au: Stiles was kidnapped months ago; he's lost track of time now. He's lost hope. He's been tortured, abused- physically, verbally, mentally. He's never gonna be free, be home. Or so he thinks.
Stiles POV
I slam my back against the cold brick wall and slide down it, collapsing against the hard floor. I don't know where I am. Maybe some sort of basement, or something. God knows. I don't care, though. Not anymore. It's been months- no ones gonna find me. No ones gonna see the things they've done to me. The things they do to me. The things they do to me...
I shut my eyes, trying to escape the harsh reality I live in. But all I see is flashes of pain, torture. My own screams echo through my head, reminding me of some ridiculous torture device used on me at some point of my time here.
It all came as a shock to me. It was one day; the memory is vague now, but I remember the sun, summer, outside. God, I haven't been outside since. I've forgotten the smell, the feel of fresh air. I crave to see the sun again.
But, anyway, I'd just arrived home from Scott's. Scott. I saw my dad, said hey, then went upstairs. That night I'd gone to bed with the only worry on my mind being the huge essay due in the morning which I hadn't finished. Then, I woke up in here. Screaming. I had some sack on my head. I was bleeding in places, but everything was dark. I thrashed and kicked, but I had somehow been restrained. Now I'm just here; no chains or ropes. Just darkness, and a lock on the door. Occasionally I go over to it- it's metal, though, so this never works- and I just slam into it, pound my fists against against the steel, scream for my freedom, shake the locks. I eventually collapse against the ground from exhaustion. I'm always tired in here. I don't get fed much. I get water, but that's about it. I can't remember what a nice taste feels like anymore. I don't remember much about freedom, life. I often even forget the sound of my own voice. It's lonely.
It's so, damn lonely.
Sometimes I do consider ending it all. All the pain, the loneliness. I often lose hope. I wouldn't have any way to do it, though. I could starve myself, but... I'd rather stay alive than suffer that amount of pain. Hope. Hope is the only thing that keeps me going. Hope that one day, maybe one, the door will suddenly fly open, sunlight will pour in, and my dad will be there, checking the room, his gun in hand. But then he'll see me, and he'll drop his gun to the floor with a clatter. I won't believe it's real, at first. But he'll approach me, slowly and careful at first, but then just take me in his arms, and just hold me. And I'll cry, once I realise it is real, and I'll hold him so tight. And the world will be okay again.
Unfortunately, that's not the case.
"Stiles!" Growls the voice. The voice I dread. The voice that keeps me awake at night.
I don't answer, just peer into the darkness. They're holding a torch this time. They turn it on suddenly, the blinding beam pouring light onto my face, making me squint and flinch away.
A snarl escapes their lips. I assume it's a man, by the sound of the deep, croaking voice. He releases a harsh, evil cackle which slices through the silence I had been growing ever used to. I just stare up at the torch, tears in my eyes. Beyond the point of caring anymore. They can do what they want to me. Kick me, hit me, cut me, shout, scream at me, kill me for all I care.
"I've got a surprise for you!" He murmurs, his voice low and making me nervous. I shouldn't be, it won't be anything new.
Suddenly he pulls out a leather belt. The leather belt. Boy, have I had a lot of whips from this thing. I sit and wait, simply shutting my eyes tightly and preparing for the pain.
