For prompt 19: Delirium
The cell had no windows and the barred door reminded Alex of dungeons in old castles. Instead of stone, the walls, floor, and ceiling were concrete, though this hardly made the cell more pleasant to stay in. He shivered as the cold seeped into his bones from where he laid on a small cot. He pulled his legs to his chest and slung his arms around them. A blanket would have been nice.
Alex closed his eyes and listened to the steady drip drip drip of water coming from the ceiling.
Alex woke up with a frown, back in his own bed in Chelsea. His blanket had fallen to the floor during the night, and his pyjamas were drenched in sweat, making him shiver. A nightmare.
He rubbed his dry eyes as he stumbled to the bathroom to throw some water in his face. He ignored the white face and black-ringed eyes staring back at him in the mirror and went downstairs to get some breakfast. For once Jack had woken before him and had prepared a few pieces of toast and a glass of apple juice for him.
Jack greeted him with a smile. "You're late, sleepyhead."
Alex shrugged. "Must have been tired last night." He didn't feel like he had slept at all.
Jack hummed in agreement and poured another cup of coffee for herself. "Water's in the kettle."
"Thanks, Jack." Alex stumbled to the kitchen to fetch his tea.
Breakfast was a silent affair and Alex barely tasted the food. He reached for the glass of juice and—
… he was inside the cell. Alex leaned back in surprise as someone bent over his cot, their face covered by a black mask. He tried to roll away, but his limbs were heavy and unresponsive, so instead, he turned his head away and closed his eyes against what was coming.
Alex blinked. Juice was all over the table. Jack stared at him, coffee cup frozen mid-air on its way to her mouth.
"Sorry," he stuttered and sprang up to get a cloth. "I must have spaced out." By now he was getting really worried. Was this some kind of PTSD?
His movements were a little shaky as he dried the spillage, and he could feel Jack's worried gaze following every movement.
"Are you alright, Alex?" she asked when he finished.
"Fine." Then, because that had certainly not sounded like the truth, he looked up and gave her a small smile. "Still a little tired."
The worry in Jack's eyes dimmed a little, though it didn't disappear.
"Maybe you should stay home today?" she asked.
Alex shook his head. "I told Tom we would watch that movie today. I'll be alright. Promise."
Jack smiled sadly. She always knew when he lied. Alex was glad she didn't call him out this time. "Ok. Have fun."
He spent the rest of the morning in a daze and met up with Tom in the early afternoon.
Ten minutes into the action movie, Alex realised this had been a very bad idea. He was freezing, even with his jacket zipped up as far as possible, and every few minutes he would flinch when a particular loud shot or explosion took him by surprise. Alex gripped his armrests tightly and kept an eye out for Tom's reaction; luckily, his friend was fully engrossed in the movie and didn't notice anything amiss.
Then, bad became worse when the hero got captured by the bad guys, and Alex's world went black.
Alex sat on his cot. This time he was dripping wet and shaking from the cold.
He doubled over in a coughing fit. The coughs originated deep from his chest and kept coming until Alex was afraid he would pass out from lack of air.
The darkness thickened.
Alex woke up from Tom shaking his shoulder. "How could you sleep through this?"
Alex looked around. The lights were back on and people were moving towards the exit while the end credits rolled over the big screen.
Tom took another look at Alex when he didn't move at once and frowned. "You good, mate?"
Alex nodded. He stood up, a little confused after being woken up abruptly. He felt a lot better if still a little cold. He coughed and cleared his throat, it felt sore. "Maybe I'm getting a little sick."
Alex glanced at his friend. "Probably best I just go home." They had planned to share a pizza and spend the night playing Counter-Strike on Tom's computer, but now the whole thing sounded too overwhelming.
Alex caught Tom side-eyeing him. He and Jack both worried too much. "Sure mate."
That evening, Alex wasn't happy to go to bed. He felt weird —almost floaty— and couldn't stop coughing. Maybe he really was getting sick.
Jack sent him to bed with a mug of chamomile tea with honey, and he felt a little better after drinking it.
Without wanting to, he fell asleep.
He was back in the cell, and this time he was not alone. A man he vaguely recognized as his captor — though his mind was too muddled to remember a name — squatted in down front of him.
"Morning, Alex. Nice to see you awake."
"Seeing your face, I would rather go back to my nightmares," Alex croaked.
His captor smirked and it was only now that Alex saw he wasn't wearing a mask — not that the dim light in the cell allowed him to see a lot of details.
"I'm glad you aren't completely gone yet. I was worried these last few days. It's no fun when they break too early."
Alex squeezed his eyes closed. This is not real. This is not real. I'm back home in bed, and Jack is just next door.
This. Isn't. Real.
He opened his eyes. His captor leered at him.
"Going back to sleep already? We haven't even started yet!" The man turned his head and spoke with one of his men in a language Alex didn't recognize, though it sounded Eastern European.
Alex pinched himself. No change. Only when another man arrived in the cell, carrying something large under a white piece of cloth, did Alex finally black out.
Alex woke up in his own bed, relieved. His alarm read 03:09. He walked to the bathroom as if in trance. The rooms smelled foreign and damp, and he ignored how his hand shook when he turned the tap to drink.
Something caught his gaze in the mirror; not his deadly pale face or hollow eyes, but movement behind him.
Water was dripping steadily from the bathroom ceiling.
Alex blinked. The water continued dripping, though there was no obvious source. His sight blackened at the edges, and he could almost feel—
He stumbled back into bed without a backwards glance and pulled his covers up over his head. He trembled uncontrollably, his heart racing in his chest as if he had been running.
Even the thick blankets couldn't keep out the steady drip drip drip coming from the ceiling.
Themes: implied/referenced enhanced interrogation, open/ambiguous ending
