I woke up slowly to find I was in the same room, in the same position that I had lost consciousness in. I did not know how much time had passed but I felt sure it must have been at least several hours. My entire body was stiff and I had a monster of a crick in my neck.

I looked around the room and was surprised that the lights had been left on and I was actually able to see. When I looked down I noticed the dried blood (my blood!) on the floor surrounding me and my stomach sommersaulted. I felt the bile rise in my throat and I was certain that I would throw up. I took deep breaths until the feeling passed and soon my mind focused on another sensation in my body; I desperately had to go to the bathroom. Not only that but my stomach growled and my throat felt parched. Food, water and the need to go to the bathroom were all now at the forefront of my mind. Simple basic human needs that had gone unfulfilled since I entered this hellhole. I began to sit up in an attempt to get to the toilet and promptly fell back down in agony. My mind had been so preocuppied with other things that I had almost forgotten how badly I had been hurt. I could feel the wounds on my back and legs that had started to heal reopen and they stung and burned almost as much as they had when they were fresh. I cursed under my breath and placed my forehead on the ground, for once thankful for the coolness of the temperature. I still needed badly to go to the bathroom but there was no way in hell I was just gonna pee on myself on the floor. I was determined to at least save a shred of my pride.

Almost absurdly, I began to think of women and the pain that they go through when giving birth. That was supposed to be the most painful experience to go through right? And how did they get through it? They breathed. I began to take what I hoped were "deep cleansing breaths" and slowly stood up. The pain was intense and I wanted to scream, but instead I just kept on breathing.

'If countless women throughout history could do it, then so can I,' I though in determination.

After what seemed like an hour but was essentially just a few minutes, I made it to the toilet. I relieved myself and fell back to the floor in exhaustion.

'Apparently getting whipped takes a lot out of a person,' I thought with sarcasm.

I turned my head as something caught my eye. To the side of the toilet, in the floor was what appeared to be a drain. I dismissed it as yet another oddity of this place and laid my head back down.

As I laid there I thought about my situation. There were so many questions running around in my head right now. Why would someone be doing this to me? Did I piss somebody off so badly that they felt this was an appropriate revenge? How long would I be here? Did the voice really intend to go through with its threat to turn me into a "cringing beast"? I thought about my friends, my brothers, of NSYNC and wondered if anyone was missing me yet. We had been scheduled for a photo shoot the day after I had been taken. Were they worried? Were my parents worried? Was there a ransom?

All these questions swirled around in my head, but no answers were forthcoming from my mind. There was nothing to do but wait for the answers and the only ones who had them were the psychos. My utter helplessness in this situation hit me like a sledgehammer and I found myself crying again. I don't think I had ever cried in my entire life as much as I've cried since entering this hell.

After a few minutes,the voice boomed out unexpectedly, "This place is filthy."

I jumped, startled, and wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. It had been a while since I had heard Mr. Voice.

"You are filthy." It said again, in a tone that was only slightly disapproving. "You have gotten blood all over the floor."

What the hell? Without thinking I yelled, "Yeah, well if your goons hadn't whipped me half to death, then you wouldn't have that problem now would you?"

I regretted the words the instant they left my mouth. Making Mr. Voice angry was not a good thing. Hadn't I learned that lesson already?

I heard a whirring noice above my head and looked up. Some of the ceiling panels were shifting and opening. Behind them were what looked like spray jets. Uh, oh.

I didn't have the chance to move or think before the spray jets turned on at full force. The cold water hit my body and it felt as if a hundred icy needles were piercing my skin. I screamed and tried to shield myself as best I could from the blast. The water on my wounds was especially painful, it felt as if the needles were slipping in under my skin and twisting in my insides. I screamed and screamed until the water stopped, just as quickly as it had turned on. Then I lay there moaning in pain and shaking from the cold.

"That's better," said Mr. Voice.

I merely moaned. I dared to look around and saw that the blood was indeed being washed away into the drain.

"Are you hungry?" Mr. Voice asked.

I looked up in surprise. I had not expected this question. Through teeth that were chattering uncontrollably I managed to stutter, "Ye...sss."

"Yes what?" Mr. Voice asked.

"Ye...sssss ssssir." I ground out.

"Are you thirsty?"

"Ye...sss sssir," I said managing to get the answer right the first time.

"Tell me who you are."

"What?" I asked in confusion.

"Tell me who you are," it repeated.

My mind focused enough to realize what he was asking for. Instead of the answer he wanted, I gathered as much strength as I could and said, "I'm JC Ch..ch..ch..asez."

"No," said Mr. Voice. "Aren't you hungry or thirsty?" it asked almost patiently.

I lifted my head from the ground. "Not b..b..bad enough to g..g..ive you the answer you want. I am JC Chasez!"

"Very well," said Mr. Voice and then he said no more.

During the next several (hours? days?), Mr. Voice and I repeated this ritual. He never shocked me or hurt me when I answered him with my name and I was proud of myself for holding out. Soon enough though, I found myself shaking from the lack of food and my throat was so dry I could barely swallow. I was also shivering from the cold of the shower that Mr. Voice had so nicely arranged for me and my welts from the whip were still killing me. I tried several times to escape all the pain by going to sleep, but HE would not let me sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Whenever I started to drift off, loud music would come rushing into the room, loud enough for me to cover my ears and want to scream. I found myself looking longingly at the water in the toilet when I heard Mr. Voice.

"Are you hungry? Are you thirsty?" It asked.

"Yes," I whispered for what seemed the thousandth time.

"Tell me who you are."

I closed my eyes and bent my head in shame for what I was about to say. In a voice so small, I could barely hear it myself, I answered, "I am nothing."

Mr. Voice was pleased. "Good boy."