Fucking warning for implied past noncon, implied upcoming noncon, schizophrenia, broken bones, blood mention, some other shit too probably
Frosted jolts, that's the single way he’d described it. The way it shot through his veins, every liter of the chilling water engulfing his body. It lasted for seconds of a seeming eternity only for him to relapse into the shock of it all again after false bliss. The prison that held the male was a metal tub, not so nicely paired with stained leather restraints; a pair of ankle ones at the bottom near the drain and a pair of wrist straps on both ledges of the metal tub.
Bo -currently trapped like a fly in a spider's web- twisted and turned, a foul attempt at setting himself free. The unforgiving leather straps sliced into his flesh, giving way to an awful metallic smell. Red trickled into the water in small streams, tinting the water an awful shade of brown.
Everything was so loud, inside his head and out. Voices screamed and hollered in absolute terror, shrieking till blood ran out of his ears and his eyes bulged from their sockets with a thudding in his temples. It was so gut retching, the screams of pain from Bo.
Don't be fooled, the reality of the situation would beg to differ. The man was okay -at least physically- no streams of crimson or eyeballs popped like balloons. Just rickety breaths of an oncoming panic attack.
A screech of the distant washroom door hinges alerted the already panicked man of a doctors presence. Slow clicks of dress shoes made their way to him, anticipation dancing in the air.
”Bo-, ” sternly the doctor spoke, eyes dancing down the patient's body. Something about that look would make anyone sick to their stomach, especially someone that knew the intent that lied behind.
Pervert. He's a pervert. Bad Bad Bad.
The figments that were once howling ceased to a whimper. Terror of both himself and the imagined danced around his head, somehow stronger than before.
Bo could barely form words in response, teeth still chattering from the water. He was a statue, watching the moment seemingly from outside his body. Panic settled into the present, clawing at his insides. What are you even expected to do in this situation? Face to face with the single reason you haven't had a decent night of slumber. Not that anyone really got sleep here, the blankets are too thin and the lights are too bright.
The doctor -Percy- loomed over him, a hand going to comb through the patients greasy hair. Bo flinched at the gesture. Percy shushed him in a false empathetic manner. His hand continued down pale and bruised flesh. Stopping at his collar bone he balled his hand into a fist. In an all too quick sequence the fish was pounded into the fragile bone.
Bo screamed out, loud sobs choking out. Breaths became shallow, searing pain tearing through his lungs and down his back. A blinding throb burnt his chest, deflating his lungs to sad limp party balloons.
In the mist of it all, the doctor spoke. “We are going to have a very swell session together. I am certainly positive you won’t go around tattling on me this time. Perhaps we should change your meds.”
