You're bored.

You're hungry.

And you're scared out of your mind.

Did you mention you're bored?

Still, considerin' where you are, where you were, and where you could be, things could be worse.

Sittin' there, in a chair, all tied up, not much fun.

Not much to do.

Giles smells like old paper and mushy peas – which he pointedly ate as a bedtime snack right in front of you, back turned, payin' the bills, polishin' off the Thanksgiving leftovers, which were mainly mushy peas.

Bored.

Not much to do.

Telly's off.

At least you're out of the bathtub.

Which they put you in after the dishes were washed, closing the door, leaving you hungry (and alone) in the dark.

Lots of time spent hungry in the dark in the past, before the…

…Initative…

(…mucked around in your brain, eh mate?)

Shut up!

Sod off.

Bored.

Bored.

Bored.

This lasted until Giles realized that yes, he would like to take a shower— alone. So, before leaving for the night, they hauled you cursing out of the tub, chains, bad attitude, and all, and put you back in the chair.

In the middle of Giles's sitting room.

With the telly off.

Bored, hungry, and frightened out of your mind.

While Giles took a shower, ignoring you on his way to bed.

You tried a bit of light evening conversation, "Oi, old man, I'm hungry. Feed me, or I'll…"

"Or you'll what?" The disdain, the disgust in Giles's face was clear as he walked past you in his bathrobe, "I don't see you doing much at the moment." He turned out the light, leaving you in the dark, closing his bedroom door behind him.

Leaving you alone.

Bored.

Hungry.

And frightened out of your mind.

With no telly to distract you.

So you start bouncing.

Giles's flat is old, it has hardwood floors.

They echo, in spite of the carpet, like a regimental drum.

The chair they left you tied up in rocks back and forth, beating a steadily intensifying tattoo.

The phone rings.

Giles, looking rumpled, thumps in, answering it. You grin at him wolfishly; Giles is a boring old fart, but he's a welcome distraction as you cause the chair to come crashing down onto the parquet through the old Persian rug, actually making altitude, which makes for louder landings.

Loud enough so that pictures start tipping over on end tables.

Now that's, entertainment!

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Rivera, I'll stop woodworking at such a late hour. Sorry, sorry, lost track of the time, please, don't call the landlord!"

Annoyed, Giles snaps at you to stop.

Pleased at having riled his neighbors, at having got some attention, you put more effort into it.

"Be quiet! If you weren't our only link to the Initiative, I'd stake you myself!"

"You and what army?!" This is fun!

"I'm warning you!"

"About what, geezer?" You might not be able to bite any more, but you'll find a way, "How are you going to explain to the landlord you have someone tied up in your sitting room? They'll call the cops on you, and you'll be evicted!" Crash! (You managed to get all four legs off the floor, coming down like a dropped anvil, what fun!)

"Be. Quiet."

The phone rings again, "Yes, Mrs. Rivera, I'm so terribly sorry, I dropped something while cleaning up…"

Ooooh, lovely, let's stick our dirty little spoon into the pot and see what we can stir up, shall we? "'Allo Mrs. Rivera," You bellow, "Did you know that your posh English downstairs neighbor has someone allllll tied up…"

"Shut the fuck up, you annoying little turd." Hand over the receiver, Giles thrusts out one slippered foot, plants it firmly on your chest, and gives a decisive push, tipping you and your chair over onto your backs with a crash almost as loud as the one you just made so that you lie there blinking up at the light fixture between the scuffed toes of your boots.

Lights come on in the surrounding apartments, a baby cries and several small dogs start barking hysterically.

"Yes, Mrs. Rivera, I am so very sorry, it won't happen again." Giles hangs up the phone, "And as for you…" The ceiling glides past overhead as Giles drags the carpet you've landed on towards the bathroom, "I won't be having any more of this."

"You gonna feed me, old man? Ow, hey watch it now!" You could have sworn the fusty old fart deliberately swerved so that your head connected sharply with the doorframe of the lavvy before hauling you and your chair upright in the loo with a heave and a grunt. "And while we're at it, I could use a smoke."

"No."

Giles turns out the light, slamming the bathroom door shut behind him and locking it, leaving you and the chair you're tied up in the company of the toilet, the sink, and the shower, which drips.

And your terror.

You could easily break the ropes.

It's just a game, really.

You could leave any time you want.

Right mate? Right!

But the last thing you want right now is to be alone.

So you put up with it, drip, hunger, and all

Meanwhile, good thing you've memorized the entire Ramone's songbook, and the night? The night is still young… "I want to be sedated!"