Jack lay immobile on the floor, unable to move. Everywhere hurt more then he'd ever thought possible. His shoulders burned from curling into himself so tightly for so long, and the pain in his stomach as his lungs struggled to take in air was more then he thought imaginable. He coughed harshly as he tried to move, his ribs telling him not to bother as he returned to the position on his back, unable to move his arm from his stomach; he'd tensed it up so bad hoping to defend himself that he didn't dare move it away.
The pain was too much, he hadn't moved his legs in days out of fear of inflaming the pain in his foot. It burned while stationary, calling out to him that this was becoming too much; he was struggling to stay sane. His appearance would be a sorry sight he new. Caked in blood, spit and muck, his own muck; he thought back to the water he'd been denied today as punishment longingly as his throat continued to burn.
He moved his other arm to gently touch his face, it was swollen more than he thought possible and incredibly tender. He'd learnt to stop clenching his jaw when the soldiers came, it inflamed the pain in his face as the damaged nerves refused to take any more. His lips were dry and cracked, matching his parched throat. It hurt to speak or call out when the agony became too much, he could barely swallow never mind scream.
The past week or so had been hell. It had started with a beating and things had only intensified, as he had known they would. The guards continued to beat him fiercely, but he had remained silent. He'd promised himself he wouldn't lose his pride, and he hadn't. But it became too painful and hopeless to stay silent when they began to increase their inflictions.
He couldn't remember all of the things he had been subjected to, new horrors replaced old ones each day, he struggled to tell the difference between the days now. When he'd realised he couldn't focus anymore he'd scratched a tiny mark into the wall of his cell marking each day since he was thrown into the cell; the cell he was sure he would never leave alive.
The guards had thrown the bread cake at him this morning, it was the same shapeless, small and stale meal he was given almost every day, unless they decided he could live without it as they sometimes did. They had started on his foot three days ago, he'd spent the entire first night being sick all over himself and every 'clean' area in the cell. He'd barely acknowledged their presence earlier in the morning until he saw them come over to him. He'd tried to move himself away in a defensive gesture but it was too painful, his foot had been shooting white hot pain through is body before he'd even considered it.
The first had grabbed him from behind, one arm holding his head still as the other pinned him down, rendering his arms useless. It didn't matter, he was unable to use them anyway, he just wanted to pass out and wake up back in LA, it all having been a bad dream. The second guard had almost sat on him before shoving the food in his face, successfully getting some of it inside the captives mouth before he gagged and threw up over the man.
The man moved back horrified whilst the other laughed loudly, both leaving Jack on the floor wishing he could be anywhere else but here. The cup of water was thrown in his face and Jack had groaned in anger, his throat not being able to do anything else without the soothing powers of the water. He'd closed his eyes as he expected them to leave, but apparently they weren't finished with him.
The man covered in his vomit grabbed him again, making sure he had control over both arms. He watched panicked as the second stood over his slight frame, fear enveloped him but he wouldn't show it - he knew what was coming. The soldiers heavy boot slammed down on the mangled broken foot and a loud cry of pain echoed around the four walls. Again and again the boot came down, when he came too after passing out it just started again. He lost count of the number of hits his foot had taken this day alone, all he knew was the pain and the desire to escape from it. Even unconsciousness couldn't save him - the agony waltzing through the crushed and damaged bones were too much for him to take - it would be too much for anybody.
The foot treatment had started three days ago, he hadn't expected them to focus on one part as long as they had, he'd hoped they wouldn't anyway; knowing the possible lasting effects of this tactic. He could only pray they wouldn't start on his other leg once the fun on the current one ceased. He didn't know what he could do if they decided it was time to change legs - what on Earth could he do?
He'd tried pleading for water and he'd been kicked in the groin and spat on, before one young man had spoken in terrible English to him.
"You talk no!" The man had repeated it, spitting on him each time to enforce his point.
He wouldn't invite that treatment again, and he wouldn't beg for mercy either. He had promised himself he would be able to hold his head up high if he was ever given the opportunity to leave. Even if he couldn't walk away he'd leave with his pride, it was all he had left, even if he felt it slowly slipping away as each new day passed on and the treatment and conditions worsened.