It was Sunday. Blindfold knew that because her brain kept up with things like that regardless of what she was doing. It was Sunday. Technically, this meant she should have been getting up to go to church. Unfortunately, Ruth had absolutely no interest in going to church anymore. There was always someone who paid no attention and walked into her. Then there were the stares if she took off her glasses, stares she could feel like insects crawling along her skin coupled with thoughts filled with disgust at the obvious mutation of her face. It should have been funny to her how quickly people drew the line between her missing eyes and her being a mutant since she had never had eyes and was only guilty of being a mutant for about two years out of her total 26. Funny in a painfully ironic way.
Rolling over, she considered what she was going to do with her day. At some point she needed to start on the mandated exercise regimen she'd been given by the doctor to make up for the weeks she'd spent in captivity.
Ruth's thoughts had only just turned to the weeks she spent in a cell with an electrified floor playing 20 questions when the twin touches of pain and terror went through her mind. They only amplified her own to the nth degree and she sobbed so hard it felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. However, Ruth was good at keeping her presence of mind.
You're not alone. It was a desperate attempt to placate her own fear as well as that being pressed on her from the outside. Ruth knew, all too well, what it felt like to be held against her will and forced into a situation she had neither control over nor care for. I can hear you. Though she got no response, Ruth continued to press that thought plus just a general sense of outside awareness along the line she'd been given.
When it finally stopped, the first thought she had was she needed to talk to the Professor or someone about this, anyone. Except she couldn't find the wherewithal to move. It felt hopeless and the sense of helplessness which came with it was an oceanic tide pulling the strength from her muscles. Again she sobbed and again, as she had wished a few hundred times over the past few months, Ruth wished she had tears to cry.