08-22-2020, 01:49 AM
The chair was a throne. Comfortable. Padded. His weight sank heavy. The skin on his face sagged. His blood was sluggish, pooling in his feet. Lids lowered. The room fell dark. His mind fuzzed with static. When Marcus addressed him, a jolt shot through his brain. Ryker startled, eyes flaring hot and wide. The few seconds of sleep was briefly invigorating. His willpower was rubbed raw. He didn’t care about games. Didn’t care about winning. Survive. That was the end. Survive. Evade. Escape.
His voice was raw and raspy. Forced from someplace empty. “I didn’t want to. I wasn’t going to. Could have done it at Almaz. Didn’t. Could do it any time. Too busy. Then she did to me what I do to Brandon,” as he spoke, his voice slurred like he was drunk.
“She wanted it. She wanted the pain. Sick bitch.”
As he swayed in his seat, his eyes closed once more, sleeping straight up.
His voice was raw and raspy. Forced from someplace empty. “I didn’t want to. I wasn’t going to. Could have done it at Almaz. Didn’t. Could do it any time. Too busy. Then she did to me what I do to Brandon,” as he spoke, his voice slurred like he was drunk.
“She wanted it. She wanted the pain. Sick bitch.”
As he swayed in his seat, his eyes closed once more, sleeping straight up.