How To Dissect A Witch

iv. back there benjamin

a/n : gasp, it happened again. was listening to EATEOT and thought it kinda fits. listen to "back there benjamin" once the words "Stage Two" blah blah appears

( cw : suicidal thoughts, overstimulation, gore, non-consensual non-sexual intimacy, possible medical inaccuracies *sigh* )

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You don't know if it's been a whole day since the Doctor walked out of the room. You don't think you remember much of what happened the past week. Two days ago seems too far away now. You wholeheartedly believed happy endings are found in perserverance, not days or weeks or months or years away.

Your desperation leads you to wish for someone, anyone, to come.

No. No one is coming to save you. That was your job, and you failed. Not even the police nor your Father will come.

Maybe they'd say it's for the best. Leave an alien dead. She's not a Hero anyway. Just a filthy Phantom. A Witch. She should die. Die, die, die—

The door creaks open.

Your exhausted eyes immediately widen and veer towards your side. The Doctor walks in unabashed to your wide-eyed attention. He sits pretty on the stool, and you swear his smile looks too calm, too smug. His whole attire, a professional vest and tie topped with the usual white labcoat, screams, "I'm neat, clean, well-rested. You?"

You're stewing in discomfort. All sweaty and stiff. You finally avert your gaze and feel embarassed for the first time.

"Ready to sing?" he asks.

". . . Sing?" Your voice is small, groggy.

"About what you've seen yesterday. The details, specifics. Tell me what you've observed."

You're silent, eyes avoiding his. Didn't even bother to hide a scowl. The audacity of this jerk. You know you're not in the position to act, at least not yet, but you want to have a small comfort. Control.

Of course that's the wrong choice.

Before you know it, he has your throat wrapped around his gloved hands, and you could feel yourself struggling to breathe as he squeezes tighter and tighter. You frantically try to croak a word to peel him off you, but your airpipes could barely let anything out.

It doesn't last long, though.

It might've only took him a few seconds before he releases you again. You hungrily gasp out, then cough violently from the sudden influx of air.

He looks down at you. Deadly serious. "You're in no place to defy me. Understand?"

You hate this hate him so damn much. But you flinch before his intimidating stare, tremble from his crushing grip, and you hate it more when you realize you must look just like what he wanted you to be— a little lab rat. Powerless. Vulnerable.

"Understand?"

"Y—yes." You hate how much your voice trembled at a single word.

Grins. "Isn't that easy?" He leans back to his stool and prepares his clipboard. "Now, what is it you saw?"

"Rotting." Gnats and worms devouring your bloated, decaying body. If you close your eyes, you can still feel every single bite. Hear the buzzing and flapping. "I—It was dark but I saw myself being . . . "

"Being?"

"Eaten alive." The mere thought of it makes you itch horribly. It didn't help that you've been feeling sticky and sweaty since the past hour. Your gaze turns to the Doctor, gauging for his reaction, but he doesn't look fazed at all. Does he really not care?