#ak40gunnn

“Fuck you help me.” >Itchy is collapsed on hands and knees in the tub, tired, soaked, and shivering.

For once, the room isn’t dark. Its artificial light, you don’t remember the last time you saw the sun, but its comforting at the very least. You can see the room better this way. Its white. You knew that, though. Its always been white, for as long as you’ve been here its been white, and nothing you do is going to change that.

A voice cuts through the deafening silence, sharp against the softness of the white. You start and look around, dazed, quietly muttering your confusion. It speaks again. “I said ‘Good morning’” Oh. You greet the voice in a dull tone, looking down at the floor between your legs. White jacket, white pants, white floor. It feels like your whole life has been antagonized by white. When will it end.

“How are you feeling today?” The voice crackles, and you hiss. “Blow me.” You mutter quietly, shifting awkwardly against the wall. Despite the padding, its uncomfortable. It’s a while until the voice speaks again, and after the brief conversation, you’re almost desperate for it. It’s a different voice, though, male. You flinch.

“Today you get to see the doctor again, Chase. Are you looking forward to talking with him?”

You grin and lean your head back, sunken, glazed, bright green eyes glancing over the white, wondering where the voice is coming from, daring it to make its presence known. “Can’t wait.” You reply in a mocking tone, chuckling to yourself afterwards. Why do they torture you like this. You’ve told them a thousand times – a million times? – that you don’t want to talk to the doctor. You can’t stand doctors. You’re not afraid, you just hate them. You’re not afraid.

Another moment later theres a sound like an air lock being released, and a door is pushed open on the opposite wall. You look at them, they look at you. They’re smiling. Their teeth are white. “Can you stand?” There are three of them, but only the woman in front speaks. Her coat is white. Groaning, you sit forward and turn slightly to press your shoulder against the wall for support as you lift yourself from the floor. Its some kind of show, but they learned the hard way that touching you is not a good idea. When you finally stand, you get a bit of a head rush, but you’re pleased with yourself. You can do it without them. Without anyone.

You walk, slowly, behind the rest of them that are walking quietly to themselves as they lead you down the bleached, ill smelling hallways, around corners, away from the safety of your white room. You feel your chest twinge as you walk, the springs of primal instinct tightening in anticipation. You cant tell what it is, but theres something familiar in the stagnant air today, and that is never a good thing.

Finally, you reach the doctor’s office, the completely cliché, bullshitty shrinks office complete with overstuffed, itchy couch and an equally overstuffed owner. He smiles as you walk in. Thankfully, his teeth aren’t white. You relax a bit.

“Good morning, Chase. How are you feeling today?” He asked thickly, tipping his bottlecap glasses down from the top of his head and turning to you as you sit down. You lift an eyebrow at him. “Fuckin’ aces, Doc.” The doctor seems content with this answer, and jots something on his notepad. “I’m glad to hear that, I really am. You’ve been with us for some time now, and I really think you’re making great progress.” You close your eyes and sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions that aren’t as soft as your room. You wish you were back there now. You just want to sleep.

“Actually, today is sort of special.” You jolt awake, the momentary silence having lulled you into a quiet doze. “As you know, myself and the other doctors have been trying to regulate your medicine so that you can eventually live independently, that’s our goal, remember?” You nod lazily, glancing around the room as he talks. The walls are a sort of orangish brown, supposed to be warm, you guess, but it just makes it look like someone lined the walls with shit. Besides the obvious certificates and diplomas that show off just how smart this guy is and how much he knows, there are the usual novelties; one of those singing fish with a fin missing (its never on, thank god), a few motivational posters, and a picture of his kid with a four leaf clover shaped medal hanging next to it. You cant stand that picture.

“Chase?” Finally, he catches your attention again, snapping stubby fingers in your direction and tilting his head. “You alright, buddy? Thought I lost you for a second.” He chuckles, and you roll your eyes. Fucking doctors. “Anyway, as I was saying, today we have a specialist coming in today to help us with your medicine. A big sensation in the states, he knows his stuff, and I really think he’ll be able to help you, so give him a chance, alright?” You nod, not really listening or caring. Your nose itches.

“Doctor? please come in.” The door opens.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re screaming, dry throat aching as you empty your lungs, and then soon after, your stomach. Oh god, oh god. You stand from the couch, falling back from the rush and lack of balance. Your screaming starts again, and you almost throw yourself from the couch as your more than rotund doctor tries to calm you with words. Your mind is simultaneously completely blank, and all but racing with thoughts and memories. Faded, drug addled memories, half formed but fully present now. You remember the green, and the white. Your shrieking continues as you try to almost crawl away, pushing yourself with your legs as the medical team is called. You screech at them to do something, to help you, to save you. Anything but that, anything but him.

They do nothing but retrain and sedate you. The world falls first to silence, to stillness, and then to darkness, both fear and hope gone without a trace. Nothing exists in that moment. The last thought you have before going completely unconscious is that you don’t want to die.

You wake after what seems like only a moment. Your head aches, your throat aches, your whole body aches, really, and you grunt, opening your eyes despite your body’s protests. A light glares in your face, hot and white, and behind stands a shadowed figure, almost invisible against it. It doesn’t matter, though, you know who it is. Your breathing picks up, and you scramble to get away, your wrists and ankles, as well as your neck catching on the leather of what must be your restraints. Its been a while since you’ve had to be restrained like this, but him being here makes it so much worse. You don’t want to hurt anymore, you don’t want him to hurt you anymore. You thought you were safe here, you thought you were finally safe.

“Good morning, Chase.”

His voice stabs through you like a knife, and your stomach twists into knots at how familiar and terrifying it is. You pull at the straps keeping you in place, wrenching your shoulders, writhing, desperate to escape. You can’t do this, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

He chuckles. “Still so hyperactive, even in a place like this.”

Footsteps fall on the tile floor as he makes his way around the ‘bed’ you’re confined to. Bed being a relative term, since its more of an operating table than anything. The comparison does nothing for your anxiety. When he stops moving again –somewhere, you think, near your head – you turn your head and cry out as an ice cold hand pressed lightly against the side of your face, running spindly fingers down your skin, standing out in obvious contrast. You choke out a shaky “Please…”

The hand disappears behind the light again, and everything is silent, save for your labored breathing, and heavy shivering. At this point you’re just waiting for the first blow to come, knowing that you cant prepare yourself enough for it, but at least hoping not to scream like a girl again.

Seconds tick by in silence, and you start to sweat, eyes darting back and forth, trying to see, trying to find what can’t be found. Is he gone? A light, frigid touch along the crease of your left arm tells you otherwise, and you jolt away from it as much as you can, whimpering loudly. “You were hard to find, Chase. Who would have thought someone like you would end up here.” You say nothing. The hand slides up your arm where the remnants of bitter days reside; scars from needles and fire fights litter your skin there and you know without seeing that they stand out all too clearly. He clicks his tongue. “Self medicating is so harmful, you know. No wonder you landed yourself here.” His fingers dot across your upper arm, marking with chilling accuracy each time you were too weak, too scared, too dumb, too proud, too lonely to help yourself. Despite your fear, you can’t help the shame that comes creeping, haunting you always like a ghost. You close your eyes and turn your head away. You wish you could go back to the dark. You don’t want him to be able to see every part of you, to see through you as easily as he does. He always could, even back then.

You wish you could tell yourself you aren’t afraid.

“Did they tell you about why I’m here?” They being the other doctors. Those traitors. How could they. How could they betray you like this. Haven’t you been betrayed enough in your life already. You whisper no. His hand disappears again, as does the light, leaving spots in front of your eyes as they adjust to the sudden change. Even with it gone, all you can see is white. The ceiling is white. “Didn’t they? Or were you simply not listening?” You don’t answer. “No matter, It should be obvious. I’m here to help you with your medications. I suppose I don’t have to tell you, but I’m actually quite famous for my skills in the drug field.” You choke on a sob, keeping your eyes closed, lips quivering and eyes wet, so afraid, so scared before anything’s even happened.

From further away, the sound of glass bottles clinking together followed by the very quiet, dull sound of a syringe filling with liquid. You know that sound better than most, and it sends a new, white hot shock of fear down your spine and starts up your wrestling again. You don’t want whatever he has to give, you don’t care about your dignity anymore, you can’t take any more of that. Anything but that. “Please—no, Doc, Please, please!” Your screams turn to crying as the footsteps bring your captor and his obvious weapon of choice closer. A moment later you feel those icy hands on you again, and that voice that cuts like a blade echoes too close to your ears.

“Hold still, or this is really going to hurt.”

The tip of the needle presses against your already marked skin, pulling it taut. You sob, tears streaming down your face, pleads of mercy a jumbled mess of words that cant come fast enough, and all to fall on deaf ears. The instant the needle slides in, your suck in a loud, almost moaning breath, that familiar pain shocking your brain into forced quiet. Cool, white liquid slowly spreads through your veins as the plunger is pressed, agonizingly slow. You huff a quick breath and hold it again, whimpering softly, like a kicked dog. Maybe that’s what you are. Maybe that’s what you were the moment you stepped into that white, vault like room all those years ago, and ever since,  the colors have tormented you, just like they are now.

You don’t realize when the needle is removed, because the pain lingers, but when you finally look, he’s gone, or at least, not at your side anymore. The small puncture wound drips red and white, both disgusting and fascinating to you. The ache begins to subside, and for a split, hopeful second, you think its over.

The pain comes suddenly; a short, sharp shock down your spine, making you arch your back involuntarily. It happens again, and again. Each second brings another throbbing convulsion, each more intense than the last, making your whole body tense and pull against its binds. You scream, voice muffled by an already worn throat and the leather pressing against your neck. It hurts. That’s the only thing in your thoughts right now. Your mind is a white hot pool of pain and utter misery. Even in your mind, you cant escape that damned color. The pain changes now, an all over prickling pain, like being stabbed with needles. Every pore, every inch of your already broken body is electrified, drawing louder and louder sounds from you until even that dies away.

Finally, finally, the pain begins to ebb. Its gradual, but obvious. As it does, your body starts to relax. You gulp for air as you remember what it is to breathe properly, sweating and physically, mentally and emotionally worn down to the bone. You ache. Your skin feels wrong; heavy and tight, as though you’ve switched with someone else. When you can see again, you open your eyes and he is looking down at you. He must have been watching the whole time, just like before. You swallow hard, shaking, newly white eyes meeting his pale ones. He doesn’t have to say anything, but you both know he’s won.

He smirks.

“You did well.” A bone, thrown to a tired dog.