Almost immediately after Mr. Voice finished speaking the door opened and one of the goons in black walked in with a tray. I sat huddled in the corner that I had long since crawled to and glared at him. He completely ignored me as he set the tray down and walked back out of the room without ever saying a word. I looked over at it. I was practically salivating at the sight of it and was momentarily struck by my resemblance to a Pavlovian dog. I pushed that unpleasant thought out of my mind and crawled over to the tray as quickly as I could. I looked down at the contents and my eyes widened in surprise. Bread and water! There was nothing there but a small loaf of bread and a glass of water.

Without any warning a harsh little giggle escaped my lips and then another and another. Before I knew it I was laughing so hard that I could barely catch my breath and had to clench my stomach because it hurt so bad. Bread and water! The mother of all cliches! Well JC, what did you expect...filet mignon? This is what you get when you're a prisoner, everyone knows that. Even as I continued to laugh I realized that this was really not that funny and I wondered if I was close to some sort of breakdown. After all, there's nothing really humorous about trading in your dignity for a meal. As my laughter began to die down I felt a wave of shame and disgust and anger crash over me.

"But dammit, I have to eat!" I mentally shouted to myself in defense of my actions. After all, how much does dignity really matter when you're cold, hurt and scared and are faced with the prospect of starving to death? My episode of mad laughter stopped completely when I felt the now all-too-familiar tears forming in my eyes and I began to sob. I reached for the tray and ate and drank quickly even as I continued to cry, my hands shaking so hard they could barely place the nourishment in my mouth. As much as I had mocked it with my laughter, the bread and water was like ambrosia to my tongue; I swear I had never tasted anything better in my entire life. After it was all gone, I slipped back into my corner and closed my eyes. I hoped and prayed that Mr. Voice would be kind and let me sleep. I was so tired that I couldn't keep my eyes open. As I drifted off to sleep I realized sadly that I was still crying.

As time dragged on, and what I thought were days passed, I realized that there was no pattern to my time in hell. Sometimes I was allowed to sleep enough to feel rested, sometimes I got no more than a few minutes sleep at a time. Sometimes I received the bread and water regularly and sometimes I had to wait an eternity for them. The only true constant was the torture. That and the ritual showerafterward if there was blood spilled.

The torture sessions themselves ranged from the mundane to the creative. One of them involved a good old fashioned beating. I had to give the goons credit, they were obviously professionals. They beat me until I passed out but they didn't cause any real injuries...no broken bones, no internal bleeding, no damaged organs. Nothing that would cause me to need medical attention and nothing that would kill me. After all, the fun would end if I were dead, wouldn't it?

Another particularly horrible torture session involved a cattle prod. That was by far my least favorite. I had never realized what a truly vicious apparatus that was until now. Yet another torture involved water. The goons placed a bucketful of ice in the toilet and then proceeded to dunk my head into it over and over. Each time they pushed my head into it they held me under the water a little longer. I tried desperately to hold my breath but finally I wasn't able to any longer. I involuntarily took a deep breath and felt my lungs fill with the icy cold water. I thought I was going to die and I actually found comfort in the thought, but they pulled me out alive. I puked my guts out after that one and got another ice shower as punishment.

These horrors had become a regularity to me now and yet I could not truly believe that this was my life. Dignity and pride were long gone. There was only pain and fear, and in the moments when I could gather my thoughts in peace, a deep and abiding loneliness. I no longer held out any hope of being rescued. Although I no longer measured time in hours and days, I knew I had been here a long time; too long. I missed my friends and my family. I missed my old life, singing for people, making people happy. Hell, what I wouldn't give to have a teenybopper screaming my name and ripping at my clothes now.

Sometimes I received what I thought of as acts of kindness, but they were few and far between. At times, I was allowed to brush my teeth. It was such an intoxicating feeling to be able to feel halfway human that I cried for joy. Other times, the goons would hold me down and then shave me almost gently. This surprised me more than anything. I could not figure out why they would want me clean shaven. Deep down I knew that these things were not being done for my benefit, but I still relished them when they came.

But as I said, these times were few and far between. Most of the time my life was hell.

I was almost becoming immune to the torture when they came for me again. The lights were on full blast as they walked into the room and came towards me. I figured they no longer needed the advantage of the darkness since I was too weak and in too much pain to fight them anyway. They hoisted me up in my usual position; standing up with my arms tied above my head and my feet barely touching the floor.

"Hey guys, what's up? Long time no see. What's it going to be today?" I asked in a voice that cracked as I spoke.

They looked at me with their stares of stone. Man, these guys had no sense of humor! Couldn't they see that my pathetic attempts at humor where the only things that were keeping me sane? You would think that they could at least smile just once!

The leader of the goons pulled out a cattle prod and I instantly deflated. God how I hated that thing! Shit! Why did it have to be that?

'Maybe I'll pass out quick this time,' I thought.

Just then the goon and I started our little dance. He would touch me with the cattle prod and I would scream. He would touch me again and I would beg for a mercy that never came. We danced like this for a little while until I heard Mr. Voice.

"Answer me this...who is your best friend from the group?" it boomed.

The goon stopped his torture and waited. My mouth dropped open in shock. It had been so long since I had heard Mr. Voice that I was actually starting to think he had been my imagination.

"Well?" it prodded.

"What?" I asked, for some reason unable to comprehend his question. Apparently, on top of everything else, repeated torture also makes you as dumb as a rock.

"You will tell me who your best friend is from the group NSYNC. Once you do, the pain will cease for three days. If you do not answer me, this session will last three times as long. Do you understand?"

I thought about his deal for about a whole two seconds. No more pain, and for an entire three days, was too good to pass up. I did briefly wonder if it was some kind of trick, but quickly dismissed the idea. "No pain" was the magic phrase after all, nothing else really mattered to me anymore.

I quickly said, "Justin. Justin Timberlake, sir."

"Very good," said Mr. Voice and, true to his word, the goons untied me and left me alone. No more pain...I smiled as I hit the floor.