"You're a monster!" "No, you brought the monster." Natasha smirked as she realized his plan, clueing in whoever was on the receiving end of the intercom. Loki started at her, bewildered. The red-head grinned as she said, "Thank you, for your cooperation."
Loki banged his fists on the side of his new prison cell, growling in rage silently through his muzzle. The memory and handcuffs seemed to mock him, as they both lingered where they were, in his mind and on his body, unwilling to leave his side. He understood why the bonds frustrated him, but he was unaware as to why the Russian SHIELD agent decided to torment his thoughts.
Those words. It was those wretched words. They echoed in his mind, laughing, mocking him. He swung his arms towards the wall again, taking satisfaction in the deep, resonating clang it made. Loki's eyes wandered to his wrists, eyebrows furrowing when he noticed a thin trail of blood flowing out of the bonds that wrapped his entire forearm and watched it trickle down his hands.
Subconsciously he brought his hands to his mouth, before realizing he couldn't lick the cut clean. Rolling his eyes, he sat down on the bench in his 'chambers'.
"You're a monster. No one loves you. King? Forget about it. You'll never be a ruler."
He threw his head against the wall, trying to force that voice out of his mind. She had never said those words, but she might as well have. He screamed, causing pain to erupt in his throat, then shrieked again when he couldn't hear his own voice; when he couldn't drown out the sound of those harsh, biting words.
"A god? Please. You're not even close. You're a Joten. A Frost Giant. A monster."
An ache started in his chest. It was small at first, not noticeable over the discomfort in his throat, but it slowly built up until he was clawing at his body. He had been sitting on the bench, but now he rolled off and started writhing on the floor. The fabric of his outfit started to tear and his fingernails caught his skin, shredding the spot above his heart before he actually realized what he was doing.
"There's no way you can win. We'll beat you down. Rip you apart."
Blood welled on his breast, instantly soaking what was left of his shirt. His breath had quickened and he lay still on the floor, trying to slow his intake of air. Carefully, he interlocked his fingers and placed them gingerly on the pool of blood, letting the sticky red stain his cream coloured fingers.
"Look at you. You're a helpless child. No more than a stolen relic."
He shut his eyes, hot tears streaming down his face. Leave me alone. He tried to understand, to figure out what the sudden pain in his heart had been. It was so new, so foreign.
"Only the weak cry. Only the weak feel."
It was terror. Pure terror.
