Sienna

A Bit Boring

Sienna

My head snaps up at the sound of the metal door creaking open. Heavy footsteps pad in and I groan internally. Edgar. My primary torturer. Unlike the others who went through the process silently. He likes to talk my ear off. As if we're friends. As if he's not drilling a hole into my arm or he's chopping off a toe. It makes the torture ten times worst.

I study him through the grey, rusty bars as he walks to me, smiling gleefully. Then his nose wrinkles and he makes a horrid face.

"Didn't I fucking say to clean this hellhole!" I flinch at the vulgar language. His yell is unnecessary. There's only me and him in here. No one to hear my screams and his laughter.

I got used to the smell. Pee and poop and vomit and blood and tears and sweat. Despair and sadness and hopelessness. I guess it's still a surprise for him.

"Good morning Sienna." Is it morning? He puts his face close to the bars and smiles. I can smell his cigar breath from here.

In all my time I've been here. Years I think. I've never said a word. The only time I move my lips is when Edgar decides to play music. He'll leave it on while I heal, only to take it away for days.

"Today's our last day I'm afraid." He pouts like it's the saddest thing in the world.

All I can think is finally. Finally, he'll let me rest. He'll leave me alone and let me pay for what I've done.

Seeing my look of relief he cackles. "Oh no. I'm not going to kill you. No. Someone else would be very happy to get you into their hands. And what can I say." He opens the cell door and grabs me roughly, pulling me so my face is centimeters away from his. "You've gotten a bit boring for me."

This is a sick man. Taking pleasure in torture. Torture becoming boring. I'd throw up if there was anything in my stomach.

He shifts me in his arms until he's carrying me bridal-style. I shift and grimace at his rough, calloused, sick hands touching my bare body.

He walks to the door and I'm blinded by a white light. It's been forever since I'd seen any source of brightness. Nothing but darkness in reality and my dreams.

He continues to walk down the hallway occasionally turning. I don't hear anyone else nor see anyone. He walks into a room that turns out to be a bathroom. He sets me down on the toilet and turns on the bathtub. Looking around, the bathroom's all white and there's no mirror. There's nothing I could use to kill him or myself.

Once the bathtub is full, he picks me up and drops me into it. I cry out at the scalding temperature of the water having been in the cold all this time. The bottom of the bathtub bumps my back causing ripples of pain to run through me.

"Wash up," he says too cheerfully and then he sits on the toilet watching me.

Hesitantly, I start rubbing my hand over my body. He didn't give me a wash cloth or soap, so I make do with what I've got. My hair is the worst. Blood and tangles all throughout it. I feel tinges of pain every time I come across a knot.

When I've got all of the dirt, grime and blood off, he instructs me to stand up. I do so and he inspects me.

"Seems you've healed right up."

I look down at my brown, unmarked skin. Because of my...condition... I heal to the point I'm good as new. As long as I'm healthy and well-fed. That's what makes me the perfect victim. Constantly putting myself back together just for them to tear me apart.

He smiles, delighted. Picking me up once more, we head to another room where he gives me a huge red shirt and some blue shorts.

"Put them on." Again, I obey but I can't help but think that this was going to go bad soon. Cleaning me up. Dressing me. A terrible situation is coming.

My thoughts are correct when he lays me down and proceeds to tie up my wrists and ankles. Then he breaks them. I hiss and tears form in my eyes but this isn't the first time they've been broken.

Seeing a tear fall out an eye, he wipes it creepily tenderly, but I don't move a muscle. Flinching satisfies him.

He throws me over his shoulder and we walk out of whatever building we were in. Squinting against the sun, I can see the sign. "Frese Corp." He keeps walking until I hear a trunk opening. Realizing that I'm about to be enveloped in darkness again, I thrash and try to get away. He drops me into the trunk before throwing a Manila folder on top of me. He then takes out a needle.

It's going to put me to sleep.

I struggle again, trying to cut off access to my neck but he grabs it harshly. The needle goes in and I'm met with the darkness and cold once again.