You Can't Choose Your Friends

London Will Burn

I unleash another scream as James twists my arm behind my back.

"John knows!" He shouts, "How does he know?"

"I don't know." I sob, "Please, I don't know." I can't help but break down. James let's me fall to the ground, sneering.

"You're weak. Stupid and weak." He scowls, "It would be so much easier for you if you would just tell me how he knows."

"I'm stupid?" I say I'm a shrill, cracking voice, "Look at me and tell me whose fault it is."

"Alison. I have so many things to torture you with." James grins, "Tell me it's my fault and I'll use them."

"It is." I laugh bitterly, "It is all your fault and I am so glad you haven't figured it out you low life disgusting bastard!"

"Moran!" He shouts. The door creaks open. "Surprise me." The door closes and the footsteps above sound as if they're running.

"You really think Mycroft wouldn't tell John?" I shake my head, "You're an idiot. And thinking Sherlock doesn't know I'm alive is like thinking that Mycroft doesn't love umbrellas." The door creaks open again and the light goes out. Whatever is about to put me in pain must be special. I don't hear anything for a few minutes. But I do feel this enormous shocking sensation that throws me into this twenty minute convulsion full of pain and screaming.

"That was for calling me stupid." Mycroft whispers in my ear. Once the pain stops and the two assholes are gone, I begin to sob. They horrible choking noises rack my body. Tears wet the bloody, torn dress that was once beautiful. My curly hair is batted down with my blood, swear and tears. I can only imagine what my face looks like. I have a black, right eye and a huge bruise on my left cheek.

I feel as my taunting didn't help my situation. After being down here for a few days, you get this anger that hurries itself in your heart that makes you start shouting to the air about how stupid the people who kidnapped you are and how John probably knows and he'll tell Sherlock. How stupid can I be? I feel like crap, crying on the floor with my arms are chained together, not able to move anymore right then they are.

I've been doing some soul searching and I'm guessing if they let me out, I'd become a full fledged psycho and murder them both. I mean, as soon as I killed Sebastian, his lover would attack me. But then, I'd turn on that bastard and decapitate him after cutting off his hands or feet. I can't decide between that or setting him on fire and roasting marshmallows on his corpse.

I've started thinking from three different people. I have a side of me that is full of hatred for myself and how I probably deserve this for letting my brother die.

The other part is constantly plotting ways to kill my captors and escape plans. It's also full of how I could get Sherlock as John to confess their undying love for each other but that doesn't belong there, so I try not to acknowledge it.

And the third part is full of conversations I have with made up people. I end up picturing people near me and talking to them in my head. On occasion, I'll let slip a chuckle and that gets me an hour worth of torture because my goddamned mouth had to say something about the lovers upstairs.

But then there's just me. Just simple, dead inside, full of self pity, me. And I hate that part. I visit the one with all y murder plans most. Sometimes I imagine situations and scenarios that will never happen and that helps me sleep.

Most of the time, I have to retreat to nothingness where I don't have any feeling. I'm this empty shell that people take joy inflicting pain on after they say some smart ass remark.

Why do I always make some smart ass remark? Why? Why can't I be a smart little hostage and keep my damn mouth shut?

"I'm such an effing idiot." I mumble, leans against the wall and trying not to cry. I guess my fight had deflated and I was so far gone that I could be fished out of hell. All I can imagine is my favorite book character kissing my head and saying I'll be fine. That might just be the lack of hydration and food.