An Apple A Day (Wattys2019)

Chapter 4 - Clinic Hours

Miles

I don't know how I got back into this bedroom but I did. I lie on what is supposed to be 'my' bed, shivering from the cold entering through the ground and cracks in the wall, a chilly wind whistling through my bones. The weak wooden floorboards keep none of it out. I've learned a lot about this room in the week since arriving at the Doc's. Firstly, the room is soundproofed. I can't even hear his footsteps outside the door, or the jingling of keys in a lock. Second, the windows aren't just glass. They're some kind of mesh laced between panes that crystallises into a honeycomb pattern under light. Form the window I see an overgrown thicket, I think he lives in or right in front of a forest.

The sun rose I think around an hour ago; I've been awake all night willing the sun to come up. Praying for another day to occur, another day where there is the slimmest chance I'll be rescued from this festering Hellhole of fiery torment. The distinct sound of the lock clicks and pull my knees closer to my chest, making myself as small as possible. It's an instinctual thing, like a turtle retreating into its shell. But I know it's an illusion. Nothing I can do would stop Freddie Fucking Krueger and his surgical instruments of torture.

"Good morning!" Doc exclaims as he comes into my room, a great big goofy grin plastered on his face and a confident stride. His head is slanted lazily to the side. I want to rip it the fuck off. Blood is seeping from my torso. I can't even move my hips or the sloppy patchwork stitched Doc did will tear. I feel like crying every time I try to do anything as stinging pain shoots through the wound, as if reopening older ones. "We're going out!" He announces and I barely hear him.

I shoot into a sitting position, staring at Doc oddly. The man is so odd-looking. While previously he wore nothing but a lab coat and boxers and/or a t-shirt to show off each vertebrae protruding from his corpselike emaciated figure, he stands before me wearing a full-on suit and tie with a name badge and everything stapled onto his breast pocket. His hair is pulled into a high ponytail and... has he shaved? Like seriously, he looks way too normal like this. It's creepy. More creepy than his blood-soaked lab coat. Before he just seemed melodramatic, but in this calm state he looks dangerous. Cold and calculating, eyes gleaming with his obsession. He's practically drooling over me.

Then suddenly panic explodes in my mind like an erupting volcano. We're gong out?! That means I'll have to move my body, the pain growing so much worse. But that so means a chance to escape. To get attention. And return to my previous life, one of monotonous sadness, a future destined to end in tragedy. Fuck, I can't think this way. I need to cling to my freedom from Doc - it's the only opportunity I have left. If I don't strive for freedom then I'm nothing. I may as well be some abstract 'experiment'.

Then I think of something else: where the fuck is he taking me?!

Doc sees my panicked expression and it is returned with a calm, lazy smile through his half-lidded eyes, pupils glazed over like he's in a world of his own. He looks like a skeleton in a costume. I could probably blow on him and he'd fall over. "Don't worry my experiment, I won't make you walk," Doc assures, although it does little to calm my weariness, the feeling simmering just below the surface. "And don't you worry about anybody seeing you either, I'm going to take very good care of you. Trust me - I'm a doctor!"

Yeah, somehow I doubt that. Doc begins to change the bandages on my torso, ignoring my hisses in pain as he tuts like a disapproving nurse. "Oh shut up you , it wouldn't be so bad if you'd let me finish properly. Didn't even get halfway through my experiment," he chuckles sadly. He loves reminding me of that, has been doing it all week.

Once fresh bandages are apples Doc sits opposite me, holding my shoulders, stooping to my level. He looks at me really intensely, enough to make me gulp. "I don't want to have to do this to you. I want to make this clear that this is not a punishment. But I have to make sure you wont make any noise while we're out," he gets something out his pocket, a strap with a big red ball attached. I have the feeling I know what it is. It makes me sick, just the implication of it, although I'm sure if he wanted that from me he'd have taken it by now. So why does he have something like that?

"C-Can't I just stay here?" I plead, tears brimming in my eyes.

"I cant trust you alone here yet," Doc shakes his head gravely. "In time, once I can trust you not to run away I can leave you here, maybe even leave the front door unlocked so you can go outside. You'd like that wouldn't you?" he asks with a wide grin, ruffling my hair. I don't mind his touch, for some reason. I know I should but I don't. He just hurts me but pain goes away eventually. The rest of his touches seem arbitrary.

"Yes Doc," I agree. He told me his name is Doc on day 3 when I asked what his real name was. It didn't feel like he was avoiding the question though. It wasn't evasion, I'm sure it was genuine. He thinks his name is Doc.

Doc stands up, clapping his hands like an excited child. "Wonderful, wonderful! Now, get this on and we can go out! I know you must be dying to get out this stuffy room!"

Well yeah, but I'd prefer if I was in an ambulance watching the police car take your psycho ass to jail. Although I won't be saying that out loud anytime soon. He holds the gag up to my face and I start to squirm away as the imposing object slowly gets closer, growing in size. The doctor holds my jaw tightly in his hand, hard enough to make me cry out. As he does, he slips the ball gag in, filling my mouth and making it hurt as my jaw slightly dislocated, stretched to the maximum. This thing is clearly for an adult, and I'm the size of someone much younger than I am. I feel drool seep out through the corner of my lips and I tilt my head back to keep it from falling. "Don't worry Miles," Doc coos. "You don't need to keep your drool in. Trust me, I've seen way worse reactions from my experiments," Doc winks

I wonder if he means with his 'other' experiments. The test subjects he had before me. He's mentioned them fleetingly but I can't get their dates out my head. He must have killed them, right? I hope they died without suffering, that he took pity on them and killed them quickly. Will he kill me like that, with mercy?

My jagged train of thoughts are interrupted by Doc fastening some horrible thick coat on me, doing up the buttons at the back and toggling the straps through under my waist without putting my arms into the arm holes. What is this infernal contraction with buckles and buttons and straps?! It's snug. I can't move much. "Time to go my little doll!" Doc announces, almost dragging me through his house.

His van in in the garage and he makes short work of strapping me into a filthy old chair, like a dentist's chair from a horror movie. I sit there, uncomfortable and writhing in pain from my torso wound. Maybe the stitches will rip and I'll bleed out right here.