Gothic Delusions

by Timesprite



All righty. Here's another short fic from everyone's favorite angst goddess (well, probably not, but humor my ego, okay? It's fragile.)

Special thanks go out to Em and Then who once again helped me nail down just what it was my brain was trying to come up with.

Disclaimers: Domino doesn't belong to me. In fact, I think she's hiding in wait behind some bushes so she can cap me for being so mean. Rated PG for very minor bad language.

Feedback is much appreciated.

Cold, damp floor under my cheek. The same as yesterday, as the day before as...I realize Iíve lost track of time, locked up here. Bound, lying bruised and battered on the floor, in the dark. Maybe itís a blessing, to lay here and not know how long Iíve lain here. To listen to nothing but the ringing silence, stare at nothing but the pitch black darkness.

Heíll come for me again, I know. I intrigue him. At first, I railed at him, spit in his face, threw ever insult I knew at him until my throat was raw and I could not speak above a whisper. And even then, I cursed him in my mind. Damned him to the darkest hell I could conjure up in my mind. I can have quite a vivid imagination when I want to. I would lay here in the dark, aching, with a wide smile on my split and bleeding lips as I thought of what Iíd do to him when I was rescued.

I donít remember when it was I realized I wasnít *going* to be rescued. He was right after all, the bastard. They werenít going to come for me. And I couldnít escape. That was the most sickening thought of all. *I* was trapped. *Me.* There wasnít a damned thing I could do.

I stopped imagining him dead. And I stopped imagining footsteps outside my cell, the sound of imminent freedom. I stopped imagining anything at all. My world became this all encompassing darkness. It became the cool damp floor that soothed my pain and chilled me to the bone at the same time. This is all there is. Dark and cold. Cold and dark.

Time ticking by in irregular intervals. And I wonder, have I lost my mind? No, that would be too easy, too peaceful. Iím painfully, hatefully sane as I hear the door slam open, see a tiny sliver of light. The rescue that was never supposed to come. Iíd laugh if I had the strength. And maybe one day, if Iím lucky, Iíll dance on that bastardís grave.

continued in Mind Games

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