Tattoo || m.c.

67

Mars sat on the bed and took deep breathes. She was tired- she assumed some asshole creep slipped something in her- and she missed Michael. Mars just wants to get home. The farther away she was from Michael the faster the voices came back, the uglier the thoughts, the restraining of food- although is wasn't like she was getting much food in here- and her pain became stronger.

She laid her head on the white pillow, and tried to stay awake but her eyelid lowered more and more as her breathing became soft and slow. Mars couldn't hold back any longer as she pulled her legs up to her as if she was a ball and shivered to sleep.

A black figure came into her room and dropped off her food, the doorway open and a picture of a family peeking into the peripheral vision. If only Mars would have woken up then she could see the unmasked face of her kidnapper. She could see the eyes of the person and immediately know what was about to happen to her.

But was the black figure even real? It could be just a hallucination. Her thoughts were already jumbled at this point and her voices were coming back. With that came the controller of the entire depressioned-scheme. Maybe that was the black figure. And we all know what good could come from the evil shadow seen before it.

It appeared once more and whispered words into Mars' head and scattered papers across the floor before writing more onto the blank canvas of her walls and then leaving. The figure seemed as if it was never there and Mars would never know if this was her mind giving her a dark sign or she was kidnapped put into a locked box by a vengeful psychopath.