The Anthology

Unwavering- Part 2

The first thing I notice is the cold, and how absolutely unbearable it is. But it's more than just cold, it's a damp chill that you can feel seeping into your bones and settling into your soul. The kind of cold that makes you crave the release of just curling into a ball and fading away.

I open my eyes slowly, blinking a few times to shake the black haze from the edges of my vision. The room is dark, and the dull, aching, soreness of my arms draws my attention to the cold, heavy, chains binding me the metal pipe running along parallel to the ceiling. I pull at the chains slightly, and it feels like my shoulder is being torn out of its socket. I bite my lip to silence my cry of pain, quickly deciding that any attempt to free my arms will be completely futile.

I drag in a deep breath through my nose to calm myself, but almost gag on the inescapable smell of death and decay that seems to fill the room.

"Honestly, I'm disappointed," A cold voice says from the corner and I flinch slightly, the sharp movement jerks the chains and a small whimper escapes my mouth before I'm able to clamp my lips shut again, "I thought you would have at least tried a little harder to get out. Especially considering how if you die you'll just wake up right back in the same place and can try again."

"That's not how it works." I snap at him, biting my lip as he moves closer to me. He reaches out, grabbing my hair, and pulling back on it hard until my head snaps back and I'm forced to look him in the eye.

"I thought that's how you liked it, Little Dove. Isn't that what you crave, that glorious dark where the world is silent. Where you don't have to feel your guilt, where you don't have to feel anything."

His fingers trail along the column of my throat and my pulse hammers painfully in my chest as I remembered how it felt to have his hands wrapped around my throat slowly squeezing the life out of me.

"Although I must admit, watching you fade away under my grip wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be," He looks at me thoughtfully, "Maybe this will be more my style."

The pain that erupts in my lower abdomen is overwhelming; as I glance down to see the blooming, crimson stain spreading outwards from the chunk of jagged glass protruding from my stomach.

"I think I like you in red," He says tauntingly, chuckling darkly to himself, "Doesn't she just looking stunning covered in it, Stiles?"

He walks past a large, dust smeared mirror, and my eyes flicker to his reflection. Instead of a perfectly copied reflection of him standing above me smirking smugly, the man in the mirror seems to be slamming his fists against an unseen barrier, his eyes burning with fury as his mouth is opening wide in an enraged yell, although nothing but silence comes through.

"Stile?" I ask in a whimper, Void turns, a look of annoyance flashing across his face just before my world blurs to black again.

The pain in my arms jerks me awake yet again as I look around groggily, no longer surprised by my surroundings. My eyes feel heavy, adjusting poorly to the dimly lit basement that I have grown accustomed to in the days that I've been here.

I hear a growl of irritation from the corner, listing my head slowly, barely making out the dark shape in the corner.

"I don't understand why it hasn't broken you yet." The voice snaps, followed by silence. The first few times he had done this I had responded, often with quite colorful language that usually ended with a new cut or bruise across my face. Until I finally realized he wasn't looking for a response from me, he was waiting for a response from him.