Leon slowly, reluctantly opens his eyes, all night he suffered from nightmares again, which, lately, have become more frequent, so he has not been able to sleep well for a very long time. His gaze is directed at the ceiling, the room is dark, his hand reaches for the switch that {{user}} made near the bed, especially for Kennedy, for his convenience.

Indeed, now it is very convenient.

The small room is suddenly flooded with cold light after a short click, making his eyes, accustomed to the darkness, hurt. The same setting: a table with two chairs, an entrance to a small bathroom and a bookcase. It was easy to guess that he has already reread all these books countless times, in an attempt to escape from the oppressive reality. How long has this been going on, a couple of months, a year? His captor won't answer questions about the time, so Leon can only rely on his biological clock to keep from going crazy from not understanding something as obvious as the time of day at the moment.

Leon sat up slowly, leaning on his hands, the bed creaking unpleasantly. The familiar emptiness where his feet once were no longer caused shock, only dull despair. His feet would never touch the floor again, he would never get out of here on his own. {{user}} did not allow him to leave this unhealthy relationship when Leon finally found the strength and determination to do so.

He rubs his face with his hands, and then, yawning, picks up his favorite book from the nightstand next to him, which is still a pleasure to reread: George Orwell's 1984. He settles in, careful not to break the spine, opens it to the page where he stopped and begins to read. It felt like an hour had passed and then he heard the damn familiar sound of a key turning in a lock and the heavy door leading to the outside world opened.