|Thomas Julian Kemp (asterismos) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2014-04-18 03:12:00
|Entry tags:||thomas kemp|
WHO: Thomas Kemp
WHAT: Isolation (It's okay, bb, they're going to find you soon!)
WHEN: Thursday afternoon
WHERE: Demony place okay
WARNINGS: Drug use, language, deprivation
For a moment the sound was too loud and Thomas winced against the noise. It took far too long for him to realise the sound was his phone going off somewhere in the middle of the room. Beelzebub had used his cell to text Lena and Jamie and then he had simply dropped it to the floor, as if to torment Thomas with it. His salvation was so close, and still too far away. He was bound too tightly and efficiently that he would never be able to use the phone, even if he could somehow maneuver himself close enough to it.
That, and he was as high as balls.
Still, that damn insistent and all too cheerful ringtone was echoing off the stone walls and even through the haze of his mind, Thomas knew it meant his family was looking for him. They must know he was missing now.
A feeble and pathetic noise escaped Thomas' lips, despite the fact that the gag had been replaced. Thirst had reduced his throat to sandpaper, and the sound burned as it fled. The pain his body must have been in from being so tightly bound for--was it days yet? He was pretty sure it was days--and yet the pain felt distant, like it was happening to someone else and Thomas was only slightly aware of it. That didn't mean his muscles were any more cooperative and when he started to inch towards the phone, he could tell the journey was going to take quite a lot of time.
Shifting his legs, he managed to shimmy a little, but the effort took it out of his body which was now deprived of everything expect heroin, was too much. He had to rest every few centimeters. Then the room would burst into sound again, as yet another person tried to contact him.
Another inch, another song. He paused to catch his breath before moving again. Something tugged at his belly and despite having nothing inside it, Thomas turned his head and vomited bile onto the concrete floor. The room spun and he blacked out, only to be roused moments later by the phone ringing yet again.
It took him an hour and a half to inch over to his phone which had probably only really been four feet away to begin with. It erupted to life again, Thomas an inch away from it. He saw the screen, even through swimming vision, and read that it was his mother, calling in vain.
Even though the gag, even though the fog of the opiates clouding his system, Thomas cried out to her even though she would never hear.
Behind him, the door opened again, and Thomas turned his face away from his captor, tears slipping down his face. It was time for another dose.