Inky blackness surrounded her. The room was silent, as it ever was; the only sound that reached her ears was the rasping of her breaths. She didn't know how long she had been in this room, she really wasn't sure if she was still human. She had lost count of the many times her captor had come to visit. She never saw his face, she couldn't. Not in the dark. Not with the way he had fixed her to the cold floor. Her knees and back ached relentlessly, but no relief was to be found. When she had first been brought to this room, gagged, blindfolded and bound, she had been a young woman of 24. She had memories of the smell of different coffees, but she couldn't remember why. Perhaps she'd worked in a coffee shop before she was plucked off the street on her way back to her.. flat? She couldn't remember. All she knew now was the black, the dryness of her throat from the gag that held her tongue in place, and the pain in her limbs. So much pain.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on listening, searching for any break in the deafening soundlessness. Somewhere behind her, on the other side of the heavy door that blocked the light from her, she heard footsteps. Instead of speeding up like it used to when she heard the sound of his approach, her heart slowed. She felt weaker now; her body sagged against her metal bonds. She took slow, deep breaths as she listened to the sound of the door unlocking. Light flooded the room, burning her eyes through the lids. A single tear streaked down her cheek.

"Hello my dear," his voice raked against her mind, "How are we today?" How was she today? The pain in her knees was worse. The bit in her mouth tasted of metal. Or maybe that was blood. She couldn't tell.

Pain flooded her body and she was vaguely aware that he'd kicked her, "I said," he paused for a moment to grip her by her hips and pull her up towards what she knew was his bare lower half. The chains jingled and strained as he pulled on her hips, lifting her knees of the ground for a split second before dropping her down, "how are you today?"

She forced sound from her throat in response to his question.

"Good," he said, more to himself as he pressed a finger into her; the pain was hot and all too familiar "Maybe if you're good today, you can eat." Eat? Maybe she could eat. The thought of food reminded her of the emptiness in her stomach. When was the last time she'd eaten? "And if you ain't I'll hose you down again," he pressed another finger into her, and she knew what would follow soon after, "Maybe I'll hose you down anyway, you filthy slut," and with those words he entered her, she used to scream when he did. Used to cry and beg him to stop. But it didn't matter anymore. He wouldn't stop. He would just make it hurt more. Her breathing slowed more, and she wondered if maybe she'd died. Somewhere she smelled coffee beans, freshly ground coffee beans. The pain built up between her legs until she was lost in it. Pain and Coffee beans.

She was barely aware of misplaced light. Screaming. Loud sounds. The man falling away from her. She forced her eyes to open, blinking in the light. It wasn't just coming from the door, but from the ceiling too. How odd. The form of a man crouched beside her. How odd indeed. She turned her head as far as she could, straining against her bonds in an effort to see the man's face. If men did have faces. Did they? She couldn't remember. The man leaned down to meet her eyes. He was blonde and had a nose too big for his face, but instead of being ugly, it made him look kind. So kind. His eyes were wet and his mouth moving. What was he saying?

"We're here to help you," he said softly, "I'm a doctor. My name is John Watson. You're safe now."

The word 'safe' rang like a bell in her mind. It shattered everything. She was flooded with intense pain and emotion. Fear, sadness, grief. All at once. Then it was gone. The world dropped away. Maybe now she was dead.