Caged, Unseen (Emmett)
Dear Anon who wrote this ask from last week: I am working through your list of prompt words and I’m enjoying every second of it. This is for the prompt “earsplitting” and takes place immediately after Troubled & Confused in Emmett’s story. Thank you for all the prompts and I hope you enjoy!!
tag list: @pebbledriscoll, @lave-whump, @highwaywhump (let me know if you would like added or removed from the tag list!)
warnings: BBU general warning, referenced drugging, held against one’s will, referenced kidnapping, loud sounds (ear whump? sound whump?), captive whumpee, defiant whumpee, vomiting/emesis mention, manhandling, Facility 004, implied future medical whump. Let me know if I missed anything!
“Can I have water?” Jackson whines to the empty room around him. They They had to be able to hear him. They had to. “C’mon please? Just a little water? It’s been a long time...”
He didn’t know how long he had been in tat windowless grey room. Long enough for him to come out of his drug induced haze and vomit in the wastebasket they’d left in there with him. Long enough to check the locked door, yank on the handle, throw his shoulder into it then a chair. An alarm had gone up, sharp and shrill in the small room, sending him to the floor with his hands clapped over his ears. It had ended the moment he shouted a tearful apology over the shrieking sound. He had retreated to a corner, nursing his aching ears and a splitting headache building in his skull.
Of course they were watching.
They wanted those stupid contract papers signed so badly.
“Can I have some water?” He called again, voice cracking uncomfortably. “Or coffee..? A cigarette maybe? I’d go for a cigarette... I don’t even smoke. I’d take a cigarette... or just about anything right now.”
He could practically hear them laughing at him. Rhys and that other guy who drove him here hours and hours earlier. Song-something... he wished he could remember properly. He’d need it for a police report when these assholes realized their mistake and let him go. Because they would let him go.
He would be getting out here.
Jackson was not going to be a pet. He didn’t want to be and they had policies around that. Everyone who signed up wanted to sign up, wanted to be there, just like he wanted to be back behind the bar, teasing Haley and Jamie about whatever came up that day, stuffing his front pockets full of tips. They had policies and systems in place -- everyone said so. He just had to make sure they knew he didn’t sign up for this, that Rhys had pulled one over on him.
Jackson was not going to be a pet. He didn’t bend over for anyone unless he wanted to. And he didn’t want to.
“Ain’t no way... They won’t make me. It was a mistake, they’ll figure it out.”
A knot formed in his throat. He tried swallowing it back but it wouldn’t budge. If he closed his eyes, he was back behind the bar with Rhys, letting the man touch him until his head smacked the bricks. His ears rang the whole way to the facility, rolling around in the backseat of that other guy’s car. His ears rang now, the sharp sound from earlier still resonating inside. Deep down he had accepted a bitter truth -- that he wouldn’t be getting out of here.
The look on Rhys’ face the night before, in the early spring dark. The sound of his voice after the sour-smelling drug filled his nose. The way he had shoved him into the backseat.
Rhys meant what he had done.
Rhys intended to keep him.
“Fuck,” Jackson breathed. He pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his hands. There was stubble scratching at his palms. It was probably the next morning. His stomach curled and tossed again -- nerves now, not the after affects of the drug Rhys had used. “Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!”
He scratched his fingernails against his scalp, pulling on his hair and hoping it would bring him back to reality. He’d wake up in the backseat of his car in the bar parking lot, just like he did that one Fourth of July. Or every Fourth... he didn’t really keep track of those things, knowing moving on would be better for everyone in the end.
Moving on wouldn’t help him here in the end.
Moving on would get him sent off to some rich fuck’s kitchen or worse.
“Fuck, I just want to go home,” Jackson whispered to his hands. “God, I actually want to go home... Fuck, fuck, fuck... I’m not getting out of here.”
He pulled himself up, staring at the ceiling for a long minute. Then he pulled himself up to standing, rolling his neck and shoulders. He walked slowly around the perimeter of the room once, twice... he lost count of how many times, how many times he changed directions until he finally made up his mind.
He stood against the far wall, glaring at the sealed door. If he was going to get brain washed and sold off, he might as well fuck shit up on the way out. Nothing to do but make their lives miserable. He’d heard all of Rhys’ stories about that nineteen year old from Manhatten he had been shaping up the last few months. He knew exactly what pissed the man off, what might end this nightmare up before it even began.
“Alright then,” he whispered to himself. He pushes his sleeves further up his arms, past his elbows, and presses his fingers into his shoulder muscles. “Maybe they’ll just fucking kill me...”
He stepped forward, grabbing the back of the chair and dragging it around the room. He relished in the scraping sound. Menacing, kind of like a horror movie. It seemed fitting. Once he felt right about it, he lifted the chair up and flung it into the wall. He grinned at the clang, waiting for the shrieking alarm to sound again. When it didn’t, only felt the urge to keep at it.
He pushed over the table, sending the contract and the pen he was supposed to sign it with flying. He reached for the chair again, slamming it over and over and over into the door, grinning wildly when he saw the metal casing begin to dent.
“Eat my shit, Rhys!” he shouted at the ceiling. “You’re gonna miss me some day, you motherfucker!”
And then the siren went off. High-pitched and wailing, reverberating off the metal doors and cinderblock walls. The small space seemed to amplify the shrill sound, piercing his eardrums like a hot needle. He clapped his hands over his ears, backing up into the wall and slumping against it, but not falling over like the time before.
“I’m not apologizing this time, motherfuckers!” He shouted over it. “If you want to sell my ass, you’re gonna have to work harder for it!!”
The sound seemed to get even louder. Jackson curled forward, his head practically between his knees now. But he wouldn’t let them buckle, wouldn’t let himself his the floor. His head screamed, skull near shattering from the vibrations alone. Tears streamed down his face and jaw, slicking his palms.
“Is that all you’ve got, dipshits?!” Jackson shouted hoarsely.
He braced for the sound to get even louder. Instead, it shut off completely, hitting him in a staggering wall of silence before footsteps sounded outside and the handle of the door moving. When it opened, Jackson stumbled sideways for the wastebasket, flinging it blindly at the handlers.
Then he was on the floor, a pinprick feeling going deep into his arm. He managed to keep himself awake for long enough to see Rhys crouch down next to him, feel the man’s fingers card through his hair.
“You know what?” he said with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I think we can bypass the contract. Let’s take a nice, easy trip to the medical rooms why don’t we? Get all this anger out of his system once and for all huh?”
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