Stockholm Syndrome - Blink-182
A pain that never came.
He slowly opened his eyes, a woman stood before him, gun pointing down at an enormous beast, breathing heavily.
Pete opened his mouth but due to the shock, nothing came out.
For two minutes, both were speechless. Staring down at the beast, Pete looked at it more carefully, a werewolf.
“Holy hell,” Pete breathed. The only words that he could deem somewhat appropriate, “Thank you.”
The woman looked up at Pete, seeing through him, not at him.
She pointed his gun at Pete, still breathing heavily, “What do you want?”
Pete immediately put his hands up and took a cautious step backwards, “I heard…something. I wanted to check it out.”
The woman glared, moving her gun around threateningly, “Where did you come from?”
Pete held up his hands in surrender, breathing shallow through his nose. Fear pulsing through him. The woman, in comparison, breathed heavily. The sounds of her heavy sighs filling to silence. Pete’s eyes trailed from the barrel of the gun to the werewolf on the ground, he felt blood seep through the torn soles of his shoes. He grimaced.
Pete opened his mouth to speak, but the woman just cocked the gun, his finger fluttering nervously on the trigger,
“Who are you?”
Pete opened his mouth, praying sound would come.
“My name is Peter Wentz, I’m an escapee from the Facility.”
“Peter Wentz, are you alone?”
Pete paused, would giving up his family lead to their deaths?
“Peter Wentz,” the woman’s voice cracked as it increased, “Are you alone?”
“No,” Pete whispered, he heard the woman say something under her breath, almost like a different language. He hurried to finish, “But it’s just my family. Two injured. We all escaped.”
“It’s about a half a mile back,” Pete began pleading, “Please don’t kill me, the siren—”
“The siren means nothing, what Facility?”
Pete was flustered, eyes flitting fearfully between the gun and the woman, “I-I”
“Describe it,” she growled.
“Um…high security, white walls, army, testing…experiments.”
“What sort of testing?”
As Pete talked, the woman slowly began lowering the gun, amazed and fearful at the same time, everything coming together that he was not an enemy, but he was not a friend either. Pete finished rather quickly, the memories far too close to the surface, like touching fresh, oozing wounds.
“And they have a fear room…and they—they…” Pete broke off, “Oh god, please…Don’t hurt me.” Tears were streaming down Pete’s face, water covered his glazed eyes. “Stop it!” Pete screamed, throwing his hands above his face, “Please no! Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me! Please!” Pete was pleading, screaming, crying.
“I don’t want to die!”
Pete could hear every breath of the men in the room, feel their punches, stabs, shocks, and he screamed over and over again.
All for nothing.
His words dissolved into screams as the woman shook his shoulders, yelling for him to come back to reality.
Patrick, Aubrey, and Tabatha froze at the sound of gun shots and looking at each other fearfully as screams reverberated against their ears.
“We shouldn’t go over there, let’s turn back” Tabatha said frantically.
Patrick glared at her and kept trudging forward, Joe lying limp in his arms, “Bye then.”
“Patrick!” Tabatha said shocked, “What’s wrong with you?”
He didn’t respond, only moving forward, holding on to the very boy he hated.
Tabatha didn’t let it drop, “I hate the fact that you won’t talk to me anymore. Jesus, Patrick just say something to me at least.”
“Fuck Tabatha, just shut up.” Aubrey sneered, sick of watching her bitch and control her brother.
“No. Damn it, Patrick what is wrong with you? Tell me!”
“Nothing, Tabatha. Quit being such a fucking bitch and let’s go.” Patrick said through clenched teeth, “We need to catch up to Pete and PJ, if you didn’t have an addict for a fucking boyfriend, we could’ve just left him there.”
“Joe is not an addict!” Tabatha defended, wearily, rubbing her eyes as if this conversation was not one to be had at the moment, “Now, just let it go and—”
“Damn it Tabatha!” Patrick stopped walking; dropping Joe so hard it was like he threw him to the ground, “We’re going to talk about this now. We’re going to deal with this right here because I’m fucking tired of all of your shit!”
“Patrick, quit being jealous of Joe! Quit being jealous of everyone, you’re so fucking insecure with yourself. Pick up Joe and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Patrick open his mouth to retort but Tabatha cut him off, not even turning around to spare him a second glance, “Now.”
Aubrey scowled at Tabatha and raised her arm, wanting to smack the shit out of Patrick’s bratty sister. This time Patrick cut her off.
Because once again, Patrick obeyed.
Furiously, silently, and dismally, he obeyed.
Henley stared at the man in front of her, cowering on his knees before her. Henley had no idea what to do, what to say to make this…show of weakness stop. There was no doubt that he hadn’t been through hell and back. There was no reason for distrust on that front. Even his clothes, the uniform of the Numbers gave him away to be one of the elite.
Henley frowned a bit, It was strange, how upsetting he was for his treatment. They treated him well, he and his family.
Everything about his fear was irrational. He had not experienced pain, true pain. True torture. He knows nothing therefore; he understands just that, nothing. He thinks that his little experimentation is pain? Is fear? Is revolting?
He knows nothing.
Fear is not knowing whether you will live or die. Fear is calming a screaming child as they drag her away from you. Fear is Hell.
Fear is everything in your darkest imagination, everything that makes people scream. Fear is being shoved into a tiny room, chained to the floor, screaming, broken glass cutting into you.
Fear is terrifying.
Henley grabbed Pete by the collar, shook him violently, staring down with harsh, supercilious eyes, “Snap out of it Wentz, It’s time to face facts.”
The Wentz boy continued to cry wearily, Henley shook him again, “There are things in this world that you can’t imagine. There are people here that will shoot you on the spot. There are people who will rape, pillage, and destroy everything that this world has to offer. They will take the lives of the few and the brave. There are monsters, here Wentz. Monsters!” With one hand gripping the sobbing man, the other pointing to the dead beast on the ground, “That is a monster! Seconds before you got here, I was looking into the pits of hell as my home!”
“You don’t know anything about fear, about pain! But trust and believe Wentz than you will learn it! The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, Wentz, but once there, there is nothing but death on the horizon. The scourge of war, plague, death…There is more to this world now then there has ever been before. Imagine the leader of your worst nightmare,” He paused, letting the sniffling Wentz think, “And now image what he is afraid of. And who the leader above him is afraid of. Imagine it, Wentz. Imagine it.”
Henley slowly began pulling the Wentz boy back up, slowly loosening his grip as the he began to get his bearings, “My name is Henley, it’s getting harder to trust people around here. It’s getting harder to see the good in people that was once there. There is a light in the world that is dimming and it is just about gone. You have to be ready to face the darkness. The longer you are out here, on these streets, in this world, the less faith you will have in humanity. You need to pull yourself out of this, Wentz. It is the elite that will save the world.”
“I need your help,” Pete said morosely, “Please.”
Henley set her lips, still gripping Wentz’s shoulder, clutching in a brotherly way. Turning back to look at the dead body on the ground, closing her eyes, she nodded and whispered, “I really have nothing else in the world.”
Oh how we change the webs of time, how we cross the paths of demons, the devil you know is the better than the unknown. For when suffering a slow death of a thousand cuts, one can not see that tides have changed. O the webs we weave. O the webs we weave.
caro: thank you girlie :D aw feel better