The light from the moon shined dimly through the window over his bed, casting a pale luminescence throughout his room. In the corner was his dresser, where trophies of his many victories throughout different sports resided. Within the half-opened drawers were a jumbled mess of gloves, socks, shirts, and other assortments he never bothered to fold. Although the floor was clean and somewhat organized, the same couldn't be said for his closet, which had tons of souvenirs from his many adventures crammed within its confined space. Meanwhile, his walls were plastered with posters and photographs of his friends and travels, each depicting amazing landscapes and unforgettable memories that was a testament for his zest for life. Sonic's room represented him perfectly. Colorful. Exciting. Unique. And a little chaotic. It was like a piece of everything he loved could be found somewhere within these four walls. Although he often traversed the world and camped out in exotic places, this was his home. It's where he felt grounded. Secure. Living in the same house as his little brother Tails was one of the most comforting and uplifting aspects of his life because he always knew he had a home to back to and family waiting for him. And after recent events, it's what he needed the most.

"I never thought I'd be back here again," he said to himself as he stared at the ceiling with his hands over his chest. It was strange. Despite the how many days had passed since his return, it was all surreal and felt like everything that happened occurred yesterday.  It was hard to tell if it was just the shadows of the night or his own senses that cast the bright, positive decor into a dreary shade of gray. The more he looked around at reminders of all that he cherished being bathed in such a gloomy state, the more depressed he felt. After noticing the clock read 2:00am, he began routinely pressing his head into the pillow, trying to find some way to force himself to sleep. His sleep schedule was still out of sorts, and though he avoided napping in the hopes of fixing it, all his efforts did was make him feel tired--which was a feeling he could never get used to. He couldn't shake it--that sinking sensation like his head was going to be engulfed by the softness of cotton and comfort. With his chronic insomnia only making him tense and easily annoyed, he finally gave up and tossed the pillow on the floor in a huff. Now with a little less cushion, he thought he could get comfortable and find the rest he desired, but no. He still kept shuffling, tossing and turning on the bouncy mattress, his quills pricking at the threads of his sheets as he became even more agitated. 

"--GRRRR--NOT AGAIN!" he growled as he finally relented, threw back the covers, and slid off the bed angrily. While fumbling, he kicked the pillow off the floor back to its original spot before flopping on the hardwood, shuddering slightly at the coolness of the air that blew from the open windows. The chill was familiar, and felt like both an old friend and a terrible reminder as he situated himself. "How long have I been doing this?" he began to wonder as he mentally started counting the days, tracing them back to his rescue from the Death Egg. So many were a blur, blended together by continuous battles and endless running in fruitless attempts to occupy his mind and erase those six horrendous months from memory. 

"88, 89...90...3 months?" he summed, "3 months and I'm still sleeping on the floor," he lamented with a sigh as he rolled on his back, unable to keep his eyes shut long enough to even try to drift off into slumber. 
"Maybe I should go for a run? No, that would just wake me up even more. Read a book? Hmmm, not in the mood. How about watching some TV? At this hour? There's nothing really good on anyway." With not many options peaking his interests that would help his circumstance, he resorted to counting the panels on the ceiling, one square at a time. It was boring, which is what he needed. A mindless activity to force him to sleep. Then, as the lines melted together before his eyes, the color of the ceiling slowly changed slightly from pale beige to gunmetal gray as he started to recollect how many panels there were in that other place that was his home for half a year...192. It was a number he had unintentionally remembered by heart. 

Despite recalling that, he lost count of how many times he was trapped in that position, strapped down on his back, unable to move. But no matter the desperation he felt, he remembered how he tried so hard to maintain his heroic status, to show no weakness or fear regardless of what was done to him. He fought with everything he could muster to stay optimistic, brave in the face of pain, and hopeful that he would be saved at any minute. No amount of taunting could break his spirit! No amount of torture could bend his will! 
He was determined to remain steadfast and never give in; however, in the end....it was an impossible goal to achieve. 

The bright lights blinded him. The surge of electricity stinged his muscles until his flesh was singed. The unknown chemicals that coursed through his veins made him ill in ways he never imagined and compounded the sensations of his agony until he thought he was going to die! It was torment after torment--comupence for a lifetime of thwarting dasturdly deeds while playing the hero. When he wasn't being beaten to a bloody pulp by Zavok, he was being ripped to pieces by Metal Sonic; when he wasn't being used as a lab rat by Eggman, he was assaulted by Infinite. Even sacrificing his pride and resorting to begging didn't end the cycle of anguish--and oh, how he begged them to stop! TO LET HIM GO! TO AT LEAST LET HIM REST AND HEAL! But his cries were always ignored as their laughter filled his ears. There was nothing he could do. Escape? He tried so many times and that only enhanced the severity of his punishments. Call for help? There were no resources for him to do so and it only entertained his captors even more. 

"How the mighty have fallen" and "where is that saving grace of yours" were phrases he heard so many times that just thinking of them turned his stomach as much as the mind games and physical persecution he endured. Vividly he recalled the feeling of each shock, the smell of his body burning, the impact of each punch, the cracking of his bones, the needles piercing his skin, and the knot stretching his insides to such an extent that each time created a blend of pain, pleasure, and shame. Moans and whimpers dripped from Sonic's lips as each memory manifested from the invisible scars on his now recovered body and the heat of those exchanges with his captor encompassed him. 

"HAHAHAHA!!! My little rodent--still dreaming of me?" The jackal's voice echoed in his ear as he slammed into him one more time, ripping the tender flesh for what seemed like the hundredth time, causing the blue hedgehog to writhe, convulse, and cry out helplessly. "You can run away as fast as you can. Run all around the world--but no matter where you go or what you do, you'll never escape me and you know this--now and until the end of time--You're Mine". 

The moment those sharp canine teeth pierced the flesh of his neck, Sonic's screams transcended realms, "YAAAAHHHHAHAHHHH!!" 
Awakening soaked in sweat from his nightmare, he jolted up with his arms swinging, fighting off the attacker his imagination created. Heaving and trembling, he rubbed his neck while he scanned the room, slowly finding himself back home, with no mark anywhere on his body, eventually realizing that at some point he had managed to fall asleep and fall victim once again to his memories. It was all so real. The taste of blood in his mouth. The titillating sensations. The pain. It felt like he was still there. Still trapped in that stiffling, dark place where being victimized had become the norm. He took long deep breaths to gain control as his hands continued to shake while he slowly gazed around his environment, focusing on the most sentimental items in his room in order to grasp composure. Treasures like the photo of him, Amy, Tails, and Knuckles that hung on the wall, Chip's necklace that leaned against his favorite Extreme Gear trophy, and his oldest guitar that sat in the corner, each of these items that were real to all of his senses carried a calming power that gradually took effect. Coming to terms with where he was and affirming that it wasn't a hallucination, he flopped back on the floor with a thud, utterly exhausted and thankful that Tails was working on a project at the Restoration rather than being home to witness his courageous big brother fall to pieces. 

Looking to his side, Sonic rotated his wrists, and though there was nothing there, he could still feel the tight bonds that once restrained him for so long. He shivered slightly as his quills kept bouncing between defensive erectness and their usual smoothness. It was strange that his body couldn't keep up with his mind, with thoughts now moving faster than his feet ever could. Every square inch of him was alert, the slightest breeze stiffened his fur, the tiniest creak of the house settling twitched his ears. He detected everything, including the texture and temperature of the wood flooring against his back, which was far different than the slick metallic material of his cell. And yet, there were similarities that couldn't be denied. As uncomfortable as both were, the coolness of the cell's floor often helped soothe the pain after his "sessions" with his captors, so much so that he actually looked forward to laying on its hard, cold surface for that relief, as small as it was. 

"Maybe that's why I'm still doing this...." he considered aloud, rubbing his chest as he felt his heartbeat still thump heavily, "am I looking for comfort...or just an excuse?"

Time continued to tick away as he laid there, surrounded by reminders of all that he loved and experienced. In taking one more glance around at his collection, he made the realization that everything in his room was either a gift from those he cherished, a keepsake from an adventure, or an item that he couldn't part with regardless of the memory attached to it. Each object carried some kind of strong emotional tie that has shaped his past and his life, and by extension, is a part of who he was. Shutting his eyes once more with the nightmare's residue still clinging to his mind and trickling down into his body, he let out a heavy sigh with the dreaded thought that maybe THIS was now a part of him, too.