I Want To Make You (Eyeless Jack X Prosthetist!Reader)

Chapter Twenty

        No matter how I looked at it I essentially only had one option. Despite the two that blue masked creep said I had. If I wanted to live, I'd have to take some risks. If I'm lucky, I might be able to get out of this situation completely with the four hours I have. That's a fucking joke if I ever heard one.

With a grunt, I pushed myself up straight, his heavy hand no longer weighing on my chest. My entire body felt like it was about to snap in two from the lack of use. Not giving up just yet, I tried to swing my legs over the metal table. It was then I realized just how little strength I had. I wasn't going to make it far if I ran away. Although my bones and muscles strained with protest, I managed to get my legs over to the side through sheer will. Gripping the edge of the table, I uselessly tried to dig my fingers into the metal. The dull pain in my fingers that invoked anger not long ago, now grounded me as I pretended to mull over my options. I would die, either way, just one more painfully than the other. It was left unspoken, but the dead weight that laid heavy in the air didn't need to voice itself to make its presence known. I was going to die either way.

Inhaling, the stale air burned my lungs.

Fuck this.

He was surprisingly patient, allowing me time to decide. It was a small mercy, but he probably didn't intend for it to be as such.

A renewed sense of spite boiled up in my veins. I fucking hated him. He was the one who made me fall this far. I wouldn't have lost Ryan if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have lost my foot if it weren't for him, and I certainly wouldn't have been strapped to a metal table if it weren't for him. I couldn't even count how many things I'd lost up until now. I'll tell you what though. For everything he's caused me to lose, I would make him lose just as much, if not more.

And fuck- I said I was gonna finish that stupid eye prosthetic even if it killed me.

Slowly, I leveraged myself with shakey hands onto the cold(and definitely not wet, I definitely would not acknowledge that it was wet) floor. My single foot held up my weight and with unpracticed coordination, I shakily padded my way towards where the door stood. I'd long lost my shoes, one cut off with my foot and the other lost amongst the forest. The sound of my uneven, wet footsteps resounded in my ears, my heart working on overdrive to even keep me conscious.

I was now able to get a good glance at the room and where I had been strapped down. It was a white, dingy room that had no air circulation whatsoever. The luminescent lights flickered occasionally and the air felt as if it had been unused for years. The floor was tiled, dark stains of mud, blood, and soot seemed to spot the white tiles occasionally. Cabinets upon metal cabinets lined the back of the room, along with a singular analog clock. There were a few metal tables(not including the operating table) with different instruments splayed atop them, all of varying sizes, but other than that, the room was barren.

When I reached the door, I braced myself against it and let out a shaky exhale. I think I'd take my chances.

"Do you have crutches?"

---

They smelt putrid, I noted. I supposed after an extended period of time most humans would. They smelt of gangrene and stomach acid. It wasn't strange, I guess, they were basically on the cusp of death. It shouldn't come as a surprise that they smelled less than pleasant.

When they asked if I had crutches, I had told them a lie. 'I do not.' I didn't particularly mind the thought of allowing them such a thing, but part of me stopped myself. The look in their eyes had once again sparked anger, a feeling almost foregone. Most feelings that I experienced felt dim these days, more often than not, like an echo from another room. Usually, I would barely get excited even when I were to hunt. It was only these days under Its influence that my blood began to boil again.