Rupture | Bellamy Blake ² [Discontinued]

❉| chapter twenty-three

❝when i was drowning, that's when i could finally breathe.❞

-"clean", taylor swift

♛

THE FIRST THING I notice when I sluggishly come to consciousness is the fact that I'm extremely uncomfortable. Then, once I'm able to slowly blink my eyes open and feel the tightness of the cloth gagging me and the handcuffs clamping my wrists behind my back, I think, Oh, that might be why.

My hair hangs in my face, sticking to it from the heat in the room. Even if the door isn't closed, something makes the air stifling so my face and chest shine with sweat. I jerk my neck to get the loose strands away to no avail. I need a haircut.

The next thing I notice is that my arms are bare. My green shirt is the only thing covering my top half, my jacket nowhere to be seen. I'm both upset and relieved that I'm not wearing it— I love that coat, but to have it in this heat would be even more torture. Whoever has done this has shown at least a minimal amount of mercy. Or maybe they just didn't want me to have weapons.

I notice a baby-pink shirt from across the room and see that Harper is also chained and gagged, with Bryan, Monty, and Miller beside her. The dark-skinned boy is standing unlike us, with his front facing the wall and his wrists bound above his head. No matter how hard he tries to pull himself free, the cuffs hold.

I guess that's why they weren't answering the radio.

I turn my head to see Jasper beside me. Octavia is bound like Miller, though she seems to be putting up more of a fight. Her foot connects to the wall in an attempt to pull hard enough to break the restraints. It doesn't seem to be working.

What the hell is going on? If only we weren't gagged and could speak, because then, I'd know.

A horrible grating sound makes me jump. The hallway isn't visible from where I'm sitting, but the sound is getting louder, meaning its source is coming closer. My heart quickens its already erratic pace as the effects of the sedative fully wear off. I can feel every pull of the biting metal holding my arms back, the tightness of it against my already sensitive skin, the discomfort that the gag brings as it digs into my cracked lips, the humid air.

My stomach drops at the sight of him. Carl Emerson, with the remnants of an army green hazmat suit on. His hair is still cut short. Though, instead of the clean-shaven face he'd had in Mount Weather, he now sports a rough goatee on his jawline.

I can feel it. His hands on my back, holding me still as the whir of the drill sends shivers down my spine. The relaxant drug keeping me still. And lastly, the prick of it finally piercing my skin—

"Hello, Fallon," he sneers with a triumphant grin upon noticing that I'm awake. "We meet again."

Unfortunately, I mentally retort. Instead, I just narrow my eyes to slits and force as much heat into the glare as I can muster.