#fearstudy

"How am I feeling, Jonathan? How do you think I'm feeling?"

     “Don’t!” The haunted youth exclaimed, white knuckles gripping his bed frame. It was an understatement to say he was was adapting poorly to his new home. “P-please, keep the light on.”

     Steel is unlocked and opened without invitation. Curled into himself, hiding within the corner of the cell, the child’s gaze is blinded by fluorescence. Shadow adjusts into an unfortunately familiar facade as the doctor enters the enclosure.      Words leave him, but Fayren makes no sense of them, instead he’s preoccupied by his nerves crawling under his skin. The man steps closer and a cry escapes his prisoner. “Don’t!” There was nowhere for him to run to, but that doesn’t stop the youth from pressing further against the wall at his back, desperate for any centimeter of space between them.      “P-please,” Fay scrambles. “I c-can’t― p-please d-on’t.” His messy plea is accompanied by heavy tears, but that does little to deter the doctor. He towers over the teenager before grabbing Fayren’s arm. “No!” Screams the other. He writhes against the elder: kicking, wiggling, shouting, grasping at the nearing door frame, but ultimately remains unsuccessful.      Perhaps he should now grovel; beg for the man to leave him in his cage to rot, ( anything would have been better than being exposed to the doctor’s experimentations once more ) . . . but the damage had already been done, and Fayren wasn’t ready just yet to submit. Down the hallway, he thrashed about, hoping for something ― anything ― to happen to separate him from his captor.

     “Li-listen doc,” The young man began, the shaky words spilling from him almost as soon as the other was in sight. “I, I don’t belong here. Look, I’m fine getting mental help, or whatever, but not here.” Yes, his first days at the asylum had already made a lasting impression.      “I’m n-not like the crazies in here, I-I’m ― I didn’t kill anyone.” The deaths of his sisters . . . of his friends . . . it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. This he muttered to himself like a broken record as his memories took form and haunted his every moment. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.” 

     A heavy sigh escapes Lucius as he gathers himself, tugging on his jacket and wiping his glasses before turning to face the inevitable. A light knock is given, waiting for the other’s permission before allowing himself into the small office. “Dr. Crane, thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” He began, offering a smile to the man, giving his best efforts to make it genuine. Though of course he couldn’t, not when he had learned just of the cruelties the very doctor before him had committed. So much for the Hippocratic oath.      Polite pleasantries are passed between them before Lucius finally has no choice but to rip the band-aid off. “I regret to inform you, that we at Wayne Enterprises feel . . . uncomfortable, with you continuing at Arkham, given the rumors surrounding your practices.” He falls silent for a few moments before continuing. “Of course, this is based off of more than mere gossip. We’ve looked into the situation, and come to the conclusion that it would be unethical to continue as is.”

     The doctor’s words, ever brief and aloof, made their way into the child in a matter of moments. From trained ears, poisonous prompt makes its way into Fayren’s chest where it collapse within itself and burns. Soon after, a coldness spreads across every crevasse of his being, turning fragile limbs numb. A handful of silent minutes pass, yet for Fay it feels like an eternity. Each second was overloaded with the terror of his past. More than anything he wanted to run away. To escape. But he was frozen where he stood. Forced to watch as his inevitable end neared.      Gasps fluttered from aching chest. He could barely breathe. The man speaks once more. Perhaps an attempt to soothe his patient, though more likely an order of compliance. Regardless, Fayren wasn’t able to obey. Instead, his throat continued to constrict. Sleepless eyes are shut for an instant, but when his vision returns as does she. The familiar frigidness of her hands wrap around him and talons strike his esophagus. His youth was made known as a pitiful cry escapes him.

( @fearstudy )