skin was raw and bleeding, but it was the area that hurt the least. I pinched myself in the arm, hoping that I would jolt awake at home in my bed, safe and sound. Nothing happened and I pinched myself again. Nothing. Then a third time. Nothing. Then I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling tears spring from my eyes as I was left in only darkness, all alone.

It felt like hours before anything happened. I couldn't tell if I had fallen asleep or if I had just slipped into a trance. Gunshots sounded above, popping loud and sharp and filled with a dangerous promise. I flinched, my eyes widening. Curling my head in between my knees, I tried to pretend nothing was happening, I tried to pretend that I was at home and these were the sounds from my dad's TV show. But the sounds above were heavy, they were final and they were real. The sounds on TV would never get even close to these sounds.

The ceiling shook, little bits of plaster raining down, sprinkling my hair with dust. Trembling, I tried not to imagine what was happening above, but the shouts just got louder and the gunshots more frequent, insisting that I hear every single, horrid sound. My chest ached and I hugged my knees, hoping, for once, that the door wouldn't open.

The battle upstairs fought on for what felt like hours but could've only been thirty minutes, the ceiling raining down on me as shouts and gunshots and animalistic noises filled the silence, the air thick with fear. I jolted forward as one long, miserable roar reverberated around the entire house, before being cut short. The silence seemed to echo around the room, and I begrudgingly moved to pick bits of the plaster out of my hair, still shaking as the adrenaline coursed through me.

The door clicked, and a squeak escaped my mouth. Creaking and groaning, it was thrown open and a massive hulk of a man was thrown unceremoniously onto the floor. The door slammed shut with a thud and I sat, frozen. Staring at the form warily, I watched for any movement at all. After several minutes, I crept forward, my body tense. Eyeing the man carefully, I stood next to him, crouched on the balls of my feet. He didn't move a single inch, and dread filled my stomach. Was he dead?