Puppet [LGBT - POLY - Complete - Edited]

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Varian was losing his fucking mind.

They—neither the man or the other person—had been back since one of them delivered the food. He'd almost regretted destroying the meal when his stomach started to growl, but he was sort of used to ignoring the hunger pains.

What he wasn't used to was being left alone. Especially since his family hounded him since coming home He would have been fine with it if he'd been in his bedroom and if he could see. This he didn't like. At all.

The room was cold. There was a steady draft coming from above. He assumed there was an air vent. Maybe they were doing this on purpose. It wouldn't be crazy to think they were trying to freeze him out for some reason. He didn't know what the point of it would be.

He didn't know what the point of torturing him was either.

He would have been easy to believe there was something going on. A big conspiracy that he'd somehow managed to get himself into. But he was sure the real easy was simple.

They liked to hurt people and they picked him, an easy target.

And maybe if he was someone else he would be upset that there wasn't something grander of a reason. He already knew his life was meaningless and so the harsh truth didn't surprise him.

He didn't think this would be so hard. He'd gone a while without talking to his parents, sister, and friends for a while. He didn't ever feel the need to talk to them. He could have probably went weeks without talking to anyone. That was just how he was.

But there was a big difference between being alone and being cut off from every sense.

He didn't know how long it was that he was kept in the dark in this cold room. It felt like weeks. That might mean that it was days. Could it be hours? If it was just a couple of hours then he didn't know how he would react when it stretched on to days.

He was slipping out of reality. He was falling into short pits of anger and despair. How would he turn out when they let him out after days?

A burst of adrenaline shot through him. He jumped out of the bed. His feet walked onto glass from the broken glass. The pain was faint. It felt only like pinpricks even at the center of his sensitive arch.

He stared down at the floor though he couldn't see it. He felt nothing at all. He tried to think of what it looked like—him standing in the middle of the room and in the pile of glass.

He lifted up his foot. He touched it lightly with the tip of his finger. Blood. He flicked off bits of glass and pulled out the shards that had pierced his skin. The biggest of the shards was half the size of his pinky and had been wedged between his toes. He flinched as he plucked it out.

The numbness was akin to what he felt when he came home from when he was first kidnapped. He felt almost nothing for the people that raised him and for those that loved him. Emotions were things he had to chase after. Now, he wasn't so afraid of that feeling.

Afraid. Feelings. Numbness. He didn't know how to tell them all apart. All he wanted to feel was anger. He wanted blinding rage to take over his body.

It was working somewhat.

He could feel it.

He just didn't know it would feel so good.

As he succumbed to what he'd been fighting for all his life, he began to pace.

Back and forth across the pile of glass, not once caring that he was tracking streaks of blood through the room.

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