Day 60. I've finally learned what the word hell truly means. I've been kept in a basement cell 23 hours a day, 7 days a week. There are no windows within a two mile radius of my cell. I can see my breath at all hours of the day. Or was it night? I'm not even sure anymore. I get meals so sporadically that I cannot establish any form of a time schedule.
I spend most of my hours, sitting, staring at the concrete bricks fallowing the cracks up and down and up and down, listening to the defining silence.
Then they come. It's always the same two men. At first they would tie me down with abrasive ropes that scraped and tore at my flesh leaving me bleeding and broken. Now I know not to fight the searing sensation of the needle as it pushes its way through skin and muscle. I'm not sure what is in the needle, but since I started being injected with it I can bench press twice my body weight and I can run two miles in under 5 minutes.
It scares me. It's not just physical enhancement . . . I think I'm losing my mind. Sitting by myself gives me more than enough time to think. The only problem is . . . I can't remember much about anything. I know I'm not from around here and I know I have parents who need my help to leave Morganville but that's all I can remember.
Ok that's not true. In my dreams I keep seeing his face. I don't know his name but I feel like I should. He's breathtakingly gorgeous, with chocolate brown eyes that crinkle when he laughs, his hair is shaggy and a mess in a cute playful way. And his muscles. I swear he has to spend at least thirty hours a day in the gym. He only ever says one sentence. "I love you." And my heart flutters in happiness every time. I should know him but I don't. Pretty soon I don't think I'll even know me anymore.
I heard the creak of the door down the hallway, announcing Bishops arrival.
"Come my little pawn, it's time for your training."