It took roughly another hour for me to slowly slip into insanity. These fucking bindings on my hands and feet were finally taking their toll on me. I became distinctly aware of exactly how they felt now, and it felt as if they were rubbing my skin off, even though of course they weren't.
The sad part about it was that I KNEW it was all in my mind, but my mind was winning over logic by a huge margin. I kept telling myself to calm down
Calm down
CALM DOWN
CALM
DOWN
But it wasn't working. I started to hyperventilate.
God I just wanted to be out of this place. I'd settle for goddamn upstairs - and I didn't even know what it looked like - or just ANY kind of change of scenery. Being stuck in this fucking chair in this fucking room with these fucking bindings and that fucking CLOCK...
Fuck
that
clock.
I had initially thought Capricorn was sweet for buying it for me, but now I wondered if there were ulterior motives. If her goal was to drive me insane with it, than it was working amazingly. The tick tock of that clock was acting like someone hacking away at bulletproof glass. It wouldn't break immediately, but over time with repeated blows it would crack, and eventually shatter.
The glass represented my sanity. As each second ticked by
tick
tock
tick
tock
tick
tock
I could feel myself losing it more and more. It was that anxiety you get sitting in one place for a long time and you just have to move around. They had breaks for this reason in school and job meetings in the real world. People aren't MEANT to sit for this long without a break or a reprieve in the form of fucking NATURAL MOVEMENT.
Fuck this place.
Fuck the clock.
Fuck the chair.
Fuck the table.
Fuck the stairs.
Fuck everyone here.
Fuck Capricorn.
She didn't care about me. How retarded was I? Wasn't that all part of her sick act? To make me feel like she DID, just for the sake of her own twisted conscience?
Well no more.
Fuck her.
I wasn't gonna act like her friend anymore. I don't care if she washed me, if she fed me that one time, if she drugged me up so she could beat me up, and damn sure not if she undid my bindings just to REDO them again.
And then I would not cooperate with anyone else, if I wasn't gonna cooperate with her. I wouldn't do anything they asked. I'd piss them off. Maybe they'd kill me sooner. Because this right here? This wasn't living. This was torture on every plane I could think of. This was suffering.
Death would be a release from this.
I pissed myself again, and blamed the liquor she'd force fed me earlier. It was funny how natural it was now for me. I didn't see anything wrong with it. Why had I fought it the first time? Sure, it was indecent for normal human beings to do it, but I wasn't a human being anymore, clearly. I was a prisoner. This was what prisoners did.
