Cut!

Take 33 - Taken - Part 1

A/N: Comment as you read. The end is fast approaching, so all support is not only needed, but also highly appreciated. Let's do this!

I couldn’t explain the haze that surrounded me. At first, it was complete serenity, like floating on a pink cloud. But then it slowly became uncomfortable. Different parts of my body began to hurt, and I tried hard to remember what had happened.

But everything was blank.

Most of the time, I wasn’t sure whether I was alive, but then I’d move, and something would send a surge of pain through my body, and I instantly knew: I was still alive.

Nothing hurt when you were dead. It was every atheists’ belief, and I firmly believed it.

But then the pain would fade, and I begin to doubt that there’d been any pain at all. I didn’t know how long went, it could have been seconds or it could be months. I really didn’t have any clue.

I wouldn’t describe the haze as darkness. It was more like a fog that clouded my mind from making any real coherent thought. I couldn’t remember what I thought seconds after they’d been formed, let alone remember why I was in this strange place.

The first sound I heard was a groan. It was low, and for some reason, it tugged at my heartstrings—like I knew who it was, and I didn’t want them to get hurt.

But then it disappeared as pain erupted near my lower back, and I forgot all about it. Something did change after that, though. Instead of floating, I was now stuck in one place, something hard pressed against the back of my legs.

More sounds—voices—followed. I couldn’t hear them clearly, and I didn’t care either. The more I focused, the more aware I became of the pain.

I slipped in and out of this stage, every sound bringing me closer to agony.

After what felt like hours, memories began to come back to me. At first, it was simple memories. Dinners from when I was younger. I saw my mother and father smiling at me. The sight brought back a new and even more painful feeling—it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest.

Facts came back, as well. For instance, I was reminded that my parents were gone forever. I remembered being small and alone, traveling the world to get away from the guilt. I recalled the day I said goodbye to Ludmilla before I went to England.

It was the small things that got to me. The way the wind had blown her hair around as she stared after outside the airport.  Or how horrible the airplane food had tasted.

My mind seemed to circle around a few memories at a time. I imagined this was how a reboot of a computer must be like if machines had thoughts and feelings. My mind was processing every piece of information from my past, and it was terribly slow at it.

I tried to count in an attempt to figure out how much time had passed, but it didn’t help. I was still in this fading dream state.

The voices came back, and I managed to distinguish a word or two.

“Never…” one voice said.

The other replied, “…hate…”

Then everything faded away.

At this point, I was trying my best to stay focused. The first voice had reminded me of something—of someone.

A person I needed to remember. I searched every memory, but nothing came close to it. After the umpteenth time, I was on the verge of giving up.

I was a failure. Something had obviously happened, and my survival could depend on whether I stopped being so scatterbrained, but it just wouldn’t hold. Sarcastically, I wished that Harry had been here.

Harry…

That was whom I needed to remember. Images, memories of him flashed behind my eyelids, and my heart filled with both hope and dread. He was here with my, but he was in pain. Even in my still clouded mind, that thought made me want to weep.

I didn’t think I could cry in this state, though.

I tried to listen for any other words, hoping he was still alive.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Harry’s voice penetrated the haze. I wanted to jerk up, but something prevented me from moving my arms.

Shortly after, pain exploded on my right arm. It felt as if acid was being poured over me, and I could have sworn that I actually felt my skin sizzle.

I fought to open my eyes. I had to wake up now.

When my mind finally regained control over my body, I opened my eyes. Despite the grogginess, I could see the room clearly. It didn’t have much light, only a naked lightbulb in the ceiling. There were no windows, and the concrete walls reminded me of those panic-rooms that zombie fanatics always created in their basements.

My eyes searched the place, and I noticed Harry sitting on the other side of the room. He was tied to a massive chair, which looked dirty, and his head was slumped down to his chest. I began to worry that he wasn’t breathing.

But I didn’t get to worry about it for long before a new wave of pain flowed through me. I hissed loudly, trying to jerk back and my eyes shot to my arm.

I saw a young man on his knees in front of me. He looked up and met my eyes with a smile.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said.

His greasy hair stuck to his forehead, and there was a pungent smell of dust, sweat and thrash in the room. Somehow it reminded me of something.

“I know you,” I muttered. It hurt when I spoke.

He laughed. “Of course, you do.” He poured a clear liquid over my leg, and I tensed up in pain.

I recognized the bottle as hydrogen peroxide, and I was filled with a sense of anger. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

“I’m cleaning your scrapes,” he said casually. “There’s still some dirt in them, and I won’t risk having to take you to a doctor because of some stupid infection.”

“Dumbass,” I blurted. “Hydrogen peroxide can damage the tissue and delay healing. Plus, it hurts as fuck.”

He laughed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have water down here, love. I’m well aware of the best ways to deal with wounds, but this is still better than nothing.” He pulled up a first aid box and carefully bandaged my arm and knee.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

My captor didn’t reply at first. He continued wrapping bandages around every wound, probably to protect me from the dust in the room.

“Answer me,” I demanded.

He met my eyes. “I told you: I wouldn’t forget what you did. All I wanted was a picture and an autograph, but you’re just a stuck-up bitch like the rest of the high-life.”

As I looked into the crazy blue eyes, I remembered where I’d seen him before. At the hotel, back in Chicago.

“You’re that fan,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “Max…”

 A/N: Give this a vote, maybe?