He was alone. He had started to relish the times when he was alone, as they were the only times the pain was able to stop. Except it didn't, not really. Staring into complete darkness, the pain could grow even worse. What would he do this time? Would he reflect on the past, remember the horrors, or numb his mind, allowing no thoughts to enter?
He hung to the left, his right shoulder feeling as if it was pulled directly out of the socket. He pondered, distracted.
Not thinking entailed his entire body, even the healthy parts, would sear in pain, as there were no thoughts to distract his mind from the wounds. Then, there was his usual choice; remembering whatever horrible things befell him within the last 24 hours. He wouldn't call it a choice, however, seeing as he had very little say in it. Burning iron, sharp blades, whispered words, and unwanted pleasures. These were the first thoughts that pressed his temples and burned into his eyes. For what seemed like hours, he would hang there, in the complete darkness, seeing pictures on the back of his eyelids. It was as if there was a person pressing 'rewind' and 'play' relentlessly until they broke the VCR that was Theon's was where he spent most of his time.
Those two options seemed like cake compared to reflection. Reflection worked with older memories. These were the times that phrases like "If I could do it over…" and "I deserve all of this," occurred. He could not even bathe himself in past events, as they could never happen again.
He'd wished his mind would stop thinking of sex, but it did. Flashes of flesh on flesh, mixed with feelings he could no longer have, and things he could no longer do. Next, were his mistakes. He remembered Bran's confused face in Winterfell, the weight of his blade slamming into Ser Rodrik's thick neck, and the smell of the burning flesh of the farm boys he murdered. But he could no longer take a second of thinking about what he gave up.
His family; his real family. He would never see Bran's smiling face again, because, he ran him out of his home. His mistakes made him lose entirety of his family; Arya, Rickon, Sansa, Catlyn, and even Jon Snow. He would remember the good times he shared with all of them, and compared those to the terrified faces in the wake of his betrayal. He could remember every last time he saw each of them. His insides would start to churn, and when his mind wandered to Robb, he would feel sick altogether.
He pushed going to his father for ships. He didn't even have the thought in his mind to betray his brother and best friend. However, with his father glaring down at him (despite himself being taller), he remembered how small he felt, his face heating up at his Balon's calloused words. The rage and confusion bubbled up inside him, drowning out whatever screaming memories of Robb and the Starks that would stop him in his path of destruction. He suddenly could only see his house crest and birthright on that day. When he looked upon a confused Bran's face, he remembered the first feeling of being unsure. And that never left him.
When he was captured; when he hung loosely from a St. Andrew's cross, he started remembering again. And, every day he tried harder not to. The trustworthy look of his best friend, before Theon left for the Iron Islands, he could see in perfect detail now. He remembered the feeling of confidence he felt climbing upon his horse. "I'm going to make Robb proud," he remembered saying to himself. He remembered his heart leaping at the idea. He remembered having the same feeling, when Robb was being declared King in the North. He took these moments for granted. He wished he could stop remembering.
He never told Robb. Theon never told Robb, because, how could he? How could he tell the machismo King that he visually traced the lines of his face when he wasn't looking? That he memorized his laugh; that he held his eyes just a little too long on Robb's naked form. That 80% of the times he found himself smiling, it was because of his 'brother'.
He wondered if Robb had ever noticed. He troubled his mind more, thinking, Maybe, if I get out of here… tell him the truth…maybe if he would forgive me… maybe I could tell him. He chuckled to himself, quietly. He would kill me. And I would deserve it.
He began to kill himself with maybe's, and then he began to cry. He would never admit it, and he tried hard to hold back in the presence of his master. Regardless, he clenched his jaw. He felt his face heating up, and began to choke on the lump in his throat. He felt the hot wetness trickle onto his nose and in his right ear. He didn't make a sound.
"Now, and always," repeated in the back of his mind for hours. Robb's voice, over and over in his head, until he wished Ramsay would come in to distract him. And when he did, he wished again that he hadn't
"Now, and always."
"Here comes the king in the North! The king in the North! The king in the North!" endlessly echoed throughout the Twins that same night.