The Room

By JakePro -
published April 16, 2017

Honestly, you wake up in a strange room in strange clothes with a strange acting friend. How else could my life change?

I feel myself falling. I’ve been bungie jumping before, and the sensation was similar to my initial reaction. When I started to fall, I couldn’t feel the bungee line. The sensation was scary, like I would fall and crash into something as I kept dropping. The fear causing my heart to pulse and throb in panic. Suddenly saw something, an approaching bright light, its dark blue and yet somehow blood red at all the same time.

Ripping my eyes, I find a different scenario. I bolt upright from the bed my head crashing into my friend’s. “Oww, fuck man…” I pull back, to find Nathan’s nose bleeding from our collision. “Oh shit! I’m sorry,” I remark whilst he pinches his nose to inhibit the loss of blood. “Really Mike?” He complains, his eyes watering from pain. It’s only then do I notice the other wounds and clothes, or lack thereof. He’s gotten bruising on his upper right cheek and a black eye. Nathan’s always been the Jock of our group; however the clothing he’s gotten on were nothing I’d even seen before. He wore an open leather jacket over his bare ripped abdominal six-pack. This was paired with skin tight leather pants. “What’s up?” Nathan bared a smile from behind his hand, containing the blood. “Just wanted to see if you were awake yet,” “No, seriously what’s up with what you’re wearing?” He looked down at his clothing as if seeing nothing wrong. “Sorry, I always dress like this.” I furrow my brow in confusion. I look around. The room was small, wooden walls with a carpeted floor. It wasn’t my apartment or Nathan’s. Maybe this was Luke’s home? “Nathan, you barely wear anything skin tight. You’ve never even touched a leather jacket.” Nathan raised his other hand, unaffected by the blood nose to his forehead, confused.

“No… That’s not right…” I get off the bed. Realising I’m in new clothes. I’m wearing a leather harness, fingerless gloves and… I reach my hands to my butt… a leather jockstrap. “What the fuck,” Nathan meanwhile has recovered from his blood nose and now has both hands on his head, as if he’s having a migraine. “Nathan?” I ask only for him to start yelping in pain. His whole body spazzams whilst he continues clutching his head, his nails digging past his brown sort wavy hair. His emerald eyes wide and wild, I quickly hug him, to try and calm him down and reassure him. It’s not working. I needed to get help. I jump up. There is a door out of this room, a solid mahogany door. Grabbing it’s brass door handle, I yank on it whilst twisting. Nothing, the handle doesn’t even turn. It’s locked. I start slamming onto the door, my voice screaming. “HELP!” I yelp, my voice sounding strained. “SOMEONE! HELP US!” Whatever sick fuck was doing this was insane. I panicked again, much like my dream. “HELLO?! TALK TO ME!” At the time I was desperate to get help, I had just sealed my fate.

“Hello boys…” I looked around the room. A voice had spoken. The small room containing a single bed, a set of drawers but then I notice in each corner on the ceiling is a camera and speaker. Some person is watching us. “Please,” I beg look up at one of the cameras. “He’s sick, let us go!” I wait, he’s silent. Unfaithfully my heart soars in hope.

“No.” I felt it drop. “He’s not sick.” I look from the camera to Nathan on the bed crying in pain, his hands becoming erratic, scratching his head. “Of course he is!” I retort. “Look at him!” I wait for a response. “He’s not sick, he’s processing.” I look up at the camera. “What the fuck you mean?” “He’s processing the statement where you questioned what he was wearing, his beliefs are being challenged.” I feel confused, like walking into my mid-semesters without revising. “Beliefs?”

“Much like a computer trying to figure out a complex problem, his brain is figuring how to solve the problem; accepting my reality over his.” Realising what was being said, I looked back at Nathan. “What reality?” I ask. “Just something that will keep you occupied together.” Suddenly I watched as Nathan stopped twitching, his entire demeanour returning to normal. He turned to me; his face covered in rage. I can officially say I was panicked. He stood up, he was taller than my by a head and a half, and physically dominating.

“Nathan?” I asked. His emerald eyes were sharp, as if just been fine tuned. He stepped forward, his lips curling into a sneer. “Bad boy..” I only had a second before he jumped at me, his fist flying outwards for my cheek. I fell to the floor, the taste of blood in my mouth. It was metallic and warm. “Get up you bitch boy,” I coughed, a small amount of blood scattering out onto the carpet. “Nathan,” I gurgle. “I’m your friend,” I felt a blow to my stomach. His leather boot winding me in one blow. “I SAID UP!” Stuttering, I get up onto my feet. Nathan staring at me with unreasonable intent. Already I can see something poking within his leather pants. “Nathan, please… We have girlfriends back home.” I didn’t even bother to defend myself as his hand drew back and slapped my across my face. With my ears ringing I collapse backwards falling onto the bed. “No, we don’t.” He looks at me; and I realise his eyes aren’t sharp. They are dead, sharp but dead. “It was all an illusion.” He advanced on me, using his down arms and legs to pin me down. He licks my neck, his tongue rubbing down my vein. I gasp at the sensation.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I hear the camera’s speak whilst Nathan continues to ravage my neck with his tongue and mouth, biting gently until a yelp. “One man; broken into breaking another…” I try to break away from his grip, only to weakly struggle. I widen my eyes in fear as Nathan’s face drifts closer to mine, his lips a mere inches from mine. “Don’t worry boy…” I exhale, “You will be mine…”

Author’s Note: I’m back but a little rusty, just wanted to see if my skill was still there. For those who do know my work; my series ‘Lusta Academy’ is currently being revamped to become a more continuous story rather than separated individual chapters.

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