As he untied the rope, Igor stumbled to catch my weak body before it plummeted. He was holding up a substantial amount of my body weight. Gently laying me down onto my stomach he proceeded to clean up the pools of blood that soaked the ground, the current blood that decorated my tank top. I zeroed me eyes at the ground. I tried to distract my mind from the searing pain that my body was experiencing.
The "swish" of the mop ridding the ground of my red fluid, momentarily diverts my brain, and I bask in the feeling of almost euphoria that lasted a mere second before the overbearing pain creeps back. My back felt like it was on fire. It felt as if my back touched the deep depths of hell. As if a torched knife was used to carve multiple lines, as deep as a ravine and filled with freshly molten magma, from the earth's core.
Hot tears were rushing down, like the bullets of water that rained down from the sky at times and created exasperating puddles, they cascaded down my red face, and created the same puddles beneath my chin. You would think that after going through so many whippings that my body would have become used to the pain, yet every time, felt like the first time the whip cracked the fresh skin of my back. The familiar pounding of an incoming headache made itself known. The drum like rhythm sounded in my head over and over again. This did nothing to distract my mind from the searing pain in my back. Fighting the urge to close my eyes, I again try to focus on the "splash" of water as the mop was dropped back into the bucket; no doubt ridding the mop head of my blood, but the sound wasn't constant. And led my sizzling brain to a series of more questions.
"He" still hasn't given so much as a hint as to why I am being held prisoner here. I'm allowed to roam the halls freely yet I haven't managed to do so, because my time has been preoccupied by the endless days I've spent in the cellars. Of course, this was of my own-doing. I wouldn't be in this predicament if I had just stayed my curious self in the house. In spite of this, I can't help but feel as though that is what "he" would want. And I would never submit to the wishes of that man.
I expected my back would take longer than the usual six-ten weeks to heal. Then another week or two before I'm able to be on my feet again. That's would equivalate to almost...3 months.
Approximately three months on a bed with my body aching in pain! I'd rather not. I began formulating an idea of how three months on bed rest would aid in escaping. It wouldn't. Three months was far too long without any type of research, mapping or planning done. I needed to find way to map the whole mansion within these three months or I could kiss the thought of escaping captivity away.
The door to the cramped room swings open. A stretcher is wheeled in, as well as two built men. They're build wasn't as large or as muscular as Igors' but they still held a significant amount of muscle. The amount of muscle that was considered normal, unlike Igor's overly hench body. They weighed more on the leaner side from my point of view on the ground. I tried to crane my neck to get a better evaluation, but my back heavily rejected this motion and instead a pained hiss left my mouth.
"поднимите ее тело на носилки и отнесите в комнату" he gruffs.
("lift her body on a stretcher and take it to the room")
The men nod "да сэр".
("yes sir")
And simultaneously advance towards my now throbbing body. They inch the stretcher right beside me. One positions himself at my bare feet and the other at my shoulders. I hold my breath in preparation for the substantial amount of agony and discomfort my body is about to undergo. I release a blood-curling scream as the men lift my body. Tears instantly roll down my already puffy, red face. The black dots block my vision and once again I feel a burning sensation flood throughout my body. The silent tears manifest into ugly sobs as my weakened body is deposited onto the stretcher...