Itâs almost nice here, soft and cool, nearly comforting compared to what Lukas day normally looks like. For just a split second, all is still, all is fine.
And then his lungs start to scream from lack of air, and his thoughts tumble in a painful panic as water starts to filter into his nose, his mouth, bringing frantic but useless thrashing. No matter how hard he struggles, his head is held firmly under water.
It brings back an awful, terrible memory, of when he was a child, trapped, held down by strong hands, forced underwater with malicious laughter echoing above the surface. He doesnât want to think about that, he doesnât, but the fear has lingered with him and now it was back, full force.
Heâs jerked back, gasping as he makes contact with the cold, cold air. He gulps down precious breaths of air as the hands that held him down so tightly run a soothing path down his back.
âThere you are, my darling,â they say, as Luka desperately tries to rid himself of the nauseating panic. âLook at you, so pretty, so desperate.â
âPlease,â he rasps, âp-please Iâll be good, anything, anything but that, please,â
They giggle at his desperate begging, cocking their head to the side with the most disgustingly fond look in their eyes.
âOh, my pretty little boy, I thought you would last much longer than that,â They croon. âTell me, are you scared of the water?â
âYes, yes Iâm s-scared,â Luka blurts, not realizing the weapon heâs given his captor. âIâm so, s-soâ please, donât do it again, donât do it again,â
They run a hand along his damp curls, resting it at the base of his neck.
And then heâs under again, not even able to gasp in a breath before thereâs no breathe to take in. The waters in his lungs immediately, and he canât stop trying to breathe, pulling in more and more water. Heâs going to die, heâs going to dieâ
And itâs over, heâs out, sucking in greedy breaths of air, retching the water out of his lungs, trying to breathe through the panicked sobs. He feels like a rock tumbling along the mountain, panic growing and growing until he canât breathe, even surrounded by air.
And then heâs down again cold fear flooding his system. Heâs screaming, thrashing as hard as he can, but the iron hands around his neck are unwavering. Bubbles flood from his mouth until he can scream no longer, no air left, just cold, cold water.
He begs for relief, for something other than this. He begs for darkness. He begs to pass out. He gets nothing.
It stops, finally, when heâs thrown down into the rough stone floor, gagging and gasping for air. What he can see through half lidded eyes is blurry from tears and the little rivers of water that run down him. He doesnât move, doesnât struggle, just lays there, empty.
âYou break so easily, my sweet,â they say, and it registers distantly in Lukas mind. âItâs a delight to watch you shatter. Well have to do this again sometime, hm?â
Luka sobs, and wishes it all would end.
