Title: New Year, Same Nightmare
Author: Anne Phoenix
Rating: R
Summary: Sometimes, it's hard to keep track of time.
Word Count: ~ 500
Warning: Implied violence and sexual violence
Author's Note: Written for the Flash Rider community's sixth challenge prompt, "New Year". Thanks to kennahijja for invaluable advice!

Disclaimer: Any mention of 'Stormbreaker', 'Alex Rider', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material. All Alex Rider characters belong to Anthony Horowitz. No monetary profit made on this story.

New Year, Same Nightmare

"Happy New Year, Alex."

His breath was hot against Alex's cold skin. Too hot, scorching, burning. Alex shuddered and turned away, refusing to contemplate the reality behind those words. Words meant nothing, anyway. They couldn't help him; couldn't save him.

"Don't be like that, Alex," he mocked. "Do you know what year it is?"

Of course he kne—

Did he?

Instinctively, Alex opened his eyes, hating himself for the weakness; the lack of control over this reflex. He laughed at Alex's discomfort. "Still pretty," he assured. "Still bright. Does that bother you?"

Alex hissed and squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could; scrunching up his face as though that would take him away from this place. He laughed and laughed and wouldn't shut up. He never fucking shut up. Every time Alex slept, he could hear the echoes of that infernal laugh. He flinched when he felt a movement, and then fingers were digging like red-hot pokers into the side of Alex's head, holding him still, forcing his face upwards. Alex didn't need sight to know exactly what he looked like – smug, lusting, cruel as the day he'd pried open Alex's eyes and flooded them with lye. Alex felt colder than ever. He hadn't felt warm in ... week or was it months?

"What year is it, Alex?"

"Two thousand ..." Alex croaked, wincing as air clawed like icy daggers at his scarred larynx.

The fingers on his face dug deeper and the touch hurt so much that Alex was sure they had to be breaking through his skin, leaving bleeding holes in his face. He twitched at the thought and completed his estimate. "Nine. Two thousand nine."

They were more words than he had said in weeks and Alex felt strangely proud of the achievement. His throat burnt like someone had lit a fire inside ... but at least the bastard hadn't completely destroyed him.

Not yet.

No. Not ever. Alex opened his eyes again, this time voluntarily. He might have lost his sight, but he still knew how to glare.

"Still pretty." He sounded pleased with himself, as though privy to a joke Alex didn't understand.

And then his lips – searing, painful – were on Alex's mouth. Fire seeped through the cracks of his parched lips and he couldn't stop a ragged cry from breaking free. But he didn't resist, didn't draw back. His body wouldn't – couldn't – disobey. Not any more. Couldn't do anything but comply and bend to his will.

"Two thousand and ten, Alex," he whispered through the grotesque kiss.

And Alex's tears burnt rivulets into his skin.

THE END
JANUARY 2010