Chapter Text
Slurred Speech / Duct Tape / Darkness
The room is unbelievably stuffy.
“Mngggh…” He groans, but the soft exhale doesn’t help. It makes the pressure on his lungs worse, drawing attention to the fact that the weight is there at all. “Whha..?”
It makes it hard to breathe. There’s a heat in the air that has settled uncomfortably on his skin. When he shifts, the bed feels more like hard ground. Donnie opens his eyes. The room spins and his head pounds, so he closes them again to get his bearings.
His first coherent thought is that he needs to get up.
His second is that he can’t move his hands.
His shoulders are locked in a tense position. He forces his eyes open again to try and get a look at his wrists. He can’t see anything. He squints and squirms and scans the entire perimeter, but the black is too intense to see through. He focuses on the sensation around his arms. Sticky and firm when he tries to shift it, pinching when the skin moves.
It’s duck tape. Whoever he is, it's not safe.
He swallows the thick saliva in his throat.
“Ghhyyss?” He squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know how it’s possible that the darkness is moving, but it makes it hard to think. “Hhe -hlllo?”
No one answers. Nothing moves.
He tries to breathe, manually.
Every breath feels harder than the last.
He needs to get up. He needs to do something.
His arms don’t move like he wants them to. His legs are stuck together too. He doesn’t know how he didn’t feel that.
His body deposits him back on the floor. His stomach rolls.
He curls up, hands to his stomach. Sweat beads over his palms.
All he can think is that if he throws up, he might be stuck laying in it.
He can’t breathe.
He can’t throw up.
He can't move.
The heat is suffocating.
He's not safe.
He's not safe.
A small whine fills the empty space.