Thorne was growing impatient for the stupid Doctor to get his torture over with. Sure, it was great fun just sitting there waiting for something terrible to happen (like dying) but Thorne had things to do.
Being so busy with his own success, Thorne hardly had time for a day full of grueling torture. That torture being complete boredom. The least the backstabbing jerk could do was turn on a light, or get some febreeze to mask the smell of wet dog. Thorne hoped this guy never decided to try hotel business.
It had to have been at least a few hours since Scarlet had been tossed into Thorne's cell, though neither of them had spoken much. Maybe it was the thought of imminent death, or the fact that Scarlet seemed to be taking a nap. Thorne would never know.
The silence of the room was something that Thorne didn't like. He hated silence. He hated everything it meant, everything that it had been during his childhood.
Growing up, Thorne had been raised by the perfect parents to be the perfect child. Too bad they got him, seeing how he always screwed up there plans. They never wasted any time telling him that.
Being from a pristine family, Thorne's parents spent all their time on emails, or social networks. What was family when you were a successful military leader? Or your own fashion line? Why would they care about their own flesh and blood when there was another call to be answered, another distraction from their disappointment.
So, Thorne had learned to fill the silence. He told jokes that everyone hated. He talked during tests, making him number one on every nerd's hit list. He had played and listened to music during his every waking moment. He had to constantly fill the void, or else he didn't know if he would ever be able to escape. It scared him.
Thorne had never had a good family. He had wished time and time again that he could start his life over and be born to someone that loved him. It had been a stab in the heart every time he saw his friend getting hugged by their mother. They would always become embarrassed and say how much they hated it, even though Thorne would do anything to receive that kind of affection.
Sometimes Thorne had wondered if he was even capable of actually loving another human being. In school he had never gotten along with anyone, and all of his friends had been fake. He hadn't even known what it was to love another person.
Thorne had only ever met one other person who understood him on all of these matters. Cinder. She had never had a good homelife, though she never told him about it. Some people you could just tell. She hated the silence, right along with him and constantly filling it with music. She hardly had anyone who she loved. They connected in ways neither of them would ever admit. She was the first true family Thorne had ever had, he loved her as though she were his own sister.
Glancing over at Scarlet, Thorne sighed. She was the second sister that Thorne had ever gotten, and she was most definitely asleep, with little snores whispering through the air. He was glad that she was finally getting some rest after her traumatizing ordeal. She had suffered in a cruel way that no one ever deserved to suffer. Thorne had already vowed to file a complaint against Ze've Kesley to UPS about the poor "shipping" quality, and then personally murder him with the help of Cinder.
The silence was becoming overwhelming, so Thorne began to sing to himself. He had never been a star singer, prefering to play an instrument instead, but he had to listen to something other than his thoughts.
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
His voice echoed eerily in the small prison, and Thorne stopped his singing, though he continued to him. The song reminded him of so many things. He didn't know why, in his current situation, he had picked that song. What a way to scare the stars out of yourself.
The lyrics did mean something, however. The sound of silence. Most scholars would claim that silence had no sound, seeing how it was the absence of anything to do with noise. But to Thorne, it did. It was its very own torture within his own mind. It was its own monster, living within Thorne's own head.
Aces, Thorne wished that there was something to calm his aching mind from itself. He didn't even care if he died of boredom, just as long as he could know that Darnel hadn't gotten Cinder. He would do anything to prevent that.
A loud crash suddenly came from a distance, as if a door was being kicked down and Thorne stopped his humming to listen. The noise was soft, though Thorne could tell that it had been violent. A scream came shortly after, and Thorne's blood ran cold. He knew that scream. He would know the scream of his best friend anywhere, even if he had never heard her voice it before. He knew that it was Cinder.
Blinding panic and rage bloomed in Thorne's chest, and he rose to his feet. He rushed at the door, and began to pound, just as a second scream reverberated through the corridor. He yelled, and hit the hard metal door until his knuckles began to bleed; it was no use.
Hands grabbed Thorne from behind, and he turned to hit whoever was grabbing him, before he realized that it was Scarlet. Her brown eyes were wide and frightened, and her red curls were flying in every direction possible. She looked tired, though it wasn't the kind you get after a couple sleepless nights. It was the kind of tired that old people had on their faces. The kind of tired that said you were done with everything in the world.
Another scream cut through the silence, and Scarlet flinched. Thorne turned to ram the door again, but Scarlet grabbed him, dragging him to the wall and tried to make him sit. He struggled, trying to gain freedom from her iron grip.
"Scarlet, let go. I have to help- I have to help Cinder." Thorne yelled, his voice cracking on Cinder's name as he tried to pull away. Scarlet only help on tighter.
"Scar-"
"No," Scarlet whispered, her voice low, but final. "There's nothing that you can do. You'll only hurt yourself."
Thorne moaned, and another shriek cracked through the air. "You don't understand," Thorne began. "They're going to kill her. We have to do something!"
Scarlet only shook her head, looking at him with a look that told him everything he didn't want to know.
A horrible sob escaped Thorne's mouth, and he sunk to the floor, all the fight going out of him. Scarlet clutched him to her, and he began to shake. He knew that Scarlet was right. He couldn't do anything. And that was the worst part of the entire situation.
"I'm sorry," Scarlet murmured, and as Thorne felt the wetness of her tears staining his shirt. This was hurting her too. They were both undergoing their own form of torture.
They sat there, holding onto each other as they listened to the sound of Cinder's screams. Thorne wished that he could go back to the sound of silence. The sound of his best friend's screams would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The screams slowly got less and less, until they died out completely. They were resubmerged into the silence, though Thorne could still hear the echo of Cinder's pain reverberating within his skull. He felt her pain as if it were his own, and wished that it had been him, instead of her.
Thorne sat there, wondering if Cinder was still alive, or if the Doctor had snuffed her out, just like he had done with her parents. He almost wished he could hear her scream again. At least he would know that she was still alive. He wondered what Darnel had done to get Cinder to admit those sounds from within her. He wondered how bad he had hurt Cinder, and his own body seemed to fall apart with agony at the thought of it.
Scarlet, still shaking, let go of Thorne and looked up at him. Her eyes held the question that neither of them were willing to ask aloud. Was Cinder still alive?
Silent tears ran down Thorne's face, and he looked down at the floor. His bottom lip trembled, and his shoulders caved in around him. He was slowly falling to pieces, and there was only one thing that would stop it.
Thorne didn't understand why they were punishing Cinder in such a way. It would have made more sense if Darnel had hurt Thorne and Scarlet, seeing how that would hurt her mentally. He wished that they had tortured him.
The Doctor's plan made no sense to Thorne. He just wanted the suspense to be over. He wanted Cinder and Scarlet to be safe. He just wanted life to be normal.
Silence was everything that surrounded Thorne, though it did not reside within him. On the inside, everything was screams. It was torture. It was the worst torture that anyone could go through.
Scarlet and Thorne sat there for hours, not moving or speaking. Neither one of them wanted to breach the subject of what was happening to Cinder. Neither of them wanted it to be true.
It must have been hours after the last of Cinder's screams, when Scarlet and Thorne were still huddled against the wall. Scarlet asleep again, head rested on Thorne's shoulder. Thorne rigid, but wide awake, his thoughts still haunted by his best friend's screams. It must have been hours when the door opened yet again, and a body was dropped into the room, before the door was slammed shut again.
Blood seemed to fill the air, masking the scent of wet-dog. The body was covered in it, and the only sign of life it showed were the small rasping breaths that emanated from it.
Thorne jumped to his feet, faster than lightning, and Scarlet jerked awake. Thorne rushed to the small, broken form on the ground, dread curling in the pit of his stomach. He could see the wispy brown hair, though it was covered in blood. He could see the burn scars on her arms, though they were covered in bruises. He could tell that it was Cinder, though this broken hunk of meat looked almost nothing like his friend.
Crouching down on the floor, Thorne brushed a tentative hand across Cinder's forehead, removing the hair from her face. He felt his heart break as he gazed down at her. Her skin had forgotten it's dark tan, and was now a patchwork of purple and blue. Every other inch of skin not covered in bruises was pale and transparent.
Blood was spritzed across the blue and purple canvas of Cinder's skin, making an abstract painting. She was truly the definition of broken.
Thorne fell to the ground, and cradled Cinder's head in his lap. She moaned, which Thorne took as a good sign. Scarlet crawled over to them, her face contorted in sadness and horror as she grasped Cinder's hand.
Cinder's eyes fluttered open, and they were red and bloodshot and one was almost too swollen to open. She stared right into Thorne's eyes. She groaned, and then let out a cough, blood bubbling at the corners of her mouth. She tried to say something, but couldn't seem to breathe. Her ribs were probably broken.
"Cinder-" Scarlet sobbed, and Cinder looked at her. She tried to move, but her body was too weak. It was a miracle that she was still alive.
"Stay down," Thorne whispered, somehow calm. Scarlet was becoming hysterical, and Thorne shot her a look. He knew that the day had been horrific for her, but Cinder had nearly been beaten to death. He needed her to calm down and help him. He needed Scarlet Benoit.
Cinder looked back to Thorne, and an almost smile twisted her lips, before twisting into a grimace. "I'm sorry," She wheezed, before coughing again and then whimpering. "I'm-"
"Would you shut up," Thorne said sharply, not wanting to hear it. "You don't get to apologize, you jerk." Thorne looked away, not able to bear the look on Cinder's bruised face, and his voice softened. "I thought you were dead. We both did."
Scarlet whimpered. Thorne glanced at her, and she nodded to him. "It was torture listening to you scream, and not being able to do anything. I would have switched places with you in a heartbeat. It was torture."
Cinder blinked her eyes in acknowledgement to his words. She looked dead, though Thorne was not about to tell her that. "Try to get some sleep." Thorne said, worried that she would tire herself out.
There was no response, and Thorne glanced at Cinder. Her eyes were closed, and if it weren't for the short gasping breaths and painful whimpers, she would appear dead.
Who knows, Thorne thought. We might all be dead by the end of the night.