A/N: Please read and enjoy. This one is a little more dramatic than my others, but don't worry, im sure it will get lighter as the chapters progress, depending if you guys like it :D

Dis.: Don't own bones….yet I do own this weird little piece of torture that just POPPED out when I got home this morning…

The dank room smelled like urine and sickness. A young woman sat strapped to a strait back chair, visible rawness on her arms where she had unsuccessfully tried to free herself from her rope confines. Her clothes soiled and torn stank of torture. Savage hair hung in greasy tendrils around her face, immobilized strands sticking to her forehead with a coat of sweat. Her thin lips were chapped and bloody, while bruises the size of baseballs adorned her porcelain skin, now a sickly yellow.

A fire in her stomach, roaring and howling, would cease to quiet. She had not been feed for three days, she estimated, and only then had it been a slice of stale bread.

The feeling of sand in her throat made it harder for her to breathe every minute. Her gasping breaths disturbed the eerily still silence of the room, big enough only to hold her chair and a moldy mattress.

Head hanging dejectedly to the side, she moaned softly as she shifted her leg. She felt the fire in her stomach finally quiet to a whisper, as the boiling sensation in her ankle roared like a mighty lion. She winced, remembering exactly what her captors had done to hurt her so. She remembered every word, every threat on her life and on her partners as well.

She had the option of telling them all she knew, spilling her secrets that she had sworn to keep. But she knew she would rather die than allow her captors the pride of breaking her. Of smashing her will power, killing her quickly without much fight on her side.

No. This strong woman, bruised and battered in her small closet of a cell, refused her captors success.

She did not cry when they hit her, only softly swore the words she had often heard her partner say. She challenged them to bring it on, staying silent as they listed for her, in graphic detail, all they would do if she did not comply.

Silence.

That had warranted another beating.

She had learned this from her closest friend. A friend she was beginning to become afraid she would never see again. Many times in the past she had begun to ask him about his experiences being tortured, being so alone and sore that you don't think you'll ever live to take the next breath. But he would always get this look in his eyes, like pain was revisiting him. She had known to stop badgering him for facts, and let him explain to her what his life was like before he donned the badge and official suit and tie of the government.

She understood now why his normally jovial outlook had been taken over by painful memories of the past. Before, she had assumed that these were recollections that would always be with him, but would fade away eventually.

Even if she did escape from this "hell" she was in, she would never ever forget the agony she suffered. The lack of food, the lack of water, the lack of faith of being rescued she was beginning to realize she had.

Every time her captors hit her, their grimy hands on her, she saw her partners face. She saw her core of strength. She saw him. He would stand behind them, staring at her eyes as her captors beat and abused her. She knew he was not real, knew that he was brought on by the cocktail of drugs her captors had dosed her full of. Yet she was comforted by , as he would say, his "angelic" presence.

But her perseverance was running out. Her focus thoughts of home and her comfortable life were being soiled hourly by the vial captors.

She heard the door open, creaking slowly. If she had the concentration, she would have recalled that it sounded like a cheesy Halloween sound effect, played as children ask for candy on a dark cold night. But she didn't have the concentration or time to think at all.

A rough and blistered hand came down on her face, leaving a stinging mark in its place. The gruff man swore, his voice low and gravely. She shivered as she repressed the urge to tell him off. He hit her again, this time sucker punching her in the abdomen. Her body coiled over itself as much as it could, the ropes cutting into her sides as she keeled. She winced in anger at her captor, ironically thankful only one had returned to "talk" this time.

"Does the hot Doctor have anything to say?" He hissed, and she smelled him lighting a cigarette.

Silence.

She stared ahead, focusing her eyes on the doorknob behind the disgusting waste of man in front of her. She willed the door to throw itself open, for her partner to come rushing in and beat the living shit out of the son of a bitch in front of her.

But it didn't.

The man before her, dressed in stained jeans and an old plaid shirt, dropped his hand holding his cigarate and placed the orange end on her eposed knee cap.

The burn was nothing knew. Yet she winced, as her old sharp sense of pain returned. Silent still, she heard him curse loudly, then stamped out the rest of the butt.

Her captor was so displeased by her lack of reaction that her growled at her, stalking behind her and forcefully untying her ropes. When this was done, he wrenched her from the seat and tossed her like a rag doll on the moldy and disgusting mattress. Her eyes were blank as she watched him climb atop her, grabbing her hair in one hand, and the belt of her jeans in his other.

She should have screamed.

She should have cried.

She should have hit him and kicked him.

But she didn't. She was so tired, so beaten down, so defeated, that she finally whimpered as he slid her jean zipper down and tugged her jeans to her knees forcefully.

Suddenly her voice returned and she a hissed out "You bastard," as his cool and chapped hand slap her inner thigh. She shivered, but not from excitement like he read.

She slammed her eyes shut, knowing what was coming next. Hearing the sound of shuffling clothing as he adjusted his own clothes, she imagined she was not there. That she was in her own bed, in the arms of someone much less like the man above her now.

"Bitch," he growled, leaning down so that his hot breath, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, was on her ear. "This is gonna be real fun."

A:N/ Review!