[+] Restraints [+]

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uh oh!!! Ryder posted a lil thingy!
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I had tried to cut the bonds long ago.

Ever since I had first acknowledged your pathetic little band of "survivors" hunting for my very head, I had tried to block contact with you — or anyone you knew, for that matter. I changed my phone number, multiple times, may I add, I considered moving to live with my sister and her fiancee, hell, I would've altered my identity entirely or even gone into hiding if I hadn't been told I was probably overreacting. But I wasn't, was I? Time and time again, I had tried to steer myself away from danger, but time and time again, you persisted. You wanted to make my life utterly miserable. And, I hate to admit this, but you succeeded.

But I could tell from that smug smile of yours that you knew damn well of this, and you relished in the fear in my eyes. I could tell from the scalpels, and knives, and bats, and hammers, and other godforsaken weapons you held in the very same basement you held me in that you would stop at nothing to inflict pain upon me. To give me a taste of my own medicine. You're all just kids with saviour complexes, aren't you? Pathetic.

Our pathways along life are forever intertwined. Though, mine may or may not be mixed with the blood of not only my victims, but of myself. Of guilt that weighs down on my heart, of burdens I am forced to carry on my now fragile shoulders. You have reduced me to a mess of a man. My very being is scarred and bruised from your relentless, merciless torture. I would say I deserve it — I did torture you all first, after all — but I'm not that harsh upon myself, now am I?

I despise you all. Though, I can tell from the disdain and disgust you try to conceal behind those grins and smirks that the feeling is mutual. We're all antagonists in the same story, only lacking a protagonist or better side of the story to oppose. I would say said side is, in fact, each other, but none of us can be deemed as good.

Despite all this, I remain in one piece. I have been humiliated, abused, drowned, suffocated, stabbed, bruised, cut, choked, starved, deprived of both sleep and my own senses. Though, somehow, I am still alive. Perhaps it's just sheer luck making my heart continue to beat, or maybe, just maybe, there's something more complex, more.. supernatural going on. Alas, you'll have to find that out on your own. Some secrets are best to be kept to yourself, after all.

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"You should be dead by now," Foster mused with a smirk that Rayan knew oh-so-well. "I stabbed you in the aorta minutes ago, yet you're still alive."

"Oh, yeah? And since when were you a medical expert?" Rayan spat back, craning his head to glare up at his captor. The latter merely chuckled humorlessly at that, guiding Rayan's chin back to face the wall, holding his jaw down with a vice-like grip. Their other hand was rested on his shoulder, which would most definitely leave a bloodstained handprint on his clothes — not that it mattered, anyway. Rayan squinted and stared at the wall before closing his eyes — well, more eye now; Ezra decided it'd be an oh-so-wonderful idea to slash a knife across Rayan's face, leaving him blind in one eye and in immense agony, as he described it himself — trying to ignore the flare of pain in his stomach and the press of ropes against his skin.

"This is boring," he eventually heard Ezra, speak of the devil, complain, his Texan accent cutting through the uncomfortable silence which had begun to linger in the basement. "Why don't we just.. kill him now? Leaving him alive'll do us no good."

"Be patient, Ezra." Foster leaned forward to Rayan's height almost mockingly and rested their head on his shoulder, the sudden proximity making the latter flinch. They smirked and added: "After all, leaving it alive means we can toy with it more, okay?"

Foster knew that would strike a nerve. Rayan absolutely despised degradation of any variety; they knew that perfectly well. Their smirk grew wider at the sight of Rayan's body stiffening and tensing, restrained hands balling into fists under the ropes, speaking through gritted teeth. "Don't you fucking dare."

Foster pouted sarcastically, patting Rayan's shoulder before stalking away. "Well, we'd best get going for now. Staying here is gonna make me die of boredom."

Rayan had his eyes closed still, so he couldn't see what they were doing, other than the fact he knew they were exiting the basement. His eyebrows furrowed in suspicion as he heard incoherent mumbles from in front of him, before hearing footsteps advance upon him. He had no time to react as he was stabbed once more, only letting out a strangled gasp, eyes shooting open.

Ezra's laugh startled him. "Never fails to make me laugh." He said, before twisting the knife in the wound, causing a small cry of pain from Rayan. He laughed again. Even Foster managed a light chuckle.

Ezra had opted to just leave the knife in the wound, which caused much more discomfort for Rayan. But it's not like he could care. Foster and him eventually left, even shutting off the lights in the basement as if Rayan wasn't actually there. Or, maybe as if Rayan wasn't a person, as if he were an item of furniture they had discarded.

Rayan managed a small scoff when he knew they were out of hearing range, rolling his eyes. "They're so fucking stupid..." He muttered, watching the wound on his body heal unnaturally quickly, the blood already beginning to dry out. They had all tried to kill him more times than he had counted, and all attempts had been unsuccessful. It was only a matter of time until they find out — it's inevitable, after all. Rayan just needs to use the amount of time he has left with his secret to his advantage.

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: May 26, 2023 ⏰

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