After receiving the full extent of the promised punishment Jack was left alone. He lost track of the days, he was in and out of consciousness so often he stopped marking the walls. What did it matter anyway, he decided, after the final beating was administered.
There seemed to be a change in the atmosphere. The guards, faces he recognised this time; didn't seem to be enjoying the process of hurting him as much as before. They still taunted him as they pounced, but there was no laughter as he tried to defend himself. The silence in his own mind was stronger than their snapped utterances.; the effect was frightening.
He also noticed that they were back to the stomping again, that very last time. Sometimes the man just threw punches, as though they wanted to make sure the swollen face couldn't heal. Why had the method changed, when the batons caused more effective and immediate pain? The answer was simple but he still couldn't quite comprehend it, they were simply hurting him for the sake of it. It was a means to an end - not because they wanted to, or because it was part of the itinerary they were used to.
Although the abuse had stopped, the pain only increased as his injuries were left unattended. He found himself throwing up bile from his empty stomach and had struggled to role away from it once he was finished; determined not to get his waste on his cloths even though they were stained with blood.
He had tensed and curled up when the guards had entered his room after his throwing up, watching them sceptically as he waited for them to attack again. Instead the first man had tilted his head up from the cold concrete floor; it had intensified the pain and ache which drummed through his head, but it was worth it. The second man had crouched over him with a large jug of water, holding it to his lips.
He drank thirstily even though the water tasted odd; deciding his taste buds were to blame. Once he was finished the guards left, leaving him back with the darkness. He had laid on his side curled into himself, a hand gently touching the bumps on his foot. Why had they just helped him, instead of making him regret being sick? Of course the answer was simple - they had been ordered to. Round two was over.
The treatment had remained the same as he had drifted too and from sleep. The guards came in daily and waited for him to eat the bread and drink the water before leaving again. It was almost the same routine as when they had first taken him here, but he didn't like to think of it that was as he was scared he would have to go through everything again.
When he was too ill to move the men would help him drink the water, which Jack was grateful for, he was often too tired and weak to lift his head up; the thought of moving to the water seemed alien and a task beyond him.
Although the guards treatment was significantly better, he wouldn't allow himself to relax. He was paranoid again, as he laid in the darkness counting his injuries and what he thought were the days since the last one had been inflicted. When one of the young men lifted his head to help him drink, he always closed his eyes in anticipation, just in case they decided to slam his head into the concrete or crush his foot some more.
The fear hadn't left him; like the pain it stayed with him at all times, reminding him of how cruel these human beings would be when ordered to.
He lived a sad existence, he knew, he couldn't even conjure up the memories of Kim or Terri to help him anymore. He didn't want to bring them here, not to a place of such brutality and disregard for human life. Even in thought, he wouldn't subject them to this.
Instead he laid still, listened for the sound of footsteps, or the beep before the door would swing open. He was always waiting for the next strike to hit home. It had been almost a weak of solitude, the pattern would be broken soon. He knew it.
In his dreams the beatings never stopped, until they went too far and killed him. But in reality they were far too experienced to do such a thing. He would never be released from this hell. All he could do was wait. He didn't know what was worse, living in agony or waiting in pain for more. It would come, they were just doing their best to make sure when the time came he wouldn't be able to cope.
He was still been confused about the treatment, even though he knew it was to make the next stage more painful and effective. This was the calm before the storm, something big was heading his way.
He gently rocked himself back and forth on his shoulder to give himself some comfort. Tears had sprung to his eyes, it wasn't the first time they had come; but he had never let them fall until now.