(T.W; Human Trafficking ; Kidnapping. Panic Attacks. Minor Gore.)
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"Oh, honey, squirming around isn't going to save you."
I tried frantically to peel the woman's hands away from my arms while she pinned me down to an operation table.
I'm sick of this. I'm sick of the needles; I'm sick of the experimentation.
"Stop! Stop this, this isn't fair!" I screamed, flailing frantically, trying to kick her away from me.
It didn't work.
She didn't let go. And unlike most times, I couldn't think of a way to get out.
I wish my parents didn't leave me alone.
I wish my parents didn't decide I wasn't worth anything but money and sell me.
I wish I was home.
Then I felt the needle in my side. The fourth one today.
And I don't even know what it did.
* * *
I shut the hospital door in a panic, my breath unable to catch up with me. It took a minute to register the fact that I was inside of the empty hospital room, but I was.
I also didn't realize I was crying until I forcibly had to sniffle.
Instead of doing what I normally do, though, (which was force myself to stop being such a pussy and not cry), I let myself fall apart. My legs gave in and my sobs filled the room.
My emotions really are all over the place.
And because of my cries, I didn't hear the fucking door open.
"Jesus Christ, Michael." A voice, which I quickly recognized as Dustin, snickered.
Why do people just love talking to me?
"W-What-" I stammered, trying to formulate a response; yeah, I just ended up glaring at him.
"What're you doing in here?" He inquired. I saw his face soften once he saw me, though.
"Crying." I deadpanned.
"Michael, you've got to get up—"
"No!" I snapped, backing away as he tried to touch me; as he tried to help me up. I don't know why I'm being so damn sensitive, normally my flashbacks don't do that to me.
"Michael, seriously!"
"Stop it! Get away— go! Leave me alone!"
And you want to know what happened after that?
I kicked him. Hard.
Then the world faded out into black again.