Endless praise for my beta doughts and his patience to work with me sentence for sentence.

Blair POV

She was swimming or flying. She couldn't tell, but it was awfully quiet except for the pulsing sound of blood rushing through her veins. Her body felt so light and it seemed to drift aimlessly through the space. She couldn't remember, but it wasn't important anyway. At the end of her journey, she knew, pain was waiting for her. Always.
Time didn't matter. Time never could be matter. It was relative, going faster or slower depending on were you where. Moving or standing. Dali had painted it. She had seen time, distorted long-legged elephants had taken him and the holy one home. Colors, such wonderful color everywhere. And like fine sand in a breeze the picture and the colors drifted apart.

Oh no! It's here again, the blackness. The arbitrary tool of power. It came closer. She slowed down, couldn't move anymore. It was almost there! She had to get away. Away! Panic rose. But she was trapped. Helpless. No! Suddenly, the blackness was all around her. There was no escape and the pain was back. It was rushing over her like a giant wave crushing against the shore, flowing away and then coming back to crush again and again. No. No. No! She screamed.

Long hours later the pain had subsided to a dull throbbing and itching of her skin. Everything felt harsh, hard, painful. Her body was no longer weightlessly floating. It ached. Her skin was sweaty, her hair greasy and unkempt. Wild strands of it clung to her face. Her throat was parched and the itching wouldn't stop. She was nauseous. But that didn't stop her efforts. Like an animal she tried to get rid of the itching, scratching and biting herself to get some relief from her torment.

Shhhh! Restraints restricted her movement. She was breathing hard from the exertion of pulling on them. Bile rose in her throat.

Shhhh! Someone was there in the darkness, trying to calm her. Who?

"Hello?" she tried to say, but nothing more than a croaking sound actually escaped her throat. She tried again. This time she managed a "lo?" Better than nothing. She could hear footsteps getting closer. Bright light blinded her painfully. The intensity pierced into her skull.
There were strangers with her and the person that had been there before was gone. Or had they hidden? The strangers talked. Unable to open her eyes, she strained her ears to pick up the sound again.

"Oh, look at the mess she made."

"I hate it when she does that."

"Must have been some trip. Let's clean her up."

Rough hands picked at her and she screamed again.

"Hold still!"

She didn't wanted to be touched. She didn't want strangers to see her. She felt violated, ashamed. They used a rough washrag on her. She whimpered in despair. She was trying to fight back to keep her dignity.

"Hold still, Bitch!"

More pain. Someone hit her repeatedly. She tasted metal.

"Stop fooling around. Put her in the hold and immobilize her."

There was nothing she could do. They cleaned her and she had to endure it.

Shhhh! The soothing noise. It was back. It was close. She sobbed in relief and stopped fighting. Eventually they dressed her in something clean and left the room.

She couldn't believe her luck. They had left her unbound and the itching was gone. The light was still on. It was uncomfortable, but better than the painful darkness. She walked a few steps of limited freedom. She was alone, always alone. Gnawing on her fingernails she looked around her room, 15ft by 15ft of white concrete walls and a tiled area for the toilet and sink. A table in a corner, a chair next to her bed. Everything in mind numbing white. Nothing had changed.

She looked at her bare feet, wiggeling her toes. The ground was dangerous territory. She perched on the chair, hugging her knees, seeking comfort in her own presence. The linen felt rough against the skin of her face. The texture of the fabric consoled her after all the pain and the nothing.

"Hey."

Her head snapped up from her crossed arms on top of her legs. She squinted her eyes to see what was happening. There was something but she couldn't quite see it.

"You have to drink something. See, they left you some water."

She turned her head toward the small table in the room. Indeed there was a cup and two bottles. Plastic ones of course, so she couldn't hurt herself or others with them. She took the cup. Her lips hurt, so she sipped carefully. She hadn't realized just how thirsty she was. It didn't take long for the cup to be empty. She felt better now. Clearer. "Who are you?"

"Shh! Don't talk. Or they will know!" The voice was so familiar.

Jo.

The pain so deep inside her bloomed and withered at the same time.

"Jo, is that you?" Was it really her? Where was she? Why couldn't she see her?

"What did I just say?"

"Sorry, I am so sorry." She started to cry. If this voice was really Jo... what was she?

"Don't cry. I'm here. Trust me, please. Just be quiet and listen to me, okay?"

She nodded. She trusted and listened.

"Good. - My god, you're a mess. What did they do to you?"

She shrugged. There weren't any reflecting surfaces since the last one she had shattered. It wasn't important anyway. There were no visitors. No one ever came to see her. She didn't even know how long she had been here now. Days, weeks, month and years were without meaning. There was no purpose. She was alive, that was all. In some ways it was worse than prison.

"At least in prison you have rights, here you have nothing!"

That was true. The room was mostly white. Stains had been painted over. But she still knew where she had made dents in the wall and her blood had spattered. She had panicked because she felt like she was suffocating. Her breath caught in her throat. She had tried to claw her way out, running repeatedly against the wall, nearly succeeding in taking her life.

As a result the two red dots in the corners on the ceiling were watching her constantly. They send her dreaming or put her in restraints every time she panicked now.

"What a bunch of creeps!"

She occupied herself as best as she could. She made figures of animals or people out of the toilet paper she was provided with. It wasn't exactly origami, but that way she could do something, talk and hear the sound of her own voice without them sticking a needle into her skin. And she didn't feel so alone until they inevitably took the figures away. Couldn't have her litter the room.
once in a while, she was allowed to draw on real paper, although never people. More often, she was given religious texts to read. She tore these texts into tiny, tiny pieces. There was no god.

"Now show some respect!"

Respect? Respect? For what? An imaginary friend that always needs more money, more power, more everything from you for its cause. So it can corrupt more people? So it was OK to put someone in a room and throw away the key? The morality of that creature was vile. Every three year old child had more morals, animals had more morals than the god they fed her with. Real love would never be conditional. You love someone despite their flaws and not because they try their best to please and worship you. That's not love, that's celestial dictatorship. Which being would watch people suffer and do nothing about it? That was the difference between god and her. If she saw people who suffered she'd help them if she could. But not act with the indifference that she encountered. The same one that enabled the red dots watching her.

"Are you finished with your rant now?"

No, she wasn't. She had every right to be angry. She wanted revenge. She wanted...

"You have to get out of here!"

She knew that. There was just no way. She had tried that a couple of times. They had put her in electroshock therapy as punishment. It had been painful and embarrassing to lose the last thing she had control over – her body. The worst was that it made her forget simple things. Jo's smile. Her favorite fluffy toy. Her own name. Her friends. Did she ever had friends? Why weren't they looking for her?

"You'll find another way. We will!"

If only. What could she do?

"Learn. Watch. Gain their trust. Build your strength. I'll be there when you need me."

But they'd come again tomorrow with their drugs and she'd be at square one.

"Then we start again. I'll always be at your side."

It sounded so easy. But what had she to lose? This wasn't a life anyway. Didn't she want to be a rich artist or some other kind of successful, happy woman once? The memory was fuzzy. She had goal. She could set a new one.

"Come on. Move. Get started. You know what you have to do!"

Her muscles protested. She remembered training. There had been music. No such luxury now. But she remembered the movements. Slowly first. A few repetitions. Then it got better.

"Mens sana in corpore sano."

A mantra. She felt sweaty again. But she wasn't dead anymore. Her body hummed. There was nothing else to do. And tomorrow she'd start again.

"We will start again!"

Right. Exercise. Count the repetitions.

"Start counting."

10-9-8-7-6...

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