okay...yeah, i'm torturing him too much but i love torturing Ted.
Ted: only because I'm your new muse?
maybe...
Chapter 7
Ted's Terror Train
I'm so far away…
But big enough to cut me
November, 1, 2009
Today, in the morning, I feel him shake me awake as my droopy sleepy eyes slowly open up and I feel as if my lids are heavy and I just want to go back to sleep because my reality's now such a nightmare that won't end and as Richards slaps me into the face harshly to wake me up, my eyes are halfway open and I look down at the glass to piece together my bloodshot eyes.
"I…I…" I try to form a sentence but it doesn't work. I'm just so tired and so very worn out and so exhausted that I don't think I'm really alive and just a zombie, and as his fingers trace around my rough, dried mouth, he looks down at my stomach and smirks.
"At least you're human again," and as my eyes catch my now fully bloated swollen body, I feel as if no one can really love me, as the tears threaten to fall down my face and the voice inside of my head is shouting and screaming and tearing my brain into pieces as he tells me that it's time for another round and I don't know what else he can do to my tattered, torn legs. Flesh still stuck with dried blood and red rashes are clinging onto the surface of my skin, a scar settles on my ankle because it's the first one, and bits of my epidermis is still sticking out and it hurts and my dermis is so very red and painful to touch.
I don't look human.
I look like a monster.
I feel like one, too. For leaving Cody and Randy all alone. They must've been scared for me. I don't want them to fear where their little friend is because I'm just not worth it. I'm never worth anything anymore. I see as Richards takes the still bloodied scalpel and as Richards tells me to look around, I do look around and I'm just so very distracted looking at the bloodied walls. "W-what's all this?" I say, now completely focused on the bloodied red walls. They were white when I had come here and now, they're covered with dry blood.
"That's you when you move here and there," Richards snaps. "Just stay in one place or you're going to drown us with your blood. Understand?"
I'm just too stunned, looking at the walls, all covered with trails of blood and I wonder is that all I've lost? I feel like if he cuts through me, I might die because of blood loss and as he looks at me, shoving food down my throat again and this tastes so strong and bitter and so very sugary that I'm going to puke from sugar overload as he looks back down at my body, to experiment and watch around and I honestly don't feel like it's my body anymore.
I feel as if it's everyone else's body but not really mine since he's busy tattering and destroying and battering me into a ragged doll that everyone will throw away in the dumpster in the end of things.
Randy's become a dream now.
I don't think he's real.
And I honestly don't think he misses me enough to look for me and that's the only thing that keeps me happy now, knowing that Randy doesn't care makes me happy because I'm not hurting him on the inside and I don't care if I'm so hopeless and helpless because I'm just destined to die.
I'm destined to be terrified to death.
He drives his scalpel inside of my stomach, slices it open and I stare, biting my lip, staring at the throbbing pain as I see all my internal organs, all ready for him to slice up into pieces and I don't think I can take it anymore and I'm right. I faint. I faint into the blackness at the back of my head as his uncaring eyes gaze upon on my body.
I still feel the pain.
Driving the scalpel into me.
Shooting pain in my stomach, and making the rest of my body numb and brittle and fragile.
When I wake up, I wake up to dried clumped blood and tattered flesh and my shirt is on the floor and I can't really speak because I'm just too stunned at the vision in front of me. He's trying to break all of me and I don't think I care anymore as he unbuckles my pants again and before I comprehend what he's doing to me—he shoves himself inside of me.
It's like pain all over again.
This time it's just shooting all over my body and my fingernails dig into my own flesh and I feel like tearing my hair out but I'm still convinced I deserve to suffer as he pushed in and out of me, and I throb with displeasure and horror and terror and I just want to run off and get a train out of here but this train doesn't seem like it's going to stop any minute.
I feel like I've been raped.
I don't know if it's really pain because I'm the one who wanted treatment. Is this treatment for my mind? I bite my lower lip and try to stand up and now that I think I can, I hold onto the bed and stand up and I don't know. It feels like a miracle but I fall back down onto the floor and I look down between my legs to find blood and fluid and I look up at him. "C-can I shower?" I stutter.
He simply nods his head as I find myself having to crawl there because I can't stand and as I walk inside of his bathroom, locking the door, I strip myself out of my clothes, barely able to and I sit onto the floor and let the water run. I curl into a ball because my head's begging to rest and as I put my head on my knees, feeling the freezing cold water over wash my head and body. The sweat finally runs down and every time I blink, I believe that I'll be here forever.
He opens the door and I close my eyes, even though he's seen every part of me, he throws clothing over the drenched floor and when I'm done, I crawl towards the soaked clothing and see the thick cotton black material and as I try to wear it, feeling as if wearing my clothes is an everyday chore because of the pain, I crawl out of the door, finding it hard to open the door and seeing him laugh at me, I look down. Walking is a miracle to me. Surviving seems like a bigger one.
"Why black?" I ask and my voice's weak and my throat's so dry from lack of dehydration.
"That why you won't faint if you see blood." I feel my cheeks burn hot red and as I creep towards the couch and lay outstretched on it, feeling my body ache all over, I look up at the ceiling. Drops of water fall down onto my face, absorbed by the black material and I lay my still tired face onto the pillow, looking around the house and feeling as if I'm trapped in here forever.
…that I don't think you're alive anymore.
I've been living here for so long…
Into so many little pieces.
November, 2, 2009
It's around three in the morning.
I'm awake.
Staring at the floor.
Bloodshot.
Pieces of glass.
Reflect me.
I'm scared.
I'm awake.
I'm pathetic.
Staring at the floor.
I'm hopeless.
Bloodshot.
I'm helpless.
Pieces of glass.
I'm broken up.
Reflect me.
Into so many little pieces.
…that I think my soul's died here.
aw...teddy...
;) Sam
