When the world around us changes and we find ourselves having to adapt to a new way of living from day to day, we adopt new behaviors to fit into the ever changing environment. What was the saying? Old habits die hard? That could be true, sure, but there were certain habits that never changed. Like walking down the busy streets of the city with earbuds in place, using music as a way of release and escape. Probably not the best idea when crossing a busy street but it was the only sactuary she was able to find.
It felt so...awkward, this trying to blend in when on the inside she was so different, such a complete stranger in the world in which she lived. The past month was still burned into her mind, forever present and highly unlikely to find a way out. Sometimes she wished she could close her eyes and it would all melt away, only to awaken and find that she had fallen asleep on the couch again watching one of those horrible "real life" shows. No, it wasn't that easy, especially with the burning sensation that often times coursed through her wrist, reminding her of the overly sensitive nature of that part of her body now.
Fuck that hurt. And so did that...asshole. She snapped out of her daze to glance over her shoulder at the briefcase wielding office jockey that practically bowled her over before realizing that she had easily walked three blocks too far. Cutting down an alley, she backtracked to the eerily quiet street she often found herself wandering for weeks now - at least she was outside. It got downright suffocating in that building; the imagery, the smells, the sounds...it was like being tortured slowly without actually having the act of physical pain. For what seemed like the millionth time this month she found herself frozen at the end of the street, staring aimlessly down it, frozen in her place. It was either go back there or run away. Are you fucking crazy? Running away was not an option unless you want your fucking throat ripped out or worse. Holy shit, that very thought made her heart skip a beat before she shook herself out of it and started the laborious trek down the empty side street.
Just a month prior she was locked in this box from hell, watching the eerie, scrambled image of some creepy ventriloquist looking doll as he explained that in an inhuman amount of time she would have to figure out how to torture herself to save her own life. Who does that to someone? Who...yeah, nevermind. Who throws their life away for no real aparent reason other than being a emotional sack of nothing that can't learn to tough it out and understand life isn't fair? She still remembered the smells that day, the sickening sound of her flesh tearing, the agonizing pain she felt, and the way her mind raced as if trying to recall everything in her life before she took her last breath.
Turning the iPod off, she removed the earbuds and tucked it into her pocket, making her way to a building that both made her thankful but also caused her stomach to turn. Please don't let there be someone screaming when I open this door or I'm going to puke. She still didn't understand. Why her? What the hell was so special besides the fact that she actually realized she didn't want to die and if she had to she was going to go down fighting? The creak of the door sent chills down her spine before she shut it closed behind her, still doing that weird habit of walking in with her eyes closed as if it wasn't real. Oh but it was. The minute she opened her eyes, the sigh of despair was unmistakable - damn.
Inadvertently, in her temporary state of blindness, she happened to catch the corner of a table with her thigh and just about bit it had it not been for a poorly placed hand that managed to impale itself somewhat on a rusted blade resting on the table. "Fuck me! Damnit…it's like a house of fucking horrors everywhere I turn." Thanks to her all-too-often big mouth she got the unwanted attention of her "teacher", her "savior", as he diligently worked on his current project of giving his trademark puppet his winning smile. "If you keep trying to walk through that door with your eyes closed like none of this is happening, you're going to continue to hurt yourself." He didn't have to look at her or even take his attention away from the task at hand because it was as if he had eyes in the back of his head and every little move she made, he knew – it was incredibly unsettling the more she thought about it. "Granted…but if I didn't have to be here in the first place…" she trailed off when he made it a point to make eye contact, that frustrated scowl crossing his withering features before he sighed deeply and put down the small brush in his hand, motioning for her to come over. Why did he want her to come over? Oh god was this going to be another one of those lectures or – oh…there's blood all over the floor. She almost completely forgot about her hand and only when she took the time to look down at it did it start to throb just a little and remind her that, hey dumbass, you just cut yourself with a rusty blade.
He couldn't help but to smirk at the heavy hearted sigh that slipped past the young woman's lips and the labored steps that brought her to his side. Really now? You're going to be dramatic and see if that gets you anywhere? Ha. Pushing a second chair out from the table he was sitting at, he gingerly grabbed both her wrists and guided her to sit down. "Wait here a minute." It was one of those not demanding but at the same time expecting obedience sort of tones he tried with her. Often times it worked, though there were those rare moments where he felt as if he would have to punish her like a child because she was so unbelievably bull-headed. Returning with some antiseptic, a bandage, and a needle with thread, he sat down, pulling her chair so she was directly in front of him. Sometimes he liked to see the human condition and she was the perfect subject for such an observation. Unlike his other two prodigies, she fought him every step of the way, but yet never strayed from being obedient and doing as she was told (even if it was like pulling teeth). She reacted as any normal human being would to pain, to despair, to fear, to suffering…she was entirely the image of the human condition without being completely lost to the plight of society anymore. So it didn't surprise him when she hissed between clenched teeth and squeezed her eyes shut as he poured the antiseptic over the wound and once he managed to get a good enough view of the injury (in spite of the massive amount of blood that seemed to continuously seep from it), he placed the needle between his teeth, threading it with the ease of a professional before looking back up at her expression and once more he had to smirk. "Remember…pain is relative…"
"Yeah yeah…it teaches us we're ali – christ give me a little warning next time." She seethed through slighting clenched teeth before her lips pursed together and her brows furrowed in an obvious expression of discomfort. She couldn't really call it pain after the first stick because her endorphins took care of the rest, slightly numbing the pain receptors to make way for that dull throbbing that's more annoying than the pain itself. He was getting some kind of sick satisfaction out of watching her, that much she could gather. It was like a twisted game of cat and mouse and she was always, without fail, the mouse. As the last stitch was put in place, he tied off the nylon thread and with a quick flick of his wrist, cut the remainder off with a knife, but he wouldn't let go of her hand. Instead he insisted on studying his work, tilting his head from side to side, marveling at how clean it all was, and even ran a finger over the stitches. There was that whole body shudder from the strange feeling of numbness tingling in her hand when he did that. When he finally redirected his gaze to her, he set the items aside on the table and smiled. "Good as new." "…right. We'll see how 'new' it all looks when it actually heals. It's not every day you need stitches for a rusted hacksaw blade…that has god knows what else on it. Ugh…" Shuddering, she flinched in the chair before standing up and brushing her shirt off only to realize she managed to get a nice little splatter pattern of blood on one of the only pieces of clothing she really had at her disposal. Throwing her head back with an exasperated sigh, she walked out of the room and to the sink…not the best idea.
She didn't pay a damn bit of attention to the room itself because, let's be honest, everything in this place was eerie and smelled weird and had this air of decay in it. But maybe, just maybe, she should have at least glanced in the general direction of the stretcher because what was in the sink made her freeze like a deer dead locked in car headlights. He uninjured hand came to her mouth and the expression of shock gave way rather quickly to furrowed brows and a little twitch in the corner of her mouth. Blood soaked instruments littered the stainless steel and a glance over her shoulder indicated to her the answer as to "why" with the not so dead body with a massive contusion down it's abdomen. "What…the fuck…is this?" It came out demanding, bossy, and not the way she intended but credit needed to be given to the fact that she was completely oblivious.
He walked in behind her leisurely and when he saw her expression he simply waited, patiently, for her to take it all in. Her question, at least the nature in which it was posed, caused his blood to boil just a little bit. She needed to be wise about how she approached these situations with him, he was feeling much more spirited lately than usual and that often meant he was feeling much more like Jigsaw and less like John. "What does it look like to you? You have the answers...I shouldn't have to give you one." She shot him a look he could only equate to a mix of anger, confusion, and then just downright being pissed at his demeanor. He wasn't going to take it easy on her anymore. She had to get with the program…or struggle through it till she either died or went mad. He didn't prefer either to happen, but he wasn't going to hold her hand through all of this all of the time.
"I'm not even going to start this. Fuck this shit." Turning her back to him was always one of those things that made her mind spin in circles and create horrific scenarios, but lately none of them came to light so she didn't feel it would cause a problem now. As she began washing her hands, the sharp hand on her shoulder turned her much quicker than she could react to and she found herself plastered between the sink and John. Her breath hitched for a moment, eyes wide as she was caught in a dead locked stare with the man everyone called Jigsaw…and she couldn't read him. She fumbled around behind herself in the sink in an attempt to grab something, anything, to put distance between them because so help her if she had to, she would. But it would do her no good as he grabbed both her wrists and held them tightly behind her back with one hand, then used the other to grab her face and force her to look past him to the unconscious man on the table. "You started this so we're going to finish it. What. Do. You. See?" His voice was low, husky, gravely, and downright unnerving. Her whole body felt chilled to the bone and her panicked gaze met his briefly before she swallowed her inability to speak and stuttered out her response. "I…I s-see…a man…w-who…w-who…" "…who what? Why would he be here?" "B-because…he…he did…s-something…wrong..." "Something wrong?" "Something…very wrong…and…and he…he…" "…look at me. He what?" She made eye contact with him finally and felt his eyes burning into the very depths of her soul when she did. The grip he had on her wrists he tightened just a bit to make it clear that she wasn't going anywhere until she got what he has been trying to teach her since the day she woke up in this hell hole. "He…needs to…appreciate life…maybe not his…he…maybe others…he needs…needs…to be re…rehabil…I can't say it…I don't underst – ow John, you're hurting me."
"You do understand it. I know you do. You've been there, you've seen it. Stop trying to fight me." She could be so aggravating, so frustrating. Sometimes he just wanted to sit her in a corner and tell her she couldn't move until she understood but a rough hand on her might cause her to shut down. Now, however, he just couldn't help himself. When she refused to finish her answer he used all his weight to pull her away from the sink and spun her around to fully gaze upon the test subject, keeping her face in one hand and now looping an arm around her waist to pull her against him so she couldn't, wouldn't dare move. "He needs to be rehabilitated okay! Is that what you want me to say?! Is that what you want to hear?! You're scaring the shit out of me…" Yes, he wanted to hear her say it, but more importantly he wanted her to believe what she was saying and it seemed she wasn't quite there just yet. "Good." It was all he could respond with before releasing her and watching her quickly turn to back away from him. He had a remarkable amount of strength left in him for all the hell the cancer was putting his body through and before she could make her hasty retreat he roughly took hold of her arm, leading her out of the room and back to the chair he had her sitting in prior. Forcing her back down into the chair, he once more returned to his and when started to get up he quickly took the brush in his hand and pointed it at her with the most stern expression he could muster. "Don't you dare move. You sit right there and watch. Don't say a word and don't give me any of your attitude or I'll tie you down to that very chair and leave you here overnight. Do I make myself clear?" Oh she understood, he gathered that much with the sheepish head nod and the way she looked away from him but he wasn't going to let her get off that easy. Once again he grabbed her face, fingers pressed into each cheek, with a paint brush resting between his pointer and middle finger. "I don't want you to be afraid of me, I want you to trust me. Stop fighting so hard to push me away." Bringing her face inches from his own, he placed a kiss to her forehead before letting go of her face, the red paint on the bristles of the brush streaking across her cheek. He couldn't help the smile that happened afterwards – maybe it was the expression of confusion on her face or perhaps that she looked rather cute with the paint smeared across her cheek that matched the color of her hair. Reaching up with his thumb, he brushed it over the paint to remove it from her cheek…for the most part at least, then returned to his work.
She sat there with him for the rest of the night. Contemplating, thinking, analyzing the entire series of events that were playing out in this nightmare called her life. But maybe that was the point. Maybe this wasn't a nightmare. It certainly wasn't a dream of any sort because every new little cut and bruises and physical and emotional scar reminded her that her life was forever being changed one day at a time. Maybe she should just embrace this world and call it a new life. Maybe she should trust John, one of the few people that came into her life that she could honestly say, without much hesitation, loved her…even if it was in his own sick way. Besides, the man was dying. The cancer that he lived with for so long was eating away at him from the inside out. He wouldn't have many days left on this earth and who was she to deny someone some form of peace and happiness before they died? Okay, so this was a really twisted way to get your "peace" out of life but maybe he wasn't so far off. Maybe people really did need to understand how easy to was to die to really appreciate not only themselves but everyone around them. Wait…was that the lesson? Was that the thing he had been trying to get her to understand when it came to being here with him? There were still so many questions but for the time being, for now, she would sit and listen and watch. And that seemed to bring an ailing man the hope he desperately sought for in this decaying world.