Adrenaline floods my system. My heart pounds against my ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm that vibrates up my throat and down my arms. My body tenses, coiling into a defensive stance even though there’s nowhere to run, nothing to fight.
My muscles scream in protest at the sudden movement, but fear overrides pain.
He’s back.The thought is instantaneous, a blinding certainty that steals the air from my lungs.He’s here.
I scramble backwards, limbs clumsy with panic and fatigue until my back hits the cold plaster wall. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. I press my trembling hands against my ears, trying to block out the phantom sound, but it’s alreadyreceding, leaving only the frantic thumping of my own heart and the raggedness of my breathing.
The room sways slightly, a dizzying aftermath of the terror spike.
I stay frozen against the wall, my eyes fixed on the door, waiting, convinced that he’s going to burst through and start shocking me again. Shocking me more.
My skin still crawls. My body trembles uncontrollably, a shuddering release of the tension I didn’t know I was holding. I’m safe. The words echo, hollow and distant. The man is not here, he didn’t come back through the door. He didn’t materialize from the walls, but safety is not a comfort when all I need, all I desperately fucking need right now is sleep.
My exhaustion is a vast, yawning chasm.
It pulls at me like a gravitational force I cannot resist. My eyelids feel heavier now, not with lead but with the weight of utter, bone-deep fatigue. The fear, the adrenaline, the sheer effort of staying awake is wearing me down.
Sleep is calling, a siren song laced with danger.
Ishouldstay awake.
Ihaveto stay awake.
But my body is a traitor.
The muscles in my eyes, already strained, are begging for release. The dull ache in my bones is aching for the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness. The scream, that awful, sharp intrusion seems so far away now, a bad dream I’ve willed myself out of.
My eyelids flutter. One drops, then the other. Just for a second. A tiny, involuntary surrender. And then, as my eyes shut completely, the scream hits me again.
It scrapes against my eardrums, a banshee wail that pierces through the fragile veil between wakefulness and sleep. It mirrors the sound of my own terror, echoing back from the depths of my own psyche.
My eyes fly open again, gasping, tears welling instantly. And then that awful pain forces me to my knees, leaves me doubled over, panting, crying, begging for mercy.
Adrenaline surges through me once more, a violent spike that makes my heart hammer against my ribs as panic grips me, cold and sharp.
I clutch my head, trying to block out the sound, but it’s impossible. This noise is designed to wake me, to torture me, to ensure that I cannot sleep. That I cannot get a moment of rest.
The scream fades, receding back into the static of my fear.
The room is silent once more.
I’m so desperately exhausted I could cry. I just want to sleep. I need to sleep, but he won’t let me.
My body screamsat me torun, fight, get away,buthis hand is already there, clamping over my forehead, slamming me back.
“None of that,” the man murmurs, not needing the prod in his hand now for me to feel the threat. He grabs my jaw, forcing it open. His fingers dig into the hinges of my mouth, relentless, and I gag immediately, my throat convulsing as the tube presses against my tongue.
No, no, no.
I try to bite down but fingers pinch my nose shut, cutting off my air. My lungs burn. My vision blurs at the edges, darkening like ink spreading through water. And then the tube is forced in.
It snakes its way down my throat like some invasive parasite, forcing me to accept what I don’t want. It isn’t just the violation of it, the way it slithers past my gag reflex like a living thing, it’s the helplessness. The way my body betrays me, swallowing reflexively even as my mind screamsno, no, no…
I choke, my body convulsing but he holds me down, his grips unrelenting. Tears spill hot down my temples, soaking into my hair. The first rush of liquid food pours into me, thick and lukewarm, flooding my stomach like sludge.
I don’t know what it is they’re feeding me, what this liquid contains but in my mind I picture it like liquid cement, grey and bland.
“You haven’t earned a proper meal yet,” the man says, his breath warm against my ear.
