Chapter Six

"I can't believe I'm dressed like one of you freaks."

He had done it. He had managed to break my will and stuff me into the monochrome clothing despite my protests. It had been far from a pleasant ordeal, and I had shouted curses the entire time. I had lost my concentration at refusing him until the voice, the damn voice, slithered into my ears and caressed my mind like it was some lover returning from war. It had been just barely audible, suppressed by the medication I had been heavily reliant on for years.

And he had sensed that my concentration had been broken. Somehow, he had known just when the voice had intruded, had whispered a half heard command, and he had taken advantage of it. It might have been my eyes that were only just centimeters away from his losing focus that tipped him off, or maybe it was the slight stutter of my next refusal.

Either way I had no part in dressing, or even undressing, myself. It was not an experience I would like to recant, or even have a repeat of. And the next time he tells me to change, I suppose I'll just have to hop right to it because it was easily the most shameful, embarrassing thing I had ever been subjected to.

The clothes were, admittedly, more comfortable than what I had been wearing despite their lack of color. The shirt—if it could be called that—was more like a trench coat, although with a hood and short in the arms, ending just a bit above my elbows in a thick, black trim. There was a hood, too; the rest of it zipped up the front, beginning at my waist and ending just a bit below my neck. Also beginning at my waist was what made me call it a trench coat: a trail of sorts and came down to the middle of my calves, but had no buckling of any sort in the front; it hung open from my waist until it ended. A simple pair of white shorts finished it all off, but they had no black trim.

They were nice, but I knew that it was the first step of assimilation to my kidnappers. But maybe if I played along and did it nicely, I could gain their trust and eventually find a way to escape. Of course, the first step to that would be to actually figure out where I was, who had me, and why.

"Get used to it," he said gruffly. There is a bruise forming just below his eye, the one without the bone piece beneath it. I felt pretty proud for actually landing a hit on him, but he had continued with his forcefully dressing me nevertheless. I believe I would have a few new bruises of my own to show soon as well.

"And why should I?" For the life of me, I still couldn't seem to remember his name. It would likely never come to me unless it was prompted by some trigger word.

"Because you're going to be here for awhile." I frowned at him; with a huff, I hurled myself face down onto the sofa. I wanted to fall back asleep and stay asleep for the rest of my captivity, although I knew it likely wasn't going to be possible. I was going to have to wake up at some point and have to talk to that man again, the man that was called Aizen.

But he could wait.

When I woke up, the room was empty; I was alone. The blanket that I had tossed over the back of the sofa was on me, and my purple shoes sat on top of my faded messenger bag leaning up against the front of the sofa. A pillow that I could nearly swear had not been there before was stuffed beneath my head.

My muscles screamed in protest as I sat up and stretched; my back popped in three distinct areas, relieving a bit of the pain from sleeping on the uncomfortable piece of furniture. I rubbed my eyes to get the sleep cleared from them, yawning. I felt exhausted, even though I knew I had to have slept for some time.

I dug my water bottle from my bag and took a swig of it, cringing a bit as the warm liquid rushed into my mouth and down my throat. Warm water was better than no water at all, but I would have liked it to be more refreshing than disgusting.

My eyes shot to the underside of my left arm. The two 'x's were still there, although they were somewhat worn off of my skin, likely from the struggle with the blue haired man and the ridiculous get-up I was wearing. The outfit felt more like pajamas than actual clothes, and the shorts didn't even have pockets! What good are a pair of shorts without pockets? No one should be subjected to not having pockets; it's inhumane and something I wouldn't want to wish upon anyone.

Unless, of course, they just so happened to strip me and force me into something without pockets.

Groaning, I flopped back down onto the couch, a loose hold on the water bottle in my right hand. It was very nearly empty, a problem I would likely have to remedy soon. There were other things I would have to remedy, too, like actually getting something to eat and relieving myself.

I pulled on my purple sneakers—the only clothing item he had actually let me keep—and tied them quickly, standing up and folding up the white blanket before laying it neatly down onto the white pillow I had awoken with. The strap of my bag went onto my shoulder; then I made my way towards the large, white door. Hopefully, I would be able to get out. Seeing as I was rudely kidnapped in broad daylight, it would seem like they would want to keep my locked up; but it was worth a try, wasn't it?

Reaching the door, I stretched out my hand and laid it tentatively on the handle. My hands were pale, thin, and nearly shaking; it was an occurrence I had had the misfortune of seeing when I was coming down off of my medication, especially after mis-dosing or skipping a few of doses.

I swallowed; in all honesty, I had hoped that the words I had heard earlier, the ones that had wheeled their way into my ears and caressed my mind, hadn't actually been there. If my hands were any indication, I was wrong, and it would likely only get worse.

With a deep breath, I tightened my grip on the door handle and turned it, pulling inward. The door actually moved, and I stiffened in surprise that it actually budged. Why would they leave the door to a captive's room unlocked? My lips turned down and I shrugged, pulling the door all of the way open and poking my head out into the hallway.

It was completely clear, but also eerily silent. Recalling that even with a guide, I had gotten completely lost on the trek through the same hallway system earlier. That was probably why my door hadn't been locked; they knew I would get too turned around to actually escape, and they would find me and escort me back to my room before I could find my way out.

Steeling my nerves, I pulled my bag higher up onto my shoulder and stood up straight. I'll get out of here. Even if I lose my way and am never found and starve to death, I'm not going back into that room.

And then, I started down the hall.

Oh look, another update! I'm working on getting back into the groove of writing; later on, I'll go through and fix all of this up-this chapter will likely end up with the previous chapter-just a heads up.

See you next chapter.