“He said I’d fall asleep anyway!” he fretted.
“Taylor calm down! You’ll scare Mac!”
“I’m sorry!” Taylor exclaimed, jumping a little as he shakily ran his fingers through his hair, “I just… I just don’t want this to happen again.”
He stood up and rushed upstairs, it was only two or three minutes until 10pm.
He burst through his bedroom door, and put his hands on his head.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” he squeezed his eyes shut.
He turned to the full-length mirror they had sitting in the corner. He had to admit, he looked horrible. He had for the last two days, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.
The clock downstairs began to chime.
“No, not yet,” he begged, looking at himself.
The clock got to chime six, before Taylor suddenly felt dizzy.
He grabbed for the side of the bed as he fell to his knees and closed his eyes. But his efforts to stay standing failed as he fell onto his back on the floor… and remained there.
His eyes shot open.
“Welcome back Taylor,” he heard a chuckle.
As Taylor looked up, he saw the man over the other side of the room. But it wasn’t his bedroom this time. The walls were wooden, and lit by two bright lamps at either end. The man was wearing a white coat – like a doctor – and a grin on his face.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, spreading his arms in emphasis.
Taylor looked around, for some reason not feeling as vulnerable as he thought he would be. That was when he realized he was moving. He’d sat up and looked around.
His eyes widened as he tried to say something, but felt the choking sensation. His hand grabbed at his throat.
“I told you about that,” the man shook his head as he turned his back, “only if I need you to. And I don’t. Not today.”
Taylor tried again anyway, rubbing his throat. He squinted at the bright lights as he looked up.
He was on the floor, his back near a wall. There was a bench running down the wall to his right, and cupboards against the other. Ahead of him, the man stood in front of a sink, as he seemed to be washing something. In the front left corner sat an old wooden chair, and to the right, a bed. There was no door.
He was about to ask why when he realized he couldn’t talk again.
“Almost ready Taylor, excuse me for being late,” the man apologized.
Taylor slowly backed up against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. No matter how much he hoped that when he’d open them again he’d be back in his room, he could still feel the wooden floor beneath his fingers.
When he opened his eyes again, the doctor turned around.
“Alright, ready to go,” he smiled, putting on some operating gloves.
He shrugged a little as he began over to Taylor.
“Everything I do is standard procedure. Nothing will be infected if I can help it.. unless I mean to of course,” he smiled again, showing his golden tooth, “for now, we need you up on the bed.”
He grabbed Taylor’s shoulder tightly, and pulled him from the floor. When he was on his feet he took him over to the bed, and pushed him down onto it. Once Taylor was in a suitable position, he waved his arm over his stomach, and Taylor froze.
Again, he realized, he couldn’t move.
The doctor undid the buttons on his jacket and pulled it apart slightly, then began to roll up his shirt. With his stomach bared, Taylor shivered as he went to fetch something. His arms lie helpless above his head as he closed his eyes.
He opened them again when he heard the man return.
“You might feel a little prick,” he grinned, showing Taylor what he had.
It was a rather large kitchen knife. His eyes widened as the man brought it down to his stomach, and began to pierce the skin. All his efforts to cry out were lost, as tears of both pain and fear fell from his eyes.
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