takes over, shutting me down faster than the lights go out when you flip the switch.
Sometimes I have wings. Sometimes I don’t.
Always, Ophidian orders me to call on my scythe, but I don’t know what that is or what he wants me to do. Every time I fail to do as he asks, he grows even angrier. Every time his power-laced voice fails to pull a reaction from me, and the blackness creeps in to steal my pain, he loses his mind.
I thought I was crazy, but this man is a whole other level of insane. I’ve dropped the pretense of doctor when I think of him. I don’t know who or what he really is, but he’s no doctor. He’s not even human.
The blackness I’m cocooned in allows me to blink, but I know it’ll be a while longer until I’m fully in control of my body again. It takes time for it to recede to the inner corners of my head where it will lie in wait to come out and protect me again later.
I have a new routine. Ophidian comes, tries to get me to do what he wants, and he punishes me when I don’t. He leaves in a fit of rage, and I heal—quicker than I should be able to—as the blackness recedes, and I regain control of my body again. Then I wait for him to come back and start all over.
My routine sucks.
Who knew I could ever miss the days of tasteless oatmeal and milk on the verge of going bad for breakfast, of meds, treatments, shrink sessions, more meds, avoiding the things I see, and punishing myself by replaying the memories of what I’d done to end up in a facility over and over again. I never knew there’d be a time where I’d beg to go back to that. But I’d never known a hell like this place could exist before then.
I blink again as Ophidian’s body passes by my line of vision. He’s got a dagger today, and I know he’s been cutting into me like a butcher does a piece of meat. My vision is shadowed, the black veil in my mind keeping me safe from feeling any of it. I know it confuses and enrages him that I don’t react. I don’t understand the darkness myself, but I’m thankful for it. My eyes stare straight ahead as he continues to talk to me, his heavy voice trying to claw into my brain and force me to give him what he wants.
I let my mind wander past the glint of the dagger and his merciless words, but then I see movement at the other end of the room.
The other woman.
Ophidian put her in the empty cage beside mine right before he dragged me to the table for another one of our friendly torture sessions. But she’s awake now. I can’t see much, not without the ability to move my head or eyes, but I see her foot move, and my heart pounds harder in my chest.
He seemed entirely too pleased with himself when he dumped her in her cage. Unfortunately, I don’t think her fate will be much different from mine. Maybe it’ll be better for her, though. Maybe she’ll understand what he wants, because I sure as hell don’t.
Anger flares in my mind at that thought as Ophidian leans closer to my face, his snakes snapping threateningly in my direction. “I will break you,” he whispers malevolently in my ear. On my shoulder, I see the evidence of chills as they rise in uneven bumps across my skin. I can’t feel them, just like I can’t feel it when he digs the tip of the dagger against my ribs, but I can see it.
I never considered myself a violent person before, but rage starts to pump through me as I’m forced to watch what he’s doing to me. When I first got here and these sessions began, all I felt was overwhelming and crippling fear. But after days and days of this, I want nothing more than to pummel everything around me to the ground. I want to strap the snake-haired bastard to the table and tear him limb from limb. I want to cut him for hours and see how he likes it. I want to make him bleed.
I let my vengeful imagination run wild.
I won’t be fast or merciful, I’ll slowly and meticulously implement the same techniques he’s tried on me. And then, stone by stone,