Page 4 of Straightjacket

“Iris...” Her name comes out in a painful whisper. “Where is my Iris?”

My fingers wrap around the cold metal bars on either side of me, feeling the ridges that have been scratched across the surface, as I try to slow down my racing mind.

I need to breathe to be able to see where the fuck I am.

What a fucking joke.

I allow my eyes to close for a moment and focus on the rhythmic beeping, counting each beat. Once I have it pin pointed, I peel my eyes open to scour the room once more. The walls are a clinical white, but there’s not enough paint in the world to cover the smears of blood. There must be a dozen faded handprints on each wall, from the prisoners trapped here before me.

My eyes trail over the walls that box me in. There isn’t even a window, it’s just a fucking box, a square with no way out. And with every deep inhale, the walls seem to close in on me. Soon, I’ll be crushed underneath their weight.

I’ve dealt with a lot of shitty things in my life. The abuse from my dad and my sister’s suicide for starters, but this, being kept like a fucking pet is almost enough to break me. I don’t like the feeling of being trapped, of having my humanity taken away from me– even though I probably lost that a long fucking time ago, yet... my little demon gave me that back and I refuse to lose it now.

With every deep inhale, there’s a strong smell of cleaning fluids and antiseptic; it burns through my nose with every pass. I can already feel a headache brewing and the temptation to fall back to sleep is almost too strong to ignore, but I can’t do that.

I gotta get us out of here. Wherever I am, is no place for my little demon. She deserves to be at home with her favourite blanket, throwing demands at me for another glass of wine. The thought has me grinding my molars together until I can feel the ache in my jaw.

I fucked up, big time. She wouldn’t be in this mess if I’d have just stayed away from her.

This isn’t your fault, Silas.

Great, he’s still here.

The handcuffs clang against the metal bar as I wave my hand around the dismal room. “Please, do tell me how this isn’t my fault, hm?”

You couldn’t have known that this would have happened.

“Great observation from you, big brain, but if I hadn’t of been thinking with my fucking dick, Iris would be safe.” I spit back through gritted teeth, feeling more irritated by the second.

But-

“Erm, no more talking from you unless you’ve got an idea of where we are, and how we get out. Got it?”

I think I’m even more insane than I was before, and now that my mind is somewhat quiet, I can take a proper look around the room. There’s nothing that stands out and the only thing next to me is a beeping monitor. Green lines whizz across the screen and with every thump of my heart, it jumps. Attached to the monitor is a thin, clear tube and I follow it to find the end, a sharp needle embedded into the crook of my arm.

Whatever the fuck is being pumped into me is dulling the pain of the gunshot wound.

Wait, I was fucking shot. I should be dead and yet, I’m very much still alive. Why am I alive?

Lifting the sheet from my bare chest, I gaze down at the neatly wrapped wound. There isn’t an ounce of blood on my skin, and who the fuck has taken my pants?

Well, this is just fucking great. Anyone could have seen my dick when they were stitching me back up. My little demon is going to be pissed about this, considering she’s a very territorial woman.

As soon as I drop the sheet back down, a segment of the wall opens and in walks little prick-dick, Doctor Thorne. The very same man who showed me what hell is really like. He softly closes the almost invisible door behind him and strides towards me, a clipboard in hand and white lab coat.

“Ah, my boy, how are–”

“Where’s Iris? You better tell me now before I pull your intestines through your asshole.”

Doctor Thorne tuts then smooths down his tie. “I think you’re in the wrong place to be making threats like that, but don’t worry, you’re clearly very agitated at the moment.”

My hands tighten around the bars of the bed. “I’m agitated? Did you use all your fucking brain juice to come up with that evaluation? Tell me, where the fuck is Iris?”

The more I look at his weathered face and his stupid glasses, the more I want to rip it off and turn it into a mask. Fuck, I miss my mask.

Not the time, Silas.

I roll my eyes at the annoying voice.