Detecting Falsehood

(A/n: Double for my birthday! Oh and tw: mentions of being really drunk, panic attacks, injuries)

16?1472622??26

Will you ever even see these? I'm beginning to doubt it.

Message not received. Please try again later.

My body is still throbbing with the after-effects of the attack several hours later, as I hunch over the desk, trying to strap up my left hand with a few sheets of toilet paper, mopping up the blood that streamed from my nose and from other wounds on my body with the weak material. It's the only thing I've got, so I can't exactly try using anything else.

My chest is aching, pulsing slowly with every heartbeat, and parts of my body have gone completely numb. There's a cramp in my right hand from tying endless bandages that either rip when I try to wrap them around an injured spot or absorb the blood way too quickly and end up needing a replacement within moments.

I'm still exhausted, but the leftover adrenaline from the sudden violence is still coursing through me, taking what feels like years to slowly ebb away, so I can't fall asleep. My mind is still whirling, a chaotic mess of emotions that simply don't fit together in any other situation.

I'm relieved that it's over, upset that it had to happen in the first place, angry with myself for not fighting back even if it would've caused more problems, annoyed due to the selfish nature of the gang leader, proud of myself for doing the right thing, and guilty. Guilty because this pushes back any chance of escape, and I know that my family are suffering in my absence.

Today hasn't been the best, it's safe to say. Despite the fact that I've changed rooms to somewhere much more comfortable, I've been forced to comfort the only person who seems to care about me, beaten nearly unconscious by someone who was just trying to stay alive themselves, and then abandoned on a bed when they were done.

It's like I'm more of a commodity than a person. I'm being moved around, based on what others want, based on what they believe is the best way for them to exploit the situation. And my emotions mean nothing at all. It's like they think I don't have emotions, almost. Which is extremely irritating.

But there's nothing I can do to change my situation. There's no way to escape from it all.

I close my eyes, wincing, as my eyelids have become sticky over the last few hours, due to the amount of staring at my hands I've been doing over the last few hours. I still feel kind of faint, unreal, sort of like my whole existence is a dream.

It's not a healthy state of mind, but it's one I'm forced into because of how much pain I'm in right now.

I hear a stumbling outside, and my heartbeat, which has finally begun to calm down, picks up again as the possibility of a secondary beating comes into my mind. Why, though, would they want to throw me to the ground again, when I haven't even started to get up yet?

"Tae," a slurred voice says, "I think I had a bi' too mush t'day."

My eyes go wide at the sound of 21's voice, at how indecipherable her words are that the moment. She's been tipsy before, but this is another level. "21? Are you okay?" I call out worriedly. "Why are you drunk?"

There's a small thud, and a muffled curse, and then the swish of clothing against metal. "21? What's going on?"

"I'thunk 'm gonna go, don't wanna be a pain t'ya. Just wanna say hi, that's all," she replies, sounding a little dopey, and I panic slightly.
"You don't have to go," I say desperately, stumbling painfully over to the door and slumping against it uselessly. "I could use the company."