A/N: If you haven’t read the first part (The link is here), please do. If you have, please ignore this, and read on!
The light is blinding and painful, and there are splotches in my vision that fracture and cloud my gaze as I try to make out my surroundings. I scream as a hulking shadow, just a shade darker than the whiteness around me, approaches me, and the pain returns to my throat.
The words are snapped out so quickly that I barely understand what they mean. Before I know what’s happening, I’m being dragged by my arms again, and I try, in vain, to keep up with whoever it is that is pulling me. Finally, I give in, and blindly, I begin to struggle. I can hear mutters and curses, though they mean nothing to me now, and there is a sharp pain just behind my neck, and then, it feels as if a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.
My eyes are starting to accommodate for the light, and I can see blurred masks and suits in my vision. Faintly, at the back of my mind, I remember that a lifetime ago, I had glasses to wear, but it doesn’t matter now. A needle is speared into the crease of my elbow, and I before I struggle, it is pulled out and a palm swats my cheek to one side painfully. A scream is on the tip of my tongue, but another slap makes tears brim over my eyes, and it feels like a steaming rock has been shoved into my throat.
“Get her out of here,”
I’m grabbed once more, and this time, I don’t struggle. I allow myself to be pulled out of the white room, and where I distantly recognise something as a door. It swings open freely, and a burst of colour enters my vision. I’m holding my breath, though I don’t know why, and the messy blur of green and brown makes tears run down my cheeks.
I can taste it on the tip of my tongue, and I’m roughly tossed onto the stone, a boot pressing into my back before I’m kicked away. I scramble pathetically, nails breaking on the cold, hard marble, but I force myself to move. I tell myself that you’ve moved on, and that I should too.
I feel mush on my hand, and soon enough, I’m crawling through green leaves and my bared knees and palms are scraped by a sharpness I haven’t felt in years. When my limbs are too heavy to carry, I let myself drop, and with the grainy dirt pressing in on my cheek, I smile.
You’d be proud of me, I think, if you’d known that I’ve done this.
Known that I’d found my freedom.
A/N: The next part is Here