Asphyxia Nation

Chapter 2

[To all those who get uncomfortable easy, be very, very wary of this chapter.]

He woke up cold. Freezing, with the residue of heavy groggy fog that sat in his mind. He always woke up cold. Maybe it was because he wore shorts and a thin short-sleeved shirt.

His arms still felt broken, each muscle felt stretched and snapped. Using them to sit himself up was nearly as accurate as watching a fawn's legs tremble after standing for the first time. He wished he had a blanket or even a pillow to nibble away at the cramps he gets behind his neck.

He rubbed at the kink in his shoulder and tried to wipe away the soft burning in his eyes. It simmered a bit from the original wake-up scorching, which was good. He looked up slowly to the dark ceiling, he wasn't afraid of the dark, since there were much better things to be afraid of.

No, it wasn't fear, but some part about waking up in a nearly pitch-black room, with only the fuzzy dim brown light from the hall leaking in through the painfully large viewing glass irked him. Perhaps it was more so something he vexed above anything else.

The buzz of the heater became annoying over time too since the heater never did much anyway. He felt occasional warm breezes here and there but hardly enough to made him stop shivering.

He looked up to the clock implanted into the wall above the heavily locked door. Naturally, he would pick the lock, but when there is no visible lock to pick, then he's stuck.

5:18 am. It said.

He frowned. He'd have to wait forever until the nerve twitching alarm went off. And Kokichi Ouma doesn't do well with pointless waiting.

He curled up on his stiff mattress. Still feeling tired and thoroughly beat.  He hugged himself as he tried to warm up and maybe slip off into a nap before the alarm goes off. He knew he wouldn't, his heart always sped up if he thought about turning his back to the door, but flipping to face the door was just as disturbing.

Despite sleeping in the same place for nearly five years, he couldn't get used to it. At least he behaved well enough to not sleep with straps crossing over his stomach, forcing him to lie down and stay there. It was unbelievably uncomfortable and dug into his easily bruisable skin all night long. He couldn't even get up and use the bathroom or something.

Which, to his surprise, the bathroom was a room of privacy. If you ignore the obvious camera in two corners, the small cramped boxed off section was a nice getaway from the world if he squished himself between the toilet and sink.

It was the closest thing he could get to an embrace. Where in his faded mind he pictured warm arms protecting him from the men in black and white. Where their lips were felt against his forehead, whispering that he was truly cared for and their heart beat just for him. He was a hopeless romantic with a hurting body that's been starved from a gentle touch.

It was a comfort. Since he had no blanket to squeeze himself in. He was so utterly lonely that he found himself using his hand to caress his cheek as if someone was there, holding him through the feats of pain and ache that crippled his limbs into a constant scream of agony. He hasn't gone too far as to kiss his palm and imagine someone else was on the other end, not yet anyway.

He rolled over onto his side, then back, then to his stomach. No amount of shifting would make the rock he laid on suddenly squishy. Kokichi huffed out a sad sigh and got up to plant his feet on the frigid floor. Oh, how he missed the heated house of his childhood. It always reminded him of the warm Kotatsu's he slept under with a friend he invited over on a winter night.