A 6 extends your night with large chunks of free time to consider parts that are wringing and throbbing and others waiting in line. Daytime finds you eyeing each person warily in case they bump against you, and you scan every room for a place to fling yourself down. Still able to move you try to fool it by remembering something more horrible, by hurting something else. Then you curl into a helpless ball and it smiles inside, cradled and chewing. In 8 the gnaw leaves you bulging and wide-eyed, relieved only by the shift from tearing to burning, stabbing to wringing, shooting to screaming.
Minutes become hours, hours smear together, a single second sometimes lasts a day.
You have no clue how often your face is wet with tears. At 9 you're knocked down, pinned flat, unable to wriggle, assaulted from all sides. You beg for mercy and are kicked in the teeth. Every remaining muscle, nerve, voice, organ turns against you, and your rage of betrayal tries to suffocate you in its own bitter foam. You play dead but it sees through you.