•𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬•【√】

╚ CHAPTER 14 ╗

Warning!
The contents of this chapter could be sensitive for some readers, so I perhaps prefer to read on own risk!if you're sensitive with such content like Gore, torture, panic situations etc.  please don't read.

It's up you!

What? There're voices near me. My head. Fuck.

                       ~~~~~~~

I feel woozy, almost like I've got a fever. I open my eyes slowly, the lashes of my left eye part rather unwillingly, accompanied by the crunching sound of dried blood. I feel the crusty residue down the whole left side of my face. I'll worry about that later. At the moment, I'm lying on a filthy floor in a dark room.

I sit up, and let out a massive shriek of pain. I look down to see my hands are locked into an evil looking set of manacles. Heavy, dark metal etched all over with ugly symbols. The inside of the cuffs have razor-sharp protrusions plunging into my wrists. There's a coagulated puddle of blood on the floor and my clothes are stiff with the dark, sticky stuff. The movement of sitting upright left fresh tears in my skin, and new blood is streaming out over the old.

There's a pounding sound. Someone's banging on the far wall. Someone's in the room with me.

"It's awake!" A rough shout. I turn my head to see a man leaning against the wall. Something's wrong with my eyes. There are dark streaks invading my vision. I blink hard, trying vainly to get them to disappear. Oh. That would be bars. I'm in a cage. Brilliant.

"It's two in the damn morning! Put its lights out!" Another male voice comes rasping through the wall, sounding half asleep. The man in the room with me grumbles and sighs. He walks into the darkest, furthest corner from me. I watch him silently, but I can't see what he's doing. He strolls back over with something in his hands and places his face right against the bars.

"Hiya, sweetie. Does this smell like chloroform to you?" He chuckles to himself, and shoves his arm through the bars. He clamps a wet rag over my mouth. Seriously? I try to hold my breath, but the fumes are invasive. Could he not have thought of a better one-liner?

  
~~~~~

An annoying tickling feeling wakes me. My wrists are still encircled by a white-hot pain from the spiked manacles, but if I remain still the agony fades into the background after awhile. This tickly feeling isn't as considerate.

I'm in a bind here. At least I'm breathing. Now is not the time to feel sorry for myself. Now is the time to figure out where the Hell I am. I don't want to sit up, but I'm going to have to. By being incredibly slow and precise, I drag myself into a sitting position without disturbing my poor wrists. I'm going to get gangrene or something with open wounds like this. Oh, God, my hands are going to fall off. Panic rises like acid through me, rushing up and tearing from my throat in a quiet whimper. No. Fuck that. I'm not going to fall apart. I look around the room.

Tiny strips of sunlight fight their way through the grimy, boarded window. The yellow light looks sickly in this place, but it gives me a better view of my surroundings. Things could definitely be better, to put it mildly. This used to be a classroom. Shit. Things couldn't be much worse. No, I can't think that way. I'm alive. I'm in basically one piece.

A lock of sweaty hair is clinging to the side of my face, but I won't inflict the pain necessary to remove it. Shit. At least I know what the tickling is.