A/N: Happy Tuesday!
Chapter Three
In the hours following the water drip table I calmed down, only to be bombarded with more mental images of everything traumatizing. Anything a person would deem as torture, or a monster from Hell— a skinned human skinning another, a cannibal, watching a person repeatedly scratch their skin off or humans and animals being dipped in some type of acid— was present, and I was powerless to stop it. I dry heaved for an undetermined amount of time.
Now, a few hours later, I've barely calmed down again. My ass is numb from the cold ground, along with my feet as I rock back and forth. I can't find the courage to close my eyes for longer than a blink, but find it's just enough time to look up and through the single opening to the outside. I still wonder if he's looking for me—if someone is looking for all of us—even if all they'll get is closure. I pray that someone finds me soon, preferably alive. Do I want him—my love—to find me? I don't know if I want him to see me like this or worse.
I recall the others and their cries of pain, their words of surrender, their pleas for mercy. I thought I understood the first time I experienced this hell.
I was wrong.
I was so very wrong.
No one can understand until they go through it … repeatedly.
I no longer have an appetite, especially after those images, but I feel the hunger pains and I crave water. My urine has taken on that highly concentrated odor that even I can smell. I know I must have an infection, but I can't bring myself to care. My only goal is to escape or die in the next onslaught.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you want to look at it—my next chance has come. A rumble comes from the hole, followed by a deep gurgle. Two seconds later, a whoosh of water shoots up from within like a fire hydrant. I stand up fast, my back flat against the wall, hoping an escape will just appear. Water begins to fill all of the cells at an alarming rate. Soon, I have to kick my feet and move my arms to keep afloat. My body protests but adrenaline fills my veins, allowing me to keep my head up and breathe. Feeling like I'm tethered by weights at my feet, I push against the chaotic current and reach for the makeshift window, wrapping my fingers around the edges and holding on for dear life.
The now thoroughly brown water, laced with dirt and waste products, rises and rises. I try to dig into the window's edges to break it open more. Curling my fingers into the earth, I tug and pull, barely making a dent. Each tug causes more and more pain, leaving my fingers feeling like they've been penetrated by a thousand needles.
The water closes in and I know I'm running out of time.
I grip and pull, grunting and yelling in frustration and need. Finally, a piece breaks off and I grab another handful, tugging as hard as the last and as fast as I can. Another chunk crumbles off, but it's not enough and the water is too high. I take one last breath before I'm submerged.
Have you ever been under water where you can't touch your feet or open your eyes? Where all you can hear is the water pressure building and nothing else? Where every other sense is so heightened you can't tell if what you feel is real or paranoia? Where panic sets in and your built-up oxygen supply diminishes faster?
That is what I feel now. In a matter of seconds, I can no longer hold my breath. I don't want to let it out and breathe in this toxic liquid, effectively drowning. My head pounds, my chest hurts, and my arms and legs become numb and paralytic. I can feel the darkness of unconsciousness just seconds away. I force myself to hold it in.
In the cusp of the darkness, I feel something brush against my feet. Then, it brushes against my shins and calves, just as my feet can no longer bear the weight of my body. Something comes over me then, a burst of energy if you will, and I push to stand and break the waters' surface. I gasp and cough repeatedly, letting my lungs and blood fill with the much-needed oxygen.
The water drains out through the hole in the center of the prison, taking all evidence that it was even there in the first place with it. Where there should be mud and puddles, there's only loose and packed dirt, just like it was before. I'm left a cold, shivering mess, and I'm as dry as I was to begin with.
Completely exhausted, I collapse and lie there, my eyes seeking no permission to close.
I still wonder how much more it will take before I'm dead or rescued.
A/N: Answers coming after next chapter.
And I do apologize for not replying to reviews for both this and WYB (if you're also reading). I have a lot going on nowadays, and I figured writing to complete fics in the midst is important. (: