𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗜 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗗𝗜𝗘 | the boys

viii. 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐘 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃

I kept my eyes squeezed shut as soon as I realised I was still alive. Fuck! For a second, I thought about six separate people were pressure-pointing my temples the headache was so intense. My face was pressed up against a cool, bumpy surface and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't move my arms. A cool metal rubbed raw against my wrists, no doubt bound by a small silver chain.

I shot my eyes open and I was greeted by the sight of the black, laced boots of gargantuans only inches from the tip of my nose. My nose developed wrinkles upon realising the ground was swaying, bobbing up and down, and I was laid out flat on my front. I groaned and rolled over onto my back, the three unfamiliar faces shielded by dark, translucent visors making their presence so very clear. I was a little disappointed I'd survived, to say the least.

"Oh, fuck you!" I screached, "YOU CUNTS-"

One of the SWAT team grabbed at my arm, and suddenly any comprehensible words turned into a snarl.

"Shut the fuck up," he ordered with excessive volume, though his voice remained irritatingly monotone. We'll call him Dick Face #1.

We were in a van. We were in a van gathering speed by the second. "Where are we headed? Facility? Vought labs?" I managed to pull myself up into a sitting position, about to make a comment on their ridiculous suits when one of the other so-called officers shoved a crumpled pile of cloth up to my chest.

"And what the shit do you want me to do with that? Eat it?" I sneered, realising my handcuffs were now loose and I was able to slip my hands through them. I unraveled the ball of material to discover a plain white t-shirt and black cycling shorts. "Can I not wait until you're about to sedate me or something?"

Dick Face #2 grimaced at me, shoulders tensing, "You already did."

Yes, I was forced into getting changed fully in front of three complete strangers in an already uncomfortably tiny space and yes, two of the three of them stared at me the whole way through and finally, yes, that's exactly why I'll forever be uncomfortable changing clothes in the same building as someone else, even behind locked doors. However, it could have been worse, right? They could have touched me, they could have tried to force their way with me. But they didn't, so I guess I was lucky.

The tremble of my bottom lip was uncontrollable, purely at the thought of pulling a dress over my eyes and leaving myself fully exposed, defenseless. Before I could stop myself, I was already performing my nightmares like a little puppet. I flinched at the pinch on my upper thigh, my jumping caused sinister chuckling and me biting my tongue so hard it drew the faintest amount of blood, leaving a lingering, metallic taste in my mouth. Being a girl my age, constantly unprotected, I had to deal with so much of that shit - but unlike almost everything else, it never got any easier. I'm sure it means fuck-all to women all across New York but the thought of something like that ever happening again never ceases to turn me rigid.

This encounter is one of the main reasons I haven't explained all this in it's entirety to someone we'll re-meet not too much longer later, out of fear of him going absolutely bat-shit crazy and rant about how 'all people are fucking hideous' and that 'it won't happen again on his life' which, now I think about it... kind of makes me smile. Sure, he knows more about me than anyone else, but he doesn't know everything. Not yet.

I was handcuffed once I'd changed clothes and swayed slightly with the intense speed of the vehicle, inspiring wonder in exactly where I was. I scanned around desperately for an opportunity to escape but failed - fully believing I'd be taken to some sort of research facility and turned into some kind of zombie, lobotomized to suck cocks.

A depression, an exhaustion weighed down on me so heavy I could begin to think about moving when a needle entered my arm. It didn't worry me too much - I've been drugged with stuff you've probably never even heard of. And the numbness - God, the numbness. A tingling sensation festered just beneath my skin, but I didn't actually feel tired. If anything, it felt like anxiety. I tried to hide my face in my shoulder to stop myself from laughing - this sensation was so obscure, I couldn't decide whether I was in favour of it or not.