by Clara Wake
“Do you know where you are?” She asks him, stepping forward, testing him. She looks up at him, resting her chin on his chest and bouncing her eyes up to meet his, as his head drops.
Nickolai doesn’t reply. he remains still and quiet. Lips sealed, and eyes closed. He doesn’t want to look at the old hag, he doesn’t want anything to do with her. He is being punished for helping someone, and he doesn’t mind. At least Skye was safe for that night.
“Speak when you’re spoken to!” The Governor screams at him, pinching his chin, with her fingers as she claws his face forcing him to open his eyes and let her see the fear within.
Staring into those deep and unforgettable eyes, she sees nothing but hatred and disgust. Slow blinks as Nickolai glares down at her. His jaw clenching, with her fierce grasp on his chin, her dark painted fingernails curving into his cheeks.
“It’s pretty obvious where I am,” he finally huffs, rolling his eyes at her. She can see that he judges her, sees her as a feeble and pathetic woman. All talk and no actions. Well, he is about to be fooled.
A hum leaves her lips, as she releases his chin and grabs her leather gloves. She slowly and carefully placing them on. The tightness of the leather strapping around her wrists, the squeak of the glove stretching across her fingers linger through the room.
It takes a moment for him to look up and investigate where he is. He knows where, but not his surroundings. Nothing similar at all. This is something completely different, something he’s never seen before. There’s dry blood splattered across the dirty walls. Bodily fluids spread over the concrete floor. There are large cracks on the edges of the high ceiling. Bars and what looks like a stand and a noose are over to the far left of the room. The room itself is large with three doors on each wall. They’re colour coded, just like the squads. Only these colours are different. Pink, purple, and orange. A strange set of colours, and who knows what is behind them. It doesn’t help that one of the doors has a unicorn spray-painted on one of them.
His eyes sting, still recovering from the blinding light above. He takes another look around before The Governor steps in his view and flashes that annoying smile at him.
“You know what you deserve?” she tells him gently, as she flicks and moves the long strands of hair on the left side of his face, to get a better look at those eyes and that distinct jawline. “Nothing” She coldly spits at him; even though her eyes say something else as she continues to study him carefully. The look of admiration strikes her eyes with each blink. Fascination and curiosity drain her features. She’s lost in those eyes before she tears herself away from him and runs her hand over her knuckles, pondering and wondering where to start.
“What was her name?” She carefully asks him, looking up from the ground. She watches him, waiting for a reply – but she should know by now, he needs to be pushed – and she tilts her head and sighs deeply.
“Whose name?” Nickolai plays dumb, but he’s smiling inside. The Governor has just exposed the fact that, no one – even her – knows who he let free that night. They don’t know her name. They are relying on him to capture her. They are running around like headless chooks trying to find who it is.
This reality has him laughing, wailing inside and soon, it surfaces and animates his soft lips. He smiles deviously and stares into her dead soul. “No idea who you’re talking about,” he slowly and carefully tells her, making it abundantly clear he is not going to talk.
“You fucking little bastard,” she snarls and grasps his hair. “Lower him down,” she commands, and without a single notice, Nickolai is dropped by the chains from above. He lands on his knees and curls into himself as he lay on his side. Gritting his teeth, he hisses and grunts at the abrupt impact on his body. Aching and bruised from the constant stretching and vertical position, he tries to pull himself up, but instead, he’s greeted with a very hard and fast kick to his side, several times as The Governor drills into his side, waiting and begging for a crack.
Roll with the punches, protect your face and sides at all times, and remember to breathe.
Each striking impact leaves his sides burning, sending embers through his ribs and coursing through his lungs. The hits and smacks to his side embosom the entire room, and it’s clear the moment the loud crack is heard. She cheers with joy before stepping away and clapping. She’s accomplished her little mission while Nickolai’s breath hitches.
Razor blades and shattered splintered bones ignite and spark like fire with every movement. Grinding his teeth and holding his breath – each attempt to suck in air – only fuels the pain that bubbles and spreads from his bruising side, holding in any attempt to yelp with each shard that tears and scrapes his side. He manages to grunt loudly, as he flexes his fingers and clenches his hands into tight fists. Keeping his head down, he waits for another blow, but he’s only met with silence.
“I’ll ask again,” she breaks the air, stepping forward and kneeling beside him, she sighs deeply, “It doesn’t have to be this way, darling. Just give me her name, and you’ll be back in your bed,” she promises. But what makes her think to be back there is any better than this? This is only day one, and here she is acting as if he’s been in there for days already. Her tactic is terrible. Did she forget that he is trained for situations such as this?
“What is her name, Nick?” She gently asks him, as she strokes along those thick threads of crimson hair at the back of his head. Attempting to soothe him.
She hears a rumble of laughter.
She’s riddled with pure rage and disgust, as the volume of his laughter rises, and he’s almost hysterical. Did he already break? Is he already going insane? What the hell is he laughing about? He truly is a weakling.
“You really,” Nickolai speaks in between small chuckles and strained breaths, “think I’ll break before you? Do whatever you want?” He scoffs and finally looks up slowly, gazing right into her eyes and glaring at her. Breathing softly through his nose and containing the burning sensation to his sides. Each suction of air, slowly spreading through his body and easing his struggles to breathe, as he tries to control it. This was where meditation kicked in, and he found his mind at ease.
She stares at him. Red begins to surface and spread across her throat. She’s livid and mortified by how he treats her. There is no respect, no admiration or appreciation for everything she’s done for him. She bares her teeth in a growl, staring into his intense eyes, a shaken breath escaping her lips.
“I’ll ask you one more time. What is the girl’s name?” She scowls, flexing her hands into tight fists; shaking of pure rage, this little shit deserved to be punished, and by her hand and hers only.
“Who?” Nickolai raises his eyebrows and gives her a very stupid and dumbfounded expression, soon to curve his lips into a cheeky and devious smirk. She can play all day and night long. He isn’t going to break; he isn’t easy to break. She’ll have to try a lot harder to get anything from him and who’s to say she’ll get what she wants?
“Don’t think I’ll go lightly on you because of your title, young man,” she warns him. It doesn’t matter if he is claimed as her Star, she’ll kill him if she can’t stop herself. She’s done it before – plenty of times – and she’ll do it again. He is no exception.
Nickolai can’t help but wonder, if she’s ever tortured someone for information before at all. She is sloppy, talks too much, and takes a lot of time to do anything physical. Whether she is trying the psychological route who knew. He’s done enough training and seen enough to witness how aggressive, demanding, and demonizing these scenarios could be. Then again, it is the first time he’s woken up; this is just the beginning.
“I already told you, I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he states, letting out a slow sigh, still controlling his level of breathing.
“Ok, fine,” she quickly replies. “Tell me, where did you get those earrings? As far as I’m concerned, we do not have those on the Compound grounds.” She moves in and curls her fingers around hi
s ears and pinching around the earrings. He is never going to utter Jake’s name.
A pained hiss rolls from his lips before he finally looks up with a glare attached.
“Found them,” he roughly replies, and that is all he is going to say about that, even as she pinches and squeezes his sensitive ears even more. He falls silent, holding in and trapping several gasps of discomfort.
His mind traces everything she’s ever done to him, right down to that moment she stripped him of his own confidence. A list is forming, and he knows now it is only going to grow larger with each threat she lands on Jake or Skye for that matter. Although, she is safe – at least from having her name spoken.
“Where’s Nickolai?” Aiden scoffs, as they all wait for their Captain to arrive. He is late – which is unusual – and the boys are already up and ready for their orders for the day.
Jake holds in the fear that lodges in his throat. Anxiety sparking, as concern riddled his body. He is quiet, and he keeps to himself. None of them had fun last night. Only Nickolai had a midnight guest– they have no idea.
“So, what the hell was Captain’s surprise last night? Any of you get it?” Syrus turns to Jake and Aiden, curious and fishing for answers.
“No” Jake finally speaks in a very low and shrouded tone.
“Maybe pointy did,” Aiden scoffs and jumps up from the table and marches over to Nickolai’s room. He opens the door; the room is empty, but he notices the shelf and the slight mess in there – a struggle – not that he cares.
“Well, I have no idea where the freak is,” Aiden breathes and shrugs his shoulders before turning around and seeing The Captain step into the Hall, eyes fixated on Aiden for a moment.
“Where’s Nickolai, Sir?” Jake is quick and almost frantic to ask and get answers.
“He’s in The Chamber. Let’s go.” Throwing the reply in one sentence with no problems at all, The Captain gives him the answer he’s dreading and just heads outside with the others in tow.
Jake’s frozen, standing alone in the hall. Tears threaten him, carving the edges of his eyes. He’s coursing with fear of the unknown—of what is happening to his friend. Every rumour about the Chamber floods his mind. He’s petrified for Nickolai. While he knows Nickolai is very smart and strong, that place is told to break anyone and everyone. His heart screams in his chest, feeling hopeless. He can’t help him, and most of all – he doesn’t even know if he’ll see Nickolai again. With that realization, his heart shatters.
So much laundry and the morning has just begun. Chatter among the girls is buzzing even more than usual as Skye steps into the large industrial structured laundry and moves to the pile of clothes unattended. On her own, she keeps to herself, unseen and hidden. The others are unaware of her presence as they gossip and banter on about many things.
Skye just continues to gather the clothes and begin washing them, eavesdropping like she does. She’s always done it, but she’s never joined in. Even though she’s much liked by almost everyone on the Compound grounds, she likes being alone most the time.
“Did you hear about the incident last night?” One of the girls starts a very interesting and familiar topic in a circle with the others. Folding all the clothes, they engage quickly with the topic, and Skye listens intensely slowing her workload to pay close attention.
“Yeah, do you know who he is and who he let out?” One of them chimes in.
“I heard it was the elf,” one of them announces, as the others nodded in agreement. It is already all over Compound now. Words and stories spread far too fast. Like small towns where everyone knows everyone. No secrets. However, this place, had many untold.
“Oh my god, really? I’d be disappointed if that happened to me.” One of them laughs and pouts loudly. “Are you sure it was him?” She inquires. “I thought he’d be a tall and aggressive fucker,” she continues to laugh, as the others soon join in.
“No, it was him. Everyone is telling everyone it’s the redhead.” The girl who mentioned Nickolai first replies and shrugs her shoulders. “He’s probably bad, so he didn’t want to do it again,” she chimes in on bad mouthing Nickolai and Skye becomes livid as she listens on. She twists the fabrics in her hands, wishing it was the girl’s neck.
She wants to scream; she wants to yell at them and even throw punches. That tingle of defence itching beneath her skin – she is protective of Nickolai already. How could they say such things about him, they don’t know him at all? Hell, neither did she really – but she saw something so raw, gentle and full of life that night.
She can barely hear the girls continue to speak ill of Nickolai, over the pounding of her heartbeat mixing with the fury within. She breathes softly, as her hand clench into fists, grabbing hold of more shirts and throwing them into the washing machine.
One load completed and so many to go.
She does her best, focusing on her job at hand and switching her mind off. She finds herself checking the tags of the shirts and wondering if she knows of any of the boys until she finds herself in complete silence and her chest tightens, as she holds one of the shirts. She slowly looks over to the girls, and she can’t keep quiet now, not now. She has to correct her spark of fright.
“H-he’s…where?” she stammers, as fear attacks her chest. She’s wishing and praying she heard the conversation incorrectly.
“The Chamber,” one of them turns to her and shrugs with a scoff, turning back to the group and chuckling among them. However, she’s curious as to why Skye asked.
Keeping a sharp eye on her, occasionally glancing over her shoulder casually and narrowing her eyes on every jerk of her eyebrows or twitch of her mouth. Something is different, very unfamiliar with the way Skye’s acting and she’s eager and curious to find out exactly why.
Skye stares at the wall ahead and doesn’t blink. Her green eyes locked on the wall – staring into the abyss – she’s shattered. She’s the reason he’s there. She can barely catch her own breath, as she takes everything in. Tears begin to trace and shield her eyes. She finally swallows. She manages a deep breath before she looks down to see she is holding one of Nickolai’s shirts.
She doesn’t care if they see her, as she brings his shirt up to her lips and nose and closes her eyes, letting the tears fall free as a soft sob splutters from her lips. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers to herself, guilt carving through her chest. She can’t believe his actions landed him in the worse place imaginable and it is all her fault.
She deserves the punishment, not him.
She’s soon very quick to exit the laundry with his shirt tightly in her hand. Leaving them in pure silence, she runs and dashes to her room. Embracing herself, as she curls into a ball on her bed – trying to fight back the screams that clawed at her – She is drowning in guilt and fear. She wanted to thank him, but she didn’t get the chance. Her words were meant to be so much more than what she said, but she had to leave. She was so frightened for his safety and didn’t even consider her own.
Seeing the raw emotion flood and wash over Skye is a very rare treat, and it only ignites the pure curiosity within her veins as she witnesses her holding one of the boy’s shirts and crying. So many questions flood her mind, and she’s soon smirking to herself – a devious one at that – as she hides behind her long hair, and insists, promises to herself that she’ll keep a close eye on Skye. She wants what she possibly has.
The music is so loud, and the lyrics repeat over and over. Nickolai’s ears are constantly ringing and aching from the impact of the sounds, and words spread through the room. He’s unable to sleep; they’ve kept him awake for god knows how long now. It could be days or weeks. He’s unsure, and frankly, he doesn’t care. They are still struggling to get words out of him. They get tell-tale lies and sarcastic comments. Never what they want. He is only making it worse for himself, but he is fine with it – he is keeping Jake and Skye out of harm’s way.
Finally, the music stops. Nickolai’s mind and ears can rest for a moment. His eyelids
are desperate to close, stinging and heavy. He slowly blinks, but he knows he can’t sleep.
He tastes blood on the side of his mouth, where The Governor hit him several times, ensuring she split his lip and cut the edge of his mouth. Her intentions were so clear; crystal clear it had him rolling his eyes most the time. She was predictable and boring.
He is forced to do his business in his standing, hanging position; he has no other way. He can’t reason with them, but it just makes him snicker most of the time when he’s at least attempted to ask.
“Are you going to let me go to the bathroom today?” Nickolai sighs deeply at the masked man behind him; in charge of the device holding him up by chains.
A grumble is heard. “No,” he replies with his own cheekiness spreading through his reply.
“Okay, well ...have fun cleaning it up…again,” Nickolai shrugs, smiling. Although he doesn’t need to go, he is fishing for that familiar scoff and disgust with the grunt he’d hear from the masked man.
“Why don’t you just give her what she wants?” He finally asks Nickolai. Clearly, he is tired of being there with him. To listen to the same song repeatedly, to deal with Nickolai’s recusant and sarcastic attitude, and having to clean up after him.
“And give you the pleasure of leaving, nah!” Nickolai shakes his head rapidly with a little laugh. Despite the pain he’s endured over the days or weeks, he continues to remain boisterous and resilient. He hides and shields the anger and hurt deep within. Many bruises paint his body, blood dries at the edge of his temple, and his body is shrouded in pain. He keeps his head high as much as he can. Even as his body fights against him, desperate for sleep and time to recuperate from the bout of blows.
“Fucking asshole,” The masked man mutters, spitting before him aiming at Nickolai, but failing miserably. He hesitates whether to get the high-pressure hose out again, or to force the splintered ice water at him once again. He’s enjoyed it the many times he’s done it already; it never gets old, and he’s almost dying to bring it out again.