The first thing to hit me was the smell.

A mixture between the putrid stench of human body odor and the pungent smell of rotting flesh, it crawled its way inside my nostrils and made itself comfortable.

Recoiling in disgust, the pain crashed into my body like a tidal wave. Icy hot daggers shot through my side, and behind my tightly closed eyelids, tiny explosions of red fury were sparking into my head.

A scream ripped itself out of my raw throat, echoing hollowly off the walls. Forcing my eyes open, I squinted as my surroundings came into focus. I was in a dark and dingy room, dirt on the ground and moss covering the moist concrete walls. It was completely empty save for two rickety wooden chairs. The first I was roughly bound to with an abrasive rope; the second held an unfamiliar man, who was watching me intently, perched on the edge of his chair.

Steepling his fingers, he looked me up and down, then cleared his throat and spoke.

“Hello, Calder.”

“How...how do you know my name?” I rasped, every breath feeling more and more like shards of glass forcing its way into my lungs.

“I know everything, Calder.” He dragged his gaze up from my feet to meet my eyes, which were starting to close by themselves. “I know who you are. I know where you came from. I know what you want.”

I attempted to reach into the back of my brain to remember what had happened, but with a jolt, I realized I was grasping at clouds, the memories slipping through my fingertips. Everything I had ever remembered was gone, abducted straight out of my head. I wasn’t sure I would have even remembered my own name if the man hadn’t used it first.

The man. I lifted my head to stare back into his piercing blue gaze, as he whispered, “I know you’re hurting. I can help you, Calder.”

He gestured to my torso. Looking down, I realized that I was shirtless, with nothing but a bloody, gaping wound stretched across my side. My vision blurred and doubled, and as I raised a weak, shackled hand to press against my ribs, the darkness pressed in, suffocating.

..................................................

I woke to the sensation of movement.

No longer in a chair, I struggled to recognize my surroundings. I moved my feet gingerly as to avoid the pain I knew would come with it, and I realized that they were touching nothing; I was hanging in the air.

I came to realize that around my wrists were clasped rusted metal cuffs; I was dangling from them alone. The entire weight of my body was forced upon my upper arms and shoulders, and I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming as the bindings bit deeply into the already raw flesh of my wrists.

Lifting my head from where it was slumped against my chest, I noticed that I was in a new room with tiled, low cut ceilings. Dim light filtered in through a barred window at the top of the opposite wall, dust highlighted in the faint yellow glow that it cast onto the floor. This room had clearly not been used in some time; why was I in here?

A sound thumping from the other side of the room brought back my attention, as a door that I had not previously noticed began to open with an ominous creak. Two figures stepped out of the brightly lit doorway; I recognized one. He was the man with the blue eyes who had previously spoken to me; the other was a short, balding man wearing a darkly stained lab coat, his poorly hidden nametag identifying him as Doctor Crow.

Two pairs of eyes were trained on my face, as the first man held up his hands. “We’re here to help, Calder,” he enunciated. “We just need to ask you a few questions. Are you alright with that?”

I thought over this in my head. What could be the harm in them asking questions I couldn’t remember the answers to?

I grunted an uneasy yes, as my mouth couldn’t seem to do any more than that.

“Alright, Calder.” The man spoke with a quick nod of his head to the doctor, who took a large gulp of air and began speaking so rapidly my aching head couldn’t process his words.

The first man must have noted the pained confusion on my face, because he stuck out his hand and stopped the doctor. “Speak slower, Crow. He can’t keep up with you; he’s likely very concussed.”

Concussion. I knew this word, I thought, and I was fairly sure it wasn’t a good thing. Was that why my head felt like a miniature stampede was running around inside of it? I couldn’t remember.

Crow sighed and began again, speaking slowly so my brain could process each and every word. “Do you remembered the events that occurred in Prague?”

I considered this carefully, coming to the conclusion that I had no idea what Prague was or what had happened there. I shook my head and instantly thought the better of it when a knife of red hot pain skewered through my eyes.

Crow began to speak again, but the other man cut him off with a whispered hiss, watching me intently as I shook with pain and fury. After a solid minute of struggling, he gave Crow the go-ahead to ask the next question. “Do you recall a certain... conflict of interest between us and yourself?”

I had no idea who the “us” he was speaking of was, but I began to get the feeling that they didn’t like me. From the way they treated me, I’d say that they were evil, and maybe I was trying to stop them. Maybe I was a hero. I liked the sound of that.

I met the doctor’s eyes with my own and whispered a breathy “no”.

The doctor sighed. “Do you even know who you are?” He asked finally, impatiently. His arms crossed, he waited for my weakly uttered answer.

“No.”

Both men exchanged a long and dubious look, before the first brought his gaze back to me, nodding.

“Good.”

..................................................

The next few days passed in a haze of pain and torture and blood. Lots of blood.

The metallic scent lingered in the air, making bile rise up in the back of my throat with each breath I took. Worse was the knowledge that it was mine, and I was growing weaker than I thought was possible from its loss. 

I couldn’t keep going like this. I had to do something, anything; but what could I do in this state? 

I was hanging from the manacles, my aching body pressed heavily against the wall, contemplating escape or possibly suicide when the door opened, right on schedule. Blue Eyes entered with a cruel smile on his lopsided face, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. I waited for him to cross the room to grab the whip, the knife, or possibly the acid, all of which I had gotten acquainted recently. But he did none of those things. Instead, he strode toward me, a mild stagger in his step. The look on his face alone sent chills down my spine. Whatever he had planned, it was far worse than what he had previously done. 

He stopped right in front of me and held up a key. “You want out?”

I stared blankly, knowing it was a trap, but in truth, there was nothing more I wanted then to escape from the chains that bound me. 

In the end I decided upon a weak nod; there wasn’t much more that I could do. 

He met my gaze, and in return, he dropped the key on the ground with a  small ringing noise. He beckoned down at it. “Get it.”

I made an involuntary noise of anger; let a puff of air out of my nose. It was impossible. I closed my eyes and let my head drop to my chest; it wasn’t worth the pain. 

But the pain came anyway, in the form of an explosion of red-hot fury against my face. I snapped my weary eyes open to see the man, hand raised and looking furious.

“I said, GET IT.” He drew out the last two words as if I were an incompetent  child. A fresh wave of fury coursed through my being; I wanted nothing more than to tear a hole in his heart. He knew this, and he was waiting for me to give up, to break. 

Gritting my teeth, I forced out the hardest word I had likely ever spoken.  “No.”

He brought his knee up into my stomach, sharply smashing into the bottom of my ribs. “YES.”

“No...” I muttered through the tears that formed in my eyes. “I won’t.”

“But you will.” I blinked away the water to see that he had procured a small knife out of nowhere, and it was against my neck, right on the jugular. I could feel a thin line of blood bubbling up; but it was the least of my worries. I swallowed thickly, knowing that I had no choice.”

Closing my eyes and waiting for the pressure against my throat to lessen, I whispered, “I can’t.”

“What?” He demanded, having clearly heard me, but wanting me to admit defeat. 

“I can’t,” I proclaimed louder, my faint voice crying in protest. Blue Eyes pulled the knife away, but not before he dug it in slightly deeper; prompting a small whimper on my end. 

“You’re right.” He said this with a triumphant look on his smug face, one eyebrow hoisted above the other. “You’re worthless and broken. You should have given up a long time ago. But instead you had to go and mess our plans up. Don’t worry, I have my reasons for keeping you alive, and they’re far worse than anything so far.”

In one swift move, he dug the toe of his boot underneath the key ad flipped it up into his hand. He reached up and unlocked the manacles, leaving me to fall to the ground on my knees and hold my body in agony. He took one look back at me before he shut the door and said simply, “Poor soul.”

The good feelings

Disappear with you,

Your words

Feed my addiction,

Cute,

Beautiful,

Kiss me, won’t you,

No promises made,

Not even tomorrow

Fresh off the high,

Already want more,

But you’re not consistent,

Sometimes you’re not

Even there,

And I’m forced to

Go cold turkey,

But before I’m cured,

You return

And the cycle

Starts again

At sixteen my heart was filled with songs and stories swept up with the thought of love.

By eighteen he occupied every corner.

Fairytales were now for those who did not know love, not like I did.

Shortly into nineteen my heart was shattered.

It took years to put the pieces back together.

And the pieces that no longer fit, were left behind [with him].

When he showed up at twenty-one, I was cautious.

I made him earn every corner this time, trialing through every jagged piece.

He survived and claimed his place in my heart.

In turn I bound myself to him.

Almost to twenty-seven he asked for his release.

Again, my heart was shattered.

Benumbed, I let the pieces of my heart fall away.

At twenty-nine, I wondered where he was and if my heart had strength to hold him.

With glue and tape I rebuilt the closest thing to a heart I could assemble.

Now I walk through the crumbling hallways day in and out, waiting for him.

The waiting room is empty, but the door is open.

I wanted to write of you, composed of elaborate words,

but my heart couldn’t form any description beyond, “not mine.”

I wanted to share how you showed me my worth,

but I questioned every whisper you breathed into my ear.

I wanted to ask you to chose me,

but I dared not ask you to love someone incapable of love.