marcato: (and the shine of his shoes)
aunamee ❱❱ anomie ([personal profile] marcato) wrote in [community profile] thecapitol 2014-01-23 08:46 pm (UTC)

He would heal. In time, he would heal. His hands would take a few hours at most, but the severed bones in his spinal cord would take longer — days, maybe, weeks — although it didn’t matter, of course, because he would be awake long before then.

For now, he had the darkness.

He made no sound as Wesker shoved him forward into the bumper and into the trunk. Only the cracks in his nose and cheekbones answered. When the trunk door lowered over his head, it blacked out the world like an eclipse.

He began to pound on the door.

Not in an attempt to escape, because it would be useless. No, he pounded on the door in a very specific rhythm, a thump-THUMP thump-THUMP that could almost be morse code, but was really the sound of Wesker’s heartbeat. Every knock was precise because every knock was predicted. Locked away with hours of darkness to look forward to (hours to fear), it was his only form of retaliation.

I am listening.

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