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If I Die Young



 
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Quinn Loche

"You really are very convincing..."

Quinn would stare at the man from the corner of the room in which she remains locked in, perched upon the cot she'd been granted. She'd been here before, years ago, and held captive in just the same way. That was then, though. This is now. For months, the young woman would do what she must to survive. She would eat the hearty portions given to her, exercise in the dark to keep her muscles from atrophy, and after a long while, she'd learned not to speak unless spoken it.

Speaking only ever made it worse.

"I'm not lying," she'd utter, quiet and confident despite her fear.

"It's time for your bath." He ignores her.

Every day, he would escort her to a room of showers, locking her in with the expectation that she bathe. In the beginning, he'd insisted that it was to wash away her disguise. Over the months, that changed as nothing changed in her. Now, it is simply to preserve what he has left of her.

Quinn could always feel his eyes upon her back as she washed, and it irks her. The comfort there had once been in being watched over is gone, and now she wants nothing more than to be nothing to anyone. More than once she had considered ending it, but she knew better.

If she starved herself, he would force her to eat.
If she harmed herself, he would put her back together again.
If she somehow managed to end the beating of her heart, he would restart it.

There were times she prayed for the end, like those when he took her to his lab. He was kind, he said, for the way he would numb an area before working on her. Precise cuts and incisions would be mad, flesh lifted from muscle with great care to not damage a thing, and her insides would be documented. Inspected. Compared. The first few times she had screamed until finally passing out from the shock.

After a while, it became easier to cope with.

Is this how a person weaves themselves into the fabric of another's life? Each and every time he operated on her frail body, was he making himself all the more necessary to her existence? Would she die without this? Without him? Is this the closest she would ever be to feeling close?

Once done with her daily shower, Quinn Loche would change into a freshly laundered dress. It was always a color that denoted his mood. Dark colors for harder days, bright colors for those days when he found himself in a jovial mood, but today would be different.

Today, he gave her white.
May 03, 2017 01:25 pm

Quinn Loche

He leads her into that familiar space. As her eyes travel around, she takes note of the little changes. A white linen cloth is draped over the cold, steel table. The tray table is neatly stocked with sterile tools, lined up and perfectly straight. In the upper left corner, a heavy porcelain vase with just a single sunflower.

Her favorite.
Quinn's favorite.

She watches as he steps off to the side, a proud smile on his face, turning on the water and beginning to scrub in. The blond stands aside, nimble fingers playing at the fabric of the gifted dress. Her heart beats fast as a Hummingbird's wings, fluttering just as quickly as her mind.

"You've done really well," he speaks over the running water, voice as clear and concise as the incisions he would no doubt be making. "Today is the final test."

"You really don't... this isn't necessary. You've seen everything."

She takes a step back, toward the door they'd entered through, and he is fast to turn his head. Bright blue eyes, flecked with a familiar gold, grab at her attention. With just a nod of his head, Quinn knows that she is meant to lay on that table. Swallowing, she nods in return and slowly steps up to the table.

Satisfied, he turns back to the water to the hospital-grade soap from his hands and arms.

"Everything so far as been exactly as it should be. Do you know what we will be looking at today?" He dries his hands on a towel as he lectures before picking up a fresh pair of gloves. Only then does he turn to her, taking confident steps forward.

With a gentle touch, he places a hand to her elbow and guides her to turn around and sit upon the dressed table.

"Your heart."
May 12, 2017 11:23 pm
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