Reawoken Flames 《{ CraigxTweek }》

Chapter 18: The Attacked

    My ribs ached. They were probably broken.

    Everything about this was humiliating. When he would finally stop hitting me and leave this blackened room, I couldn't even wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth. My arms were bound behind me to this wooden chair. I prayed that one of these times when he would punch me so hard that the chair would fall over, that it would break and I could get loose. However, he's done it so many times now that I was beginning to think the chair was invincible.

    Another crack across the jaw pulled me from my thoughts, making me cry out like a pathetic animal. I wanted to cry, but I was so dehydrated that the tears just wouldn't come anymore.

    I looked up at my attacker, the fatass that had been ruining my life for days. My throat was scratchy, and my voice was hoarse, but it didn't stop me from spitting out retorts.

    "You hit like a bitch, Cartman."

    I was so weak, but just seeing the pissed look on his face gave me enough energy to smile.

    As if he had finally reached his limit for the day, he lifted his fat leg to my chest and kicked me, sending the chair backward. I tucked my head into my chest to make sure my head didn't crack against the cold concrete again.

    The chair pressed roughly into my hands as I landed, littering my hands with splinters and cuts. At least it was finally over.

    When Cartman would finish, he'd leave the room without another word. But today was different. He knelt beside me as I glared at him angrily, his hand slipping to his pocket and pulling out a pocket knife. He flipped it open, and I surely thought that the day had finally come where he would end me. However, the blade didn't move to my neck as I had expected. Instead, it snaked behind me, and the truss behind my back fell loosely from my wrists. He had set me free.

    My first thought was to lash out and make a break for the door, but I didn't even have the energy to pull my arms from behind me.

    "Don't do anything stupid." He spat. It looked like he was about to get up when his hand suddenly swung, and the knife sliced across my cheek.

    I tried not to make any more embarrassing sounds, but I was in agony. My pride and my strength had been sapped away in a matter of a few days. I just wasn't sure how many days. Maybe a week?

    He left after that without another word, the door locking with a click, and I finally gathered enough strength to roll off of my prison. You would think that my first reaction would be to look for a way out, but it wasn't. As I struggled to get to my feet, my legs trembling as I did, the only thing I wanted to do was change my clothes. My shirt and pants were disgusting, covered in blood and other bodily fluids, but I didn't know what I would change into. I examined the large room, looking for sheets or towels. It looked like I was in a large warehouse-like building. I turned to look at the back wall, where I never got a good look because my back was to it. It was littered with many things, things that made me so happy to see yet so guilty for taking them for granted all of these years.

    In the right corner was a mattress, folded up sheets were placed nicely in the middle of it. Next to the pile of sheets looked like clothes: dark jeans and a gray, logo-less t-shirt. I fought the urge to throw them on instantly and continued my search. I walked along the wall toward the other corner, where a large metal bucket was sitting. A white towel was draped over the side. Upon closer inspection of the bucket, I saw a cork plugging up a hole in the concrete floor. Along the wall was a spout like you'd find a garden hose attached to. A bar of soup was sitting next to the bucket. My shaky hand turned the faucet handle. The water was so cold, but I couldn't resist the urge to stick my head under it and guzzle down as much water as I could stomach.