Cracks in the Glass Pt.11
(TW): Confinement, isolation, emotional distress, crying, mention of being restrained, mention of past trauma.
Thomas strolls to the glass, his usual casual demeanor in place. “Miss me?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe with an easy grin.
I roll my eyes at his playful tone. However, I wouldn’t dare to admit that I kinda missed him.
He chuckles. “No? Not even a little?” He nods toward my hands, his tone light. “Pink polish? Looks like you and Anna had a good time.”
I curl my fingers into my palms and tuck my hands under my thighs. The polish suddenly feels heavy. “She talks a lot,” I mutter.
“Sounds like her,” he says, his tone amused but not mocking. “She said you behaved yourself, though.”
I shoot him a wary glance, unsure where this is going.
“Which is why I talked to the medical director,” he continues, his voice softening. “And... he agreed you could go outside.”
My head snaps up. My chest tightens with something unfamiliar, excitement maybe, but I’m not sure. “Outside,” I whisper, the word barely audible.
He nods, his grin widening. “Fresh air. Sunshine. The whole deal.”
I stand before I even realize it, the thought of stepping into the open too enticing to resist. “Now, I want to go now.” The words come out breathless.
Thomas raises a hand, stopping my momentum. “Hold on. There’s a catch.”
I freeze, suspicion prickling at my skin. “What?”
“You’d have to go in a wheelchair,” he says, his voice careful. “And... you’d need restraints. It’s standard for Reds. For safety.”
The warmth that had started to creep into my chest freezes, replaced by an icy knot of dread. My fists clench, and I step back. “No,” I say sharply, my voice low and trembling.
“It’s not like—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“No!” I scream, my body jerking as if the word itself can’t contain my fury. I slam my hands against the glass, the sound reverberating through the room. “I’m not doing that! You’re not tying me down!”
“Ella,” he says gently, taking a step back, his hands raised. “We don’t have to—”
I grab the pillow off my bed and hurl it at the glass, the soft impact doing nothing to satisfy the boiling anger inside me. “Go away!” I scream, my voice breaking.
“Hey, it’s okay, we can just do something else—”
“Get the fuck away from me!” Tears streak down my face, revealing the hurt behind my anger.
Thomas doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t fight. He doesn’t argue. He just stands there, watching me with that infuriating calm. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I’m going.”
He turns away, leaving me alone. My chest heaves with ragged breaths, and I stand there for a long moment before collapsing back onto the bed.
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The fluorescent lights buzzed above me, flickering faintly, their cold, sterile glow turning the room into a sickly white box. The chill of the metal table bit into my skin through the thin gown they’d given me, leaving goosebumps crawling up my arms. The straps around my wrists and ankles were unforgiving, biting into my flesh with every tiny movement. I hated how exposed I felt, how utterly powerless.
"Stop squirming," Kyle’s voice snapped, sharp and impatient. He loomed over me, his face a perfect mask of boredom with just a hint of cruelty shining in his eyes. He always had that look, like I wasn’t worth more than the dirt under his shoes. "You know how this works by now, A-13. You’re just making it harder for yourself."
I clenched my fists, the leather straps pinning them to the table creaking under the strain. "Please," I whispered, my voice trembling, breaking. "I’ll do anything. Just... don’t do this."
Kyle smirked, leaning down so his face was only inches from mine. “Anything? That’s a dangerous promise, kid. Lucky for you, I don’t need anything from you. You’re just the canvas today.”
The door creaked open, and I flinched at the sound. A man in a pristine white lab coat entered, his expression as empty as the room felt. He carried a silver tray, and on it sat a syringe filled with a swirling, ominous liquid that seemed to glow faintly under the light. Beside it were wires, small metal clamps, and what looked like a headset bristling with electrodes.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, no, no.”
“Always so dramatic,” Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes. He gestured for the doctor to begin. “Let’s get this over with.”
The doctor didn’t look at me. He picked up the syringe and tapped it against his palm, expelling a single drop of the glowing liquid. "This one’s new,” he said, his voice clinical. “We’re testing its effects on nervous system conductivity and resistance to pain stimuli.”
Kyle grinned, catching my expression. “Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, A-13. I’ll let you tell me all about how it feels.”
I yanked at the straps again, my panic clawing up my throat like bile. "No! Please! I don’t—"
Kyle grabbed my face, his fingers digging into my cheeks. “Shut your fucking mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” He growled
The doctor slid the needle into my arm without hesitation, the sharp pinch a prelude to the fire that coursed through my veins a moment later. It wasn’t just pain—it was something worse, something alive, like electricity running wild under my skin. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably, my back arching off the table despite the restraints.
“Vitals spiking,” the doctor murmured, his voice detached as he scribbled notes on his clipboard.
“Good,” Kyle said, leaning back against the counter. “Crank it up.”
The doctor placed the headset on my head, the cold metal pressing against my temples. “Beginning conductivity tests,” he announced. He adjusted a dial, and suddenly my body seized again, my vision going white with the intensity of it. It wasn’t just pain—it was like my body was being pulled apart and stitched back together all at once.
I screamed, my throat raw, but no one flinched. Kyle watched me with a casual smirk, as though I were a mildly interesting movie playing in the background.
“Interesting,” the doctor muttered, twisting another dial. “Response is stronger than anticipated.”
The shocks came in waves, each one worse than the last, making my head spin. Tears streamed down my face, and my voice cracked as I begged. “Please,I can’t!”
The doctor continued his work, muttering notes to himself as my body was wracked with uncontrollable spasms. “Let’s test the neural pathways,” he said, pressing another button.
A jolt ran through me, so strong that I bit down on my tongue, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. My screams turned to gasps, my throat too raw to keep up.
“Subject is nearing threshold,” the doctor noted, his tone utterly devoid of concern.
Kyle straightened, brushing his hands together like he’d just finished a chore. “Don’t fry her completely. We’ll need her for the next round.”
The last thing I remembered was the doctor pulling the headset off and Kyle’s cold, smirking face looming above me.
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said, his voice like nails on my already frayed nerves.
And then, mercifully, everything went dark.
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The silence is deafening.
I lie on the bed, staring at the same ceiling I’ve been staring at for weeks. It’s so familiar now that I can trace every crack, every imperfection, without even looking. My body feels heavy, but my mind is too restless to let me sleep.
I’ve been in this room too long.
At first, the solitude was a relief. No experiments. No needles. No voices barking orders. Just me, my bed, and my thoughts. But now? Now it’s different. The walls feel closer, tighter, like they’re pressing in on me. The air is staler, heavier.
There’s nothing to do. Nothing to read. Nothing to watch. Nothing to break the monotony of this endless, suffocating silence.
My fingers twitch against the blanket, a restless energy building inside me that I can’t shake. I sit up, but there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to walk. Nothing to touch. Nothing that isn’t bolted down or out of reach.
The boredom crawls under my skin, prickling like tiny needles. I can’t stand it. It’s worse than the pain, worse than the experiments, worse than the fear. At least those things made me feel something, kept my mind occupied, even if it was awful.
I get up and pace the room, but the four walls mock me with their sameness. The bed, the table, the door—it’s all the same. I sit back down, then stand up again, my body unable to settle. My chest feels tight, like I can’t breathe right.
I think about the outside. I’ve never been, not really. I’ve seen it through the glass, watched the kids laugh and run and use their powers like it’s nothing. I’ve seen the sun shining on their faces, the grass under their feet.
But the thought of being restrained—of being tied down again, helpless and vulnerable—it’s enough to make my stomach churn. My fingers tighten into fists as I try to push the memory away, but it clings to me, sticky and relentless.
I glance at the door. He said I could change my mind. He said I could go outside.
The thought feels like a lifeline, but also a trap. But then my eyes drift to the window. The faint glow of sunlight leaks in, a cruel tease of what I can’t have. The boredom swells again, a tidal wave of frustration and emptiness crashing over me.
I can’t stay here. Not like this. Not anymore.
I sit back down on the bed, my hands gripping the edge so tightly my knuckles turn white. My jaw clenches as I stare at the door.
Thomas appears at the glass. I don’t move from my spot on the bed, knees drawn up to my chest, fingers tracing the faint ridges in the blanket. He steps inside, quiet this time, his usual casual demeanor softened. Leaning against the glass, he studies me for a moment.
“Hey,” he says gently. “I wanted to check in.”
I keep my eyes fixed on the wall, my stomach twisting with leftover frustration and embarrassment. I don’t have the energy to lash out again.
“You okay?” His voice is soft but steady, like he’s trying not to startle me.
I shrug, the motion stiff and jerky.
He sighs, pushing off the glass and crouching slightly, trying to meet my gaze. “I get it, Ella. Earlier was... a lot. I didn’t handle it great, and I’m sorry if I upset you.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, my jaw tight.
Shifting his weight, he rests one arm on his knee. “Look, I just wanted to ask if you’ve thought about it. About going outside.”
My chest aches with the weight of boredom. Weeks in this room—same walls, same ceiling—have worn me thin. The thought of fresh air feels like a lifeline, but the idea of restraints? Of being that vulnerable again? My stomach churns at the thought.
“I... I don’t know,” I mutter finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
Thomas nods, not pushing. “That’s okay,” he says gently. “It’s your choice. I just wanted to check in.”
The silence between us stretches, heavy and taut. Almost impulsively, I blurt out, “Okay.”
He blinks, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah?”
I nod, sharper this time, though my hands are trembling. “Yeah.”
His face softens, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright. Let me grab the chair. I’ll be right back.”
The door closes quietly behind him, and I sit there, staring at my knees. My heart feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest. What am I doing?
The door opens again, and Thomas rolls the wheelchair into the room. The sound of the wheels squeaking against the floor feels deafening, and my breath catches in my throat. I stiffen, my back pressing into the bedframe. My fingers dig into the blanket as my chest tightens. This is a mistake. I shouldn’t have agreed. I can’t do this.
Thomas stops a few feet from me, crouching slightly so his gaze meets mine. “Hey,” he says softly, his tone careful, almost soothing. “I brought the chair. But remember, you can still change your mind. It’s okay.”
I shake my head sharply, though my body doesn’t match the confidence of the motion. My legs feel like jelly, and my heart pounds so loudly it drowns out everything else. “No,” I manage to mutter. “Let’s just... do it.”
He watches me closely for a moment, gauging my resolve, then nods. “Alright,” he says, standing and pushing the chair closer to me. “We’ll take it slow.”
I force myself to stand, my knees wobbling as I shuffle toward the chair. The closer I get, the more intimidating it seems, and I stop just short of it, staring at the straps like they might lash out on their own.
“Ella,” Thomas says gently, his voice steady. “It’s just to keep you safe. That’s all. If it’s too much, we can stop anytime. You’re in control here.”
I nod again, swallowing hard, and lower myself into the chair. The seat is firm but not uncomfortable, though the leather feels foreign against my skin. My hands grip the armrests tightly as if letting go would make the entire thing collapse.
Thomas kneels beside me, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s handling something fragile. “I’m going to start with the foot straps, okay?”
I nod, unable to speak, and watch as he gently lifts each of my feet onto the footrests. His hands move carefully, the leather straps wrapping snugly around my ankles. “Not too tight?” he asks, glancing up at me.
“No,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“Good,” he says, securing the straps with a small click. “One step at a time.”
He moves to my wrists next, crouching beside the armrests. “I’m going to do your hands now,” he says, his tone calm and even. “If anything feels uncomfortable, tell me.”
I flinch slightly as he takes my wrist, but his grip is light, steady. He wraps the leather strap around it, buckling it just snug enough to hold me in place without pinching. “How’s that?” he asks, pausing to meet my gaze.
“It’s fine,” I mutter, staring straight ahead.
“Alright. Last one,” he says, moving to the other wrist. The process is the same—gentle, deliberate. I hate the feeling of being restrained, but there’s something about the care he’s putting into each motion that keeps me grounded.
When he’s done, he stands back, giving me space. “That’s it,” he says softly. “All set. How does it feel?”
I test the restraints, my hands flexing slightly against the leather. They hold firm but don’t hurt. “Ok,” I admit, my voice shaky.
He leans down slightly, meeting my eyes. “You’re brave for doing this,” he says quietly. “I know it’s hard, but I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Something in his tone makes my chest tighten, but I nod, exhaling shakily. “Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay,” he echoes, straightening up and placing his hands on the wheelchair’s handles. “Let’s get you outside.”
The sunlight slices through the doorway, blinding and overwhelming. My eyes sting as I squint, trying to make sense of the brightness after so long in the dull gray of the cell. The air smells different—sharp and alive, like cut grass and dirt after rain. It’s almost too much. My fingers grip the armrests tightly, nails pressing into the padding as if holding on will steady me..
The chair stops under the shade of a large tree, and the world quiets slightly. The sunlight becomes gentler here, filtered through the canopy above. I blink hard, trying to adjust, my eyes still stinging as they take in everything. The air is cooler now, less overwhelming, but my fingers stay locked on the armrests.
Thomas moves around, settling on the grass beside me. He stretches his legs out, leaning back against the tree with a casual ease that makes me want to scream. “Better?” he asks, his voice calm, like this is the most normal thing in the world.
I nod stiffly, barely moving, but my heart is racing. The straps across my wrists and ankles feel heavier out here, like they’re digging into my skin.
He tilts his head toward me, a faint grin on his face. “You know, you’re so pale you’re almost reflective. Should’ve grabbed some sunscreen. Don’t want you catching fire out here.”
I squint at him, not sure if he’s serious. He’s watching me, waiting, his mouth twitching like he’s holding back a laugh.
“Seriously,” he continues, mock solemn. “If you burst into flames, the medical director’s going to have my head.”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself, just enough that he notices. His grin widens, and he leans back, brushing a stray leaf off his knee.
Thomas sits cross-legged on the ground next to the chair, leaning back on his hands as he looks out at the open yard. The sun is still bright just beyond the shade, and the faint rustle of leaves fills the air. I squint into the distance, the expanse of green and blue too much after so long in the dull gray of my room.
“You okay?” Thomas asks, his voice soft but steady, not pushing.
I nod tightly, but my fingers dig into the arms of the chair. The sunlight feels like it’s crawling under my skin, too raw, too open. My chest feels heavy, and I can’t bring myself to look at him.
“Your nails still look good,” he says lightly, glancing at my hands. “Anna really outdid herself.”
I blink, the unexpected comment pulling me back just a little. My fingers twitch against the armrests, and I glance down at the faint pink polish. “She never stops talking,” I mutter, my voice quiet, almost lost in the breeze.
Thomas chuckles softly. “She’s a bit of a yapper but shes sweet.”
I don’t respond, my gaze drifting back to the yard. The sunlight dances across the grass, and for a moment, it feels like the world is taunting me with its freedom. My stomach twists, and my throat tightens.
He shifts slightly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “The medical director’s been pretty impressed with you,” he says, his tone conversational but gentle. “The progress you’ve made.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye but don’t say anything. My hands grip the armrests harder, the leather cool against my palms.
“He’s hopeful,” Thomas continues. “Not saying it’ll be next week or even the one after, but... he thinks moving you to a lower level is in the cards. Eventually.”
The words sit heavy in the air. Eventually. Not now. Not soon. My chest tightens further, the weight of the restraints making it hard to breathe. I blink quickly, trying to swallow down the rising pressure in my throat.
“You’d have more freedom,” he says quietly, watching me carefully. “A step-down unit isn’t perfect, but it’s better than being cooped up all the time. You’d get to be around other kids.”
I flinch at that, the idea of being around anyone else feeling as overwhelming as the open space. My nails dig into the armrests, and I turn my face away, blinking hard.
Thomas notices. Of course, he does. “Ella?” His voice softens, and he shifts closer, his posture open but not crowding me. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
I shake my head sharply, my jaw clenching as my vision blurs. The sunlight feels too bright, even in the shade, and the world feels too big, too far away.
“You can tell me,” he says gently, leaning in just enough to meet my gaze. “Whatever it is, I promise, it’s okay.”
I press my lips together, my shoulders trembling as the tears come hot and fast. “I can’t,” I choke out, my voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Thomas’s expression softens immediately, his brows drawing together. “Ella...”
“It’s too much,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I’m... I’m trapped. I can’t—” My voice cracks, and I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head violently. “I can’t stay in there. It’s driving me crazy.”
He doesn’t speak right away, letting the silence settle between us. When he finally does, his voice is low and steady. “I know it feels like that. And it’s not fair. None of this is.”
I sniff hard, swiping at my face with my arm. “Then why... why can’t I just go?” My voice is sharp, desperate.
“Because they want you to be ready,” he says softly, his tone careful but firm. “And I know that doesn’t make it easier. But it’s not forever, Ella. I swear it’s not.”
I shake my head, my chest heaving with uneven breaths. “You don’t get it.”
“I do,” he says quietly. “More than you think.”
I glance at him, my vision blurry from the tears. There’s something in his expression, a weight that feels different. “How?” I whisper.
He exhales slowly, leaning back slightly. “A few years ago, I worked with a kid like you,” he says, his voice softer now. “A Red. Same anger, same fire. He was stubborn as hell. Thought he’d never get out.”
I blink, the tears slowing slightly. “What... what happened to him?”
Thomas hesitates, just for a moment, before a faint smile crosses his lips. “He made it,” he says simply. “He got moved down. Eventually, he left.”
The words hang in the air, and I can’t tell if I believe him. But there’s something in the way he says it—a steadiness that feels like it might be true.
Thomas shifts again, sitting back with his hands on his knees. “You’re stronger than you think, Ella,” he says quietly. “And you’re not alone in this. You’ve got people who care about you.”
He places his hand on top of mine.
Thomas shifts slightly, brushing some stray grass off his knee. The air between us has settled into a tentative calm, broken only by the gentle rustling of the leaves above.
After a moment, he glances at me, a small, easy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Hey, when we head back in,” he starts, his tone casual, “do you wanna watch a movie or something? I hear you’ve got some strong opinions about Anna’s taste in chick flicks.”
I let out a small huff, almost a laugh, but not quite. My fingers twitch against the armrests, my shoulders relaxing a bit. “She talks too much during them,” I mutter, barely audible.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Thomas agrees, his grin widening slightly.
The conversation lingers in that light, safe space for a moment before Thomas’s expression softens. His gaze flickers away briefly, then back to me, and I notice the slight hesitation in his movements.
“There’s, uh... one more thing I wanted to tell you,” he says, his voice quieter now but steady. He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s something I found out a little while ago, and I didn’t want to drop it on you all at once.”
My chest tightens, my body tensing automatically. “What?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended.
Thomas takes a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. “When you came here, part of the intake process is running a DNA scan. You know, checking for matches in missing persons databases.”
I blink, my mind racing to catch up with what he’s saying.
He continues, his tone gentle but firm. “Your DNA came back as a match. For a missing person.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.
“We haven’t heard anything back yet,” Thomas adds quickly, his tone steady and calm, like he’s trying to anchor me. “But we reached out to the contact listed on the case. It might take some time.”
I can’t think of anything to say. I stare at him, my throat tight, my mind blank and buzzing all at once.
Thomas leans back slightly, giving me space. “I didn’t want to keep it from you,” he says softly. “I just... thought you should know that we might have found your parents”
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The world feels too big, too loud, and yet impossibly small all at the same time.
Heyyyyy. Part 11. Very exciting. I'm still writing but my tummy has been hurting so I laid down for a week and are just now getting back up. I live for y'alls feed back and messages. If you have any suggestions or request just lmk. :)
