Chapter Four: Much More Aware (Linkin Park: Numb)
I'm tired of being what you want me to be/ Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface. I've become sonumb,I can't feel you there/ Become so tired, so much more aware. I'm becoming this, all I want to do is be more like me and less like you.
Disjointed voices reach me. Half snippets of conversations. Trying to open my eyes and failing, I realise it's more in my favour to lay low and hear how much they know before acting. I lay there, breathing evenly.
"Doctor- how- possible?"
"Agent- scarred tissue- should- died."
So it's me they're talking about. Well, they must have seen my body by now. In a vain attempt to stop my mind from wading in an ocean of nightmares that was my life, I concentrate on the here and now, no need to go back to that day, the day everything changed. I listen to their voices but there is no more conversation now, just the irritating beeping of a machine. Wait, is that my heartbeat? I feel weird, almost vulnerable. Tapping sounds reach my eardrums, like someone's typing on a keyboard... Okay, nice to know they're updating facebook while supposedly 'looking' after me. The sound reaches me clearly though, as if the drug induced fog has slipped from my mind, leaving me perfectly capable of incapable things. Then I hear them.
"His torso is laced with scars, with 80 to 90 percent of scar tissue covering his whole body. Surprisingly, his face is the least scarred. I mean- you know, if someone would want to torture you, they wouldn't exactly lay off your face would they? Unless urm... unless he was maybe urm sort of..." Wow, a doctor's prognosis, really?
"You mean to say unless he's a prostitute?" A new voice. What the fuck?
The new voice carries on, it must be the 'Agent' guy, "I don't think so, a sex slave doesn't have that much combat training or know how to get past May and Ward before they can blink. I think there's more to it than that. Not to mention the fact that Director Fury's shown an interest in him."
"Hmmm" The first voice replies, lost in thought. Then it happens- a hand is laid on my (very toned, if I do say so myself) stomach and a finger snakes across my scars. Dread sets in my bones and a shiver worms its way down my spine. Fear pools in my stomach, making me want to retch. But I keep it in. I won't let anybody have that sort of power over me, not again, not after...
A calloused finger touches the five parallel scars on the front of my right shoulder. My mind flashes back.
6 years old. Blood dripped down my face as I pulled against the rope that knotted my hands together behind me. Sobbing and begging.Anything to stop the pain.Feeling desperation, starvation and pain for the first time in my life.My childhood innocence stripped.
They wanted to teach me respect.Respect and obedience.They said they had my best interests atheart, thatthey cared about me.Cruel to be kind- literally.According to them, it was myfault,I shouldn't have resisted the transition. If I had just listened to them, then the pain would have stopped. But then I would be a monster. Become a willing candidate or be tortured.
He stood there and looked at me with sad blue eyes, a small smile playing on his face, as if he thought I was going through a rebel stage and he would do his best to help me open my eyes. A bit like a doctor telling someone they had cancer to which he held the cure. My head was in the noose, and I said the only thing I could think of to get it out.
"Please" Iwhimpered,my throat hoarse from lack of water and terror.
He sighed, walked towards me, then behind. I began shaking violently when he was out of my line of sight, remembering the last time somebody had stood there and the way my body still ached days afterwards. Because I had screamed, they didn't give me any water as water was only for 'big boys'.
He saw all this and more, taking it all in with a sigh and a click of his tongue. Suddenly, my hands were free and I whirled around in time to see the bonds fall to the floor.Strong hands were placed on my shoulder, forcefully turning me around so I couldn't see him behind me; not hard enough to leave a bruise but hard enough so that it was very uncomfortable.
"Callum, you need to listen to me." He shakes me then, roughly, "Are you listening?"
I nod my head but when he growls irritably, I rush to squeak out a reply. "Yes, sir" my voice is weak.
I can hear the smirk in his voice, "So, Jeff's little lesson did teach you some manners". I sob once, thinking about him and his 'toys', but hold the tears in, careful not to let another sound slip from my mouth. Making noise equals punishment.
"You seem to have this misconceived idea that your parents are looking for you. They aren't. You have no sister, no father or mother. You are an orphan and a ward of Hydra. Had we not extended our hand of compassion to you, you would have died".
He looks at me, expecting an answer but I screw my face up and think. I didn't understand half of the things he said, he'd used big words. But I should just agree with everything he says, that's what Mr. Morgan told me, he said otherwise he would visit me again in the night for more 'lessons' on my manners. I am about to open my mouth and say something when his hands leave my shoulder which now feel cold due to the sudden exposure to the freezing room temperature, as opposed to his toasty hands.
He walked in front of me, and I paled, thinking of all the ways he or Mr. Morgan can hurt me. He looks at me, studying my face silently and I squirm under his scrutinising stare. My eyes widen with panic as he takes out a flick knife from his pocket while still observing me. He crouches down so his face is level with mineand I automatically look at my lap, horror apparent in my features. With the knife in his left hand, he uses his right thumb to lift my chin up so I have no choice but to look him in the face. I swallow.
He lifts his left hand and places the blade of the knife flat down on my cheekbone. I am a statue, too scared to tremble; too aware one small twitch can slice my face open. After a long minute of surveying my reaction he blinks and puts the knife on the floor.
"All you need to do is say yes. The pain will stop then." He says it with a fatherly tone, trying to persuade me of his sincerity.
I shake my head, "I can't", I groan, half with pain and half with dread.
He looms over me and places a hand on my shoulder. Then he punches the right side of my face.Hard.My body jerks to the side and I yell out but the hand on my shoulder roughly yanks my body back into its original position. This time he punches the left side. It carries on until I am near unconsciousness. He grabs my shoulders and rattles my body hard.
"WHO DO YOU BELONG TO?" He screams.
I refuse to answer, staring at him silently. He slaps my face.
"WHO DO YOU BELONG TO?" He screams again.
"ANSWER ME GODDAMMIT, WHO DO YOU BELONG TO?"
I breathe out, tired with the world, and inherit a world unsuitable for, well... anyone.
"Hydra" I whisper.
The machine monitoring my heartbeat picks up. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP. Crap. No need for manners then.
My eyes snap open, fighting through the heaviness my lids insist on- an aftermath of the sedative they injected me with- and flip off my back. I was lying on a white hospital bed- with no bloody cuffs, how stupid of them!
I stare around me and take in my surroundings: there's a cautious looking man wearing glasses and apparently reading something on a screen before I so rudely interrupted him. I smirk inwardly. Shock is written on his face, his mouth gapes open- I have to physically restrain myself from making a sarcastic comment. He's wearing a white lab coat; presumably, he's the 'doctor'. Hidden in the shadows which hug the corners of the wall stands a stockier man. He looks poised but at peace, as if he knows he can take me down if I become a threat AND still have time to... I dunno, do whatever the hell weird 'agent guys' do in their spare time.
I study him for a couple of seconds- neither of us move, I have a feeling he's taking the time to study me too- and debate whether or not I can take him down without getting hurt in the process. He pushes himself off the wall and puts his hands up, opening his mouth to say something when-
"How the- It's not possible!" The doctors having a little bitch fit. Both the agent and I break off our staring match and stare at him.
I'm actually beginning to worry about his health; his face is red and going redder by the second... "Urm- Are you okay?" I ask, concerned.
The reactions I receive are hilarious. The agent dude stands there shocked, for once looking unsure- I guess he didn't expect those to be my first words and the doctor? Well, he started screaming...