Our Contract of Distrust

-- 10 --

*Author's Note* 

Hola~ 

久しぶりですね~  (It's been a while~)

So, recently my laptop was in getting fixed (Christmas isn't the smartest time to have it serviced but oh well... ^ ^;), but finally I have it back and can update my story *dramatically bursts into tears for no apparent reason* 

So, anyways, hope you enjoy this next chapter~ A big reveal is coming up ( ⚆ _ ⚆ ) 

And please let me know what you think of the characters and story so far 

- Doom ( ' ▽ ' )ﾉ

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My headache isn't easing up today.

I feel a groan rising in my throat, but I mustn't let it out. If you show signs of weakness they capitalise on it.

I should've taken something for it, but it wasn't so bad this morning. I thought I could just ignore it like usual.

Damn, I need water.

"I really wonder how they come up with such ideas for their stories." Peggy is saying.

I haven't been following the conversation. Stories? For books? Movies? What kind of ideas?

"Yeah, it's a mystery." I say, hoping that it might seem like a natural response.

"Right? I thought you'd surely agree. So anyway, you know how Charlie..." Peggy continues rattling on, throwing character names this way and that. How much of the conversation have I missed so far? Peggy wasn't the type to make assumptions about what people know, after all.

Peggy has a nice voice. Soft and mellow. It conjures images of shy strangers offering each other seats on the bus. But today it is annoying me. I wish everything would just stop, everyone would just be quiet.

Before I know it, I've risen from my seat. My head is throbbing, my heartbeat running at 100 miles an hour, and I feel like buckets of sweat are dripping off me. What is this sensation? The more I think about what's wrong with me, the worse it feels.

"Oi, Sonia! What the hell are you doing?" Headcho's voice is strangely distant, yet it reverberates through my skull all the same.

I clutch at my forehead. "I need... something."

"You need to sit your ass back down, is what it is."

He places a forceful hand on my shoulder and I instinctively swat it away.

I shouldn't have done that.

Act demure, or better yet, soulless – that's how you survive in this world.

I'm starting to tremble, to withdraw into myself, but it's already too late.

Headcho calls his henchmen over and together they force me back into my seat, restrain me with ropes around my upper arms and torso. The ridiculous idea is that my arms are free enough for me still to work.

It's pointless to fight back.

I don't know why today of all days these emotions are bubbling to the surface. I can't even remember the last time I cried. It's embarrassing, irritating. Why is nothing in my control, not even my own body?

"That was really a jolly good show though," one of the henchmen mocks, "'Oh, woe is me, the feeble damsel in distress.'"

They cackle as he melodramatically stumbles around with a hand to his forehead.