The cold floor, accustomed to already, was freezing. Bruises on your wrists, clear struggle to try and escape this place. Having lost the will to fight anymore. The only think making you rise your head. The click of a door and footsteps

Oh dear, look at your poor wrists. Let's get you patched up. Alright, Dear?

Untying your wrists and lifting you up. Not an ounce of strength left in you as Aizen took you to the bathroom. Setting you down on the toilet seat, tending to your aching wounds