Lost Creek Hollow Once I Get a Grip

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Grumpy potty mouth!

A little over five days had passed, and apart from piss breaks that needed humiliating help, he'd hardly gotten out of the den. His wounds were slowly beginning to scab over; though, only so much. Any bit of strain would tear open his skin and leave them bleeding again. Even now, he was positive he'd eaten enough painkillers and had been numbed over so much that he couldn't believe he could feel his face, or that he was even awake. There he'd been, alone, breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling and feeling his chest grow heavier on his lungs. Then lighter.

Then his legs snapped forward, his neck wriggling and his head trying to throw itself up in order to roll off of the stone. While he hadn't managed to roll himself off, he continued squirming and moving. Sliding his leg underneath him, he went from his side to slipping over onto his stomach, putting pressure on his elbows to try and stand himself up. His focus was REAL deep. REAL damn deep as he found his brows furrowing while beginning to shake in order to stand himself up. A quarter of an inch off of his stomach, half an inch, a full inch, and he was pretty sure he was in a plank at some point, because full-body trembles made his stomach smack the ground again. "OW! FUCKIN' HELL!" Grumbling again, he tried to lift himself up with tense brows that were exhausting their own muscles from how hard he kept them pinched. This time, he lasted half, if not less of the amount of time trying to get up from putting pressures on his elbows, only to hit the ground again.