Author's note: Don't worry; the story will get less depressing soon. (Like in four chapters.)
Roger came to slowly. His head throbbed, and he couldn't remember why. He looked around, trying to place his surroundings. No luck. He tried to remember anything that would come to him. "My name is Roger Davis," he murmured. "I'm twenty-three years old, my girlfriend is pregnant. Her name is Mimi. She and I are both HIV-positive. I share an apartment with her and Mark." He thought for a moment. "I hate my mother…my mother!" The events of earlier came flooding back. "Damn it!"
"It's about time you put two and two together." A leggy blonde stepped forward.
Roger gasped. "Allison!"
Allison nodded. "Yes. You know, you made this even easier by being so incredibly willing to play along. I hope you said your goodbyes to that Spanish whore. You won't be seeing her again."
"You bitch!" Roger tried to lunge at her.
Allison laughed cruelly. "Don't bother, you'll only hurt yourself. You're tied up nice and tight. Don't worry, it's only temporary. You'll be quite comfortable once you get your new room. It's not quite finished yet."
Roger glared. "I swear, if you lay a hand on Mimi…"
"You'll what?" Allison snarled. "Kill me?" She leaned closer to Roger. "You're under my control. I call the shots. Got it?"
Roger glared angrily. Allison sighed. "You're going to do this the hard way. Fine." She turned to a guard at the door. "No food. Warm water only. Beat him if you wish." She glanced back at Roger. "Break him."
The door slammed shut behind, leaving Roger alone in the room. Roger's mind worked frantically, looking for any escape. He found none. Completely aware of the fact that he'd lose strength by the day, thanks to having no food and no pills, he resigned himself to the inevitable fact that he was going to die. "Even death," he told himself, "has to be better then this."