Almost okay
Chapter four.
Her life had become very systematic. Time had lost all meaning and the day was split into varying degrees of consciousness.
They would come; she would be taken to that room, beaten. Sometimes, if she were lucky by the English guy, oh, he didn't hold his punches but he'd talk whilst she was writhing in pain.
He'd tell her about his day or something he'd seen on TV the night before, sometimes she'd talk back, usually it hurt too much.
Steven, she thought that's what he had said his name was, although he'd just delivered a flurry of punches to her abdomen so she might have heard wrong. It was far from perfect, but it was a distraction.
There were other guys too, silent, predatory. They wouldn't grant her a distraction apparently, it broke some ancient torturers code. Thou shalt not show any form of mercy or something equally creepy.
After the beatings came the injection. The sweet nothingness. Her escape. Then she would wake up in her cell and spend the rest of they day just trying to get by.
Sometimes, if her time in the room had been too effective. They would just look at her a mask of disgust hiding their thoughts, then, they would leave. The first time this had happened the relief had been almost overwhelming.
The next day she had fought the urge to pretend, to just roll over. That voice had come then, the heated voice in her head telling her to fight, to wait just a little bit longer, she was a soldier and soldiers never gave up.
It had worked it always did, that stubborn part of her that refused to accept defeat, made her stand, made her look them in the eye, and kept the smart-ass comments flowing.
Things were getting worse though. In the dark, surrounded by cold grey walls Max sat, knees under her chin trying to make the pain go away. She had undergone hours of abuse, her ribs were cracked and her right leg was broken.
That's how they found her; the familiars came, attracted by the screaming and were greeted by a disconcerting sight. Max free from restraints and her torturers unconscious. Needless to say, they weren't too happy. The last thing max saw was the needle.
All she had was her thoughts to keep her sane, she thought of Logan and Alec. She pictured them at Logan's going over plans trying to find away to get to her, arguing most likely, and Joshua they'd be looking out for him, wouldn't they?
Sometimes if it had been a particularly bad day her thoughts would go to normal, sketchy and the gang what they were doing what they were talking about, God things were getting bad she was starting to miss work now.
Her leg was starting to heal, she slowly stood up using the wall for support. She headed to the small window. There was no chance of escape of course the familiars were cleverer than that. Horizontal bars stood in the way of her freedom.
Staring at the stars made her feel better, she sometimes sat for hours on the small windowsill, lost in thought. With the cool breeze brushing her face she could almost imagine she were somewhere else. Almost.
She turned her head and waited for him to pass, habit. She hadn't heard him but she knew he'd come. She didn't know why. It didn't matter.
Footsteps, soft, slow and deliberate.
Max waited eyes trained on the corridor. Waiting. Heart pounding. Body tense. Leg aching.
He came, walking slowly but far from casual.
His eyes met hers, the world stopped. Then he was gone.
Every night was the same since his conversation with that woman. What the hell did they talk about?
He'd come, then he'd leave that's just the way it was.
Simple.
A fact of life.
It would be about thirty minutes before he passed back, but she'd wait eyes never moving.
Why? She asked herself that question every night once he'd gone.
She didn't know and she just couldn't bring herself to care.
Sometimes he stopped, they'd exchange insults. She'd be taken back to a time of normality. Mostly it was just the look.
There was no sympathy in that look, no emotion. She didn't expect anything else, it was a mask. She had her own, it fell into place as she waited for him each night.
Pain, hunger, and helplessness it all slipped away replaced by the cold.
Replaced by emptiness.
The mask
And yet sometimes it dropped, just for a second something would pass through his eyes. Some unexplainable heat. Some hidden emotion.
Chapter four.
Her life had become very systematic. Time had lost all meaning and the day was split into varying degrees of consciousness.
They would come; she would be taken to that room, beaten. Sometimes, if she were lucky by the English guy, oh, he didn't hold his punches but he'd talk whilst she was writhing in pain.
He'd tell her about his day or something he'd seen on TV the night before, sometimes she'd talk back, usually it hurt too much.
Steven, she thought that's what he had said his name was, although he'd just delivered a flurry of punches to her abdomen so she might have heard wrong. It was far from perfect, but it was a distraction.
There were other guys too, silent, predatory. They wouldn't grant her a distraction apparently, it broke some ancient torturers code. Thou shalt not show any form of mercy or something equally creepy.
After the beatings came the injection. The sweet nothingness. Her escape. Then she would wake up in her cell and spend the rest of they day just trying to get by.
Sometimes, if her time in the room had been too effective. They would just look at her a mask of disgust hiding their thoughts, then, they would leave. The first time this had happened the relief had been almost overwhelming.
The next day she had fought the urge to pretend, to just roll over. That voice had come then, the heated voice in her head telling her to fight, to wait just a little bit longer, she was a soldier and soldiers never gave up.
It had worked it always did, that stubborn part of her that refused to accept defeat, made her stand, made her look them in the eye, and kept the smart-ass comments flowing.
Things were getting worse though. In the dark, surrounded by cold grey walls Max sat, knees under her chin trying to make the pain go away. She had undergone hours of abuse, her ribs were cracked and her right leg was broken.
That's how they found her; the familiars came, attracted by the screaming and were greeted by a disconcerting sight. Max free from restraints and her torturers unconscious. Needless to say, they weren't too happy. The last thing max saw was the needle.
All she had was her thoughts to keep her sane, she thought of Logan and Alec. She pictured them at Logan's going over plans trying to find away to get to her, arguing most likely, and Joshua they'd be looking out for him, wouldn't they?
Sometimes if it had been a particularly bad day her thoughts would go to normal, sketchy and the gang what they were doing what they were talking about, God things were getting bad she was starting to miss work now.
Her leg was starting to heal, she slowly stood up using the wall for support. She headed to the small window. There was no chance of escape of course the familiars were cleverer than that. Horizontal bars stood in the way of her freedom.
Staring at the stars made her feel better, she sometimes sat for hours on the small windowsill, lost in thought. With the cool breeze brushing her face she could almost imagine she were somewhere else. Almost.
She turned her head and waited for him to pass, habit. She hadn't heard him but she knew he'd come. She didn't know why. It didn't matter.
Footsteps, soft, slow and deliberate.
Max waited eyes trained on the corridor. Waiting. Heart pounding. Body tense. Leg aching.
He came, walking slowly but far from casual.
His eyes met hers, the world stopped. Then he was gone.
Every night was the same since his conversation with that woman. What the hell did they talk about?
He'd come, then he'd leave that's just the way it was.
Simple.
A fact of life.
It would be about thirty minutes before he passed back, but she'd wait eyes never moving.
Why? She asked herself that question every night once he'd gone.
She didn't know and she just couldn't bring herself to care.
Sometimes he stopped, they'd exchange insults. She'd be taken back to a time of normality. Mostly it was just the look.
There was no sympathy in that look, no emotion. She didn't expect anything else, it was a mask. She had her own, it fell into place as she waited for him each night.
Pain, hunger, and helplessness it all slipped away replaced by the cold.
Replaced by emptiness.
The mask
And yet sometimes it dropped, just for a second something would pass through his eyes. Some unexplainable heat. Some hidden emotion.