A.N.: I'm back to writing! :D I have to take it easy for the rest of the week since I pulled a muscle in my foot this weekend (how, I have no idea!), so this means a chapter a day, unless I'm busy with something else! Sadly, Never Forget will be wrapping up soon... At least four or five more chapters for me to close everything up. Thank you to everyone who has read or reviewed on this, it means a lot to me.

Summary: Day four of six, the Fourth Horror, in Haya-chan's last week of captivity.

Warning: Not for people who have weak hearts. I'm serious.

Day Four. At the time, I thought there was nothing more horrible than what occurred to me that day. And yet… of all the pain and suffering I experienced, this day topped my list as the worst. This was the day I was the closest I had ever been to death. This was the day my captor became careless, too absorbed in his anger, and nearly killed me as a result.

Looking back on it now, I don't know how I survived.

After the electrocution, I couldn't sleep. My body wouldn't respond to me – everything felt numb. I just lay there, trying to move, but to no avail.

When the door opened again in the morning (I presume it was morning, anyways), joy and fear filled my heart as my captor's rough hands undid my bonds. I sat up warily, rubbing my wrists, and watched him as he worked with his back to me. I stretched, wincing at the lines of pain shooting up my limbs, and just sat there. Should I escape?

Minutes passed, and he seemed to forget about me completely. As I sat there, I studied my surroundings, biding my time. I couldn't believe my luck when he stepped out of the room, and left the door wide open. I knew he wanted me to try to escape, just so he could punish me, but I wasn't going to let myself be captured. I needed to get out of here; I needed to get back to Jyuudaime and the other Guardians… Yamamoto.

I bite my lip to hold back a sob of anguish. I can't believe, the whole time I've been captive here, this is the first time I've thought about him. Under normal circumstances, I could never get him out of my head. How could I have forgotten about him?

I curl up in a tight ball, tears streaming down my face. "Yamamoto," I whisper into the silence. "Takeshi…" I bury my face in my hands, muffling my sobbing. "I love you, you idiot," I manage to choke out. I'm ashamed with myself. I never told him how I felt, and here I am, at Death's door, hoping that he can somehow hear me.

It takes a few minutes for me to get a hold on my emotions again. When I do, I stare at the open doorway with renewed determination. I will escape. I will see Jyuudaime and Yamamoto again. I will.

I've never seen him so angry. I let my guard down when I was almost to the door, and that's when he jumped me. He pummeled me with his fists, yelling and screaming and cursing me in Russian. Unfortunately, I could understand him. I tried to fight back, but he only increased the force behind his blows, knocking me senseless.

When I come to, I'm stripped bare and spread eagle midair – heavy chains holding me in place. I'm in a different room than before, this one so dim I can barely see a foot in front of my face. I hear him breathing heavily in the corner.

"You cannot leave here, pet," he snarled.

I heard the whip before I felt it. A sharp whistling sound, and then a burning line of pain. Despite myself, I cried out, arching my back. He ignored my cries and the whipping continued - each blow harsher than the last. My wrists and ankles became sore and chaffed, my voice hoarse from yells of pain, my body weak from blood loss. And still, he continued.

At one point, I know I screamed for him – for Yamamoto – because the whipping stopped, and my captor just laughed. Then he continued, not caring that there was no skin visible to strike – he flayed me open to the bone. The worst part is, I never passed out. The pain kept me awake, kept me screaming, kept me struggling.

It wasn't until his anger abated that he cut me down and tossed me on the floor like I was a sack of flour, and left me there to bleed out. I had no control over my muscles, my voice, nothing. I lay there shaking, sobbing, dying.

When I blacked out, I surely thought I was dead. But no, the thrice accursed son of a bitch wrapped up my wounds as soon as I was out, staunching the bleeding and keeping me alive. I hated him with a burning passion, and only dreamed of what I would do to him if I ever escaped.

I was left alone for the rest of the day, back in my normal room, wrapped up like a mummy and secured to the table. With the anger he displayed today, I knew that if I pissed him off like that again, I would surely die.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I knew that I would never escape here on my own power. I would just have to pray to a God, if there were one, that someone out there would find me and save me.

As exhaustion dragged me down into unconsciousness, one thought remained a bright light in my mind.

I love you, Takeshi.

And that thought gave me strength.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at my scarred and permanently disfigured frame. There are only a few patches of unmarred skin, and even then, the patches are small and rare. My back is the worst – it's just a mat of scar tissue. I stretch slowly, watching the tissue move and stretch with my body. I sigh, and step into the shower, turning on the water.

I had just finished writing about the fourth day of my last week of captivity and left the journal on my bed with a note to my psychologist.

'I'm not going to read this one aloud, and I never will, despite what you say about how it is for my therapy. Read it if you desire, but expect to hear no more from me on the subject. I won't read aloud my horrors anymore, and make them real. By writing them down, I expel them from my mind, and excuse them as a work of fiction. I would prefer that they would stay that way.

~Hayako Gokudera'

I just stood in the shower, letting the hot water pour over me and the steam surround me. I wouldn't run away anymore. I would just let my experience fade away and let my imagination take over – only once I finished recording the events.

Twenty minutes later, I turn off the water and slowly get dressed in gray skinny jeans and a white, long sleeve shirt. I brush out my silver-gray hair, which is back to its normal shoulder length, and leave my room at a determined pace. I don't know where I'm headed – I just let my feet lead me to where they want to go.

I find myself back in the gardens, where I had written of the first day of my last week, on the day of the patient luncheon. I smile grimly and keep walking, over to the waterfall, under the arch, and into the greenhouse. I find an empty corner and sit there with my eyes closed, breathing deeply. I feel at peace in here, surrounded by the smell of the earth. And I know here, none of my troubles will find me.