Hi guys! Welcome back! I hope you've all (vaguely) recovered from the finale…yeah…I'm still reeling from that!
Thank you to those of you who sent me so much love for Fractured (and Broken). I hope you enjoy this last part of the journey too! If you've just stumbled across this story, please bear in mind that it's the third instalment of the Destruction Trilogy and therefore might not make a whole lot of sense (although I will try my best to refer back to the things that need it).
"Round and around I go
Addicted to the numb, livin' in the cold."
- Runnin', Adam Lambert
"Do you want to be here?"
He flinched, the voice whispering too close to his ear. His heart pounded agonisingly against his ribs. If it beat much harder, it was going to stop. Sweat dampened his skin, made his shirt stick uncomfortably to him. Every breath was a short, sharp gasp and he couldn't slow it down.
Calm down. Calm down calmdown calmdowncalmdowncalmdown…
"I asked you a question."
He jerked his head away, hating the feel of hot breath on the back of his neck. His hairs rose and he strained forwards, but couldn't go far.
They wanted him exposed. Vulnerable.
He was giving them exactly what they wanted. The band around his eyes kept him blind, kept him guessing. He just wanted to go. Why wouldn't they let him go? He hadn't done anything to them. Why did this keep happening?
"I'm not going to be very happy if you make me repeat myself."
"Please. Just let me go," he begged, hands balling into fists, trying to stop the trembling of his fingers. He didn't know why he tried to hide it; they already knew he was weak.
"I can't do that. Not until you admit it."
"I don't want to be here," he whimpered, twisting his hands. The metal bit into them, chewing at the soft flesh that was slowly going numb from being lifted above his head for so long.
"I don't believe you. I think you want this. It reminds you of him." The man goaded, his honeyed voice moving as his heels clicked on the concrete floor.
"No," he shook his head vehemently. It wasn't true. He didn't want this at all. He wanted his freedom. Forgetting everything…finding his way out. If he could do that, he would be free. But he couldn't do it alone. He was weak and he loathed that it was true.
"I think it does. You feel safe like this. You don't want control."
"You're wrong!" he cried, bursting into a fit of struggling, yanking on his arms and rubbing his face against his biceps but the blindfold wouldn't shift. The shackles bit into his wrists, his ankles; there was no give at all. He sagged helplessly, letting his head drop forward.
"You don't know how to be in control anymore," the man whispered next to his ear. "You're weak. You can't escape because you don't want to. You're not a leader.
"This removes your responsibility. You want to be told what to do, where to go, how to live. This makes your pitiful existence easier," the voice hissed derisively. He wanted to scream and rail against them, but he couldn't find the strength.
"You're wrong," he whispered brokenly, yelping when a blow snapped his head to the side, sending stars exploding in the dark. The chains rattled as his legs buckled.
"I'm not. If I was, you wouldn't be back here, chained to a ceiling. Helpless. Again. You wanted to be caught because then you don't have to answer to anyone – yourself included – about why you gave in. And you did; it was your choice."
"No, it wasn't," he sobbed. He had never had the choice. Choice was a luxury he'd been denied for too long.
"It was. And you're going to think about that and, when I come back, your training will begin. We're going to make it right. It's not going to be hard for me; I found all the original methods. The harder you resist, the harder it will be for you. Remember: I know exactly what works with you."
He cried out as his arms were suddenly jerked up higher, forcing him to stand on his toes.
"No! Don't! You can't leave me here!" he shouted, already feeling the burn in his shoulders, the shallowness of his breath as his chest was stretched up. The footsteps echoed out, followed by a heavy slam, leaving him alone. The darkness closed in, bearing down, getting blacker and more ominous. His panting got louder, more ragged, mixing with the blood roaring in his ears.
He couldn't go through this. Not again. They needed to let him go. He needed to get out.
"But I am here for you; I want to help you through this." The familiar voice, so different to the one who had just tormented him, droned around him, stopping his blood cold.
"No…" he whimpered, struggling to breathe. He couldn't listen; he didn't want this. Why were they doing this?!
"It's my job. It's what I'm going to do. I'll keep you safe. You'll be alright as long as I'm here," it crooned again, tinny and echoing as though it was coming through speakers. It was a lie. It was all a lie. No one could protect him. No one could keep him safe.
Alone in the dark, he screamed.
He would kill every last one of them.
Wide, livid eyes were fixated on the screen, watching his brother hang from the ceiling, his screams ringing through the speakers. Making him watch was the biggest mistake they'd ever made.
He'd make sure of it.
You know me…I like to give you something a little short and vague to start with ;)