Knowing The End (SAA Book 2) ✔

11: Numb

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Day 14

Oren opened his sore eyes to the same blasted room. The plants that surrounded him were all replaced by brighter and healthier succulents. They were pretty and all, soothing his nerves, though the memories of his last moment awake came washing over him. His eyes teared up and he reached up to wipe them away, but his hands were still tied together.

He looked behind himself and saw the same tightly bound rope, cutting into his flesh like a hot knife to butter. The skin around his wrists was now a bright crimson, mixing with a dull purple near flaky edges.

Enjoy your sleep?

Oren didn't reply. He felt sick to his stomach. His mouth was dry and his stomach burned viciously with hunger. He concluded that he was going to perish in this containment. He looked down to the grass. The fake, processed grass. The turf of a football field.

He frowned and whimpered, the pain only ebbing further in his veins. He couldn't yank his gaze from the ground. He didn't want to see the pitiful faces of the robed people, or the glowing woman with the silky dress. All of it... He wished it were all just a nightmare.

Unresponsive, eh? Now that you've learned the truth, your anger dwindles. Impressive.

"He.. can't be dead..." Oren muttered, voice wobbling. His tears fell once again, plopping onto the turf below. He blinked once and multiple drops fell to the ground. His white eyelashes sparkling with salty tears. The endless pain only intensified in his heart, squeezing painfully in a sharp hiss. The faint ringing in his ears only grew louder as he gasped for air.

He wasn't even aware of the way he looked up and screamed, pain and loss coursing through his blood. He wriggled and wrenched his wrists apart, tearing the rope that restricted him. He cried out and pounded his weak fist onto the ground. His wrists were sore and chapped, oozing with a dried ruby liquid. He relaxed his fingers and yelled into the ground, broken voice muffled by the turf.

He whined garbled versions of Clayton's name and little lengthy pleas. He dragged himself towards the glass and banged his fist onto the glass, yelling and screaming incoherent words at the robed people just outside of his grasp. Thick tears streamed down his flushed cheeks as his nose burned with heat. He was just vaguely aware of banging his head against the glass, hoping to shatter it somehow.

The robed people flinched and they quickly shuffled, grabbing mechanisms as one fastened a muzzle and two loops of thick rope. Oren threw his head back and collided his skull with the thick glass. People on the other side were scurrying supplies and stabilizers. Their eyes were laden with panic.

Finally, you are broken. It took a while to find your soft spot, Oakley.

"Shut up!" he shouted, bile quickly rising in his throat. He leaned back and dragged himself backwards, away from the glass. His mouth opened and his stomach acids emptied, spilling onto the turf with an immediate repugnant odor.

"Please," he muttered through waves of nausea, "save me," Another wave hit him, making him dry heave again. He lurched forward and coughed up saliva, with dribbled down his chin along with other bodily fluids.

He cried for what seemed like an eternity before he was injected again. He fell limp and set to slumber.

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Day 21

The voice hadn't spoken to him once today. He was done trying to get through his restraints. He grew mute and numb, eyes fluttering open as he laid there stiffly. He didn't have the energy to even move his head. He laid there like a rag doll for hours, watching the stone ceiling and analyzing the bricks that melded into the material.