Lessons from Mr. Nashton

Lesson #5: Phobias

My eyes slowly opened that morning. I had almost forgotten what had happened yesterday. Almost being the keyword there.

"Rise and shine my little guinea pig," Crane said from behind me.

"I'm not your anything," I hissed. He walked in front of me and grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head. My breath caught in my throat.

"Enough." he snarled. "Enough with your snark remarks."

"Don't touch me."

"Oh believe me, I don't want to," he shook his head. "I'm not one for much physical contact. But you don't really give me a choice, now do you?"

He began fumbling with something in his back pocket.

"What are you doing?" I asked nervously.

"Oh, as if you can't figure it out," he snickered, clutching a syringe. I began to panic. "Yes, that's right. Give in to the fear."

"There's just one thing you failed to realize," I smirked, having an idea. "When put in a situation of fear, one either has a flight or fight response, correct?"

"Correct..."he didn't seem to catch on to what I was saying.

"I choose fight," I said, kicking him in the crotch. He flinched and recoiled, letting go of my wrists. I shot up, scrambling off the couch. I ran about the room, trying to remember where the door was. 

There.

I darted towards it, heart racing. I reached for the doorknob. Right as I grabbed it, I felt a sharp pain in my leg. I looked down. The syringe was in me. I collapsed to the ground and began blacking out, not before hearing Crane cackling like a mad man.

* * *

The first thing I saw was Mr. Nashton sitting at his desk. I approached him with caution. 

"Mr. Nashton?" I called. He didn't look up.

"Yes, Ren?"

"What're you doing?" I asked out of curiosity. 

"That's simple, my dear," he said. I could see him smile a bit. "Plotting your demise."

"What?"

He looked up, his eyes glowing red. Confused, I stumbled backwards, landing in a chair that I didn't remember being there. He stood up, hands on the desk. I couldn't breathe.

"Let's see, how could I do it?" he asked me. "Painless or painful?"

I didn't speak. I couldn't speak.

"Cat got your tongue?" he laughed. "That's it. Maybe I'll cut off your tongue. That way you won't be able to speak about this little ordeal."

I made a squeaky noise. At first, I didn't realize it came from me. All I could do was shake my head. He started walking towards me, grabbing scissors off the desk before doing so. It seemed like it was taking him forever to get there, as if there was an infinite amount of space between us. 

"Don't be afraid," he smiled at me. "It's just a little pain."

I could finally speak. "What are you doing? I thought we had a deal? This isn't fair."

"Villains don't play fair, sweetheart," he said, standing inches in front of me. He bent over so that we were eye to eye.

"Villains?"

His smile grew wider. "Be a good girl and say ah."

I didn't do it voluntary, but before I could resist, my mouth was open.

* * *

I woke up screaming, checking to see if I still had a tongue. I tried to get up only to find myself restrained by straps. 

"Interesting. Very interesting," Crane mused. "You seem to care a lot for your Mr. Nashton."

"No," I protested. "It's not like that."

"Don't lie to me. The experiment doesn't lie," he said, pointing to his clipboard. "You're a fool, you know."

"Don't you dare call me that."

"You should know better than to care for a criminal."