I shift uneasily at the sound of a soft tapping noise. Ignoring it, I roll over in the creaky and uncomfortable bed. Staying unconscious wasn't the hard part; it was sleeping that was tough.
What? Think there's no difference between the two? Ever got punched so hard you blacked out? Ever passed out from lack of the ability to breathe? It's easy to fall unconscious. You really don't have a choice.
Sleeping, on the other hand, requires exceptional comfortableness. When you're sleeping on a thin, worn-down mattress with paper-thin sheets, you have no physical comfortableness.
When your eyes are closed, but your ears have no choice but to hear drip, drip, drip; clang!; and random scuttling, you have no mental comfortableness.
When you're scared shitless that you, your sister, or your friends are seconds from being brutally murdered, you have no emotional comfortableness.
The soft tapping noise turns into a loud tapping noise. I pull the sheets over my head as if the thin material could silence a gunshot. The annoying, now-loud tapping noise turns into a 0.3 second delayed clink! that ricochets off the cement walls.
I sit straight up, flaming pissed. Despite my misused abs screaming, I hold that position, staring into complete darkness towards whatever is making the stupid noise. Whoever--or whatever--is making the noises obviously doesn't care that it's bothering me, so I jump off the bed, slosh into a puddle of nasty, and yank the cord for the light bulb.
My pupils have an issue with the sudden brightness, but I ignore them and stare coldly into Marcus' own deadly eyes. A smirk is played on his face as he continues to drag a spoon across the bars of my cell.
My stomach growls, and even though I try to ignore it, it's very loud. Marcus grins.
"You hungry?" He taps a bar twice.
"No, dumbass," I lie. Mr. Stomach growls again.
"Ah, I see," he paces back and forth slowly. "Well, we'll give you appropriate accommodations as soon as you learn some manners. And until then, you won't be eating. You also won't be seeing."
"What?" I step towards the cell door. "I won't be--"
My words are cut off as the light goes out. I hate my life.
Staring blankly into the darkness, I fold my hands over my chest. I have no idea how long I've been down here. I don't really care. All I'm concerned about is how long until I get out.
My throat is raw from screaming things at Marcus. Excuse me, screaming very rude and inappropriate words at Marcus.
Micah will poke around every once and a while with a candle, and that's the only light I ever see. He never says anything, just quietly rattles the cell door to make sure it's still locked. Every time he comes to check it, I remind him prior to the shaking that it hasn't been touched.
I'm still beating myself up about the fact that I have no boo-boo's on my stomach. There are no claw marks, no scratches, nothing. But considering everything that has been going on lately, it's not that big of a deal.
Boredom is almost some sort of a hobby now. It's basically just like breathing; it happens all the time.
In all honesty, most of the time I lay back in bed and create stories in my head. Almost all of them are fantasies, though.
Actually, I can't tell the difference between my fantasies and my dreams anymore. They're basically all the same; getting rescued; saving Olivia; finding Tate.
I'm constantly wondering where Tate is, wherever he is, whatever had happened to him. I miss seeing his chestnut hair, wide smile, and chocolate brown eyes. I miss his comfort when I have bad dreams.
I haven't seen Olivia in what feels like a month, but in all reality is probably a couple days. I don't cry about missing her anymore. It doesn't do any good for her or myself.
Hunger gnaws at my stomach, and I sigh. I haven't eaten in about three days; Marcus hasn't been here for two days, I think. Hell, it could've just been yesterday that he shut off my light privileges.
Micah's light shines down the corridor; he's on his way down here. His footsteps don't make any noise, not even a little tap. There's no sloshing sound when he walks through the puddle in front of my door, and I know there is a puddle there. Candlelight glistens off of it.
Instead of laying in my bed like I usually do, I quietly hop off and pad towards the door. My feet have already grown accustomed to the nasty dirt and grime on the floor, but I still gag when I step in something squishy.
Micah grabs the door, but doesn't shake it. Instead he stares at me closely, not patronizingly or rudely, and watches carefully.
I cover his hand with mine, and he stiffens, but I loosen my grip so he knows that I'm not going to do anything to him.
Leaning closer to the bars, I whisper, "Micah."
He closes his eyes and leans on a bar, "Yes?"
"Why is Marcus keeping me down here?" My voice wavers a bit.
Micah shakes his head, "I don't know. "
I abruptly grab his face through the bars, and his eyes are wide open. Tears are running down my face.
"Please," I whisper-beg. I never beg. "Get me out of here. At least into a cleaner cell, just please..."
He stares at me for a couple seconds before nodding, "I'll talk to Marcus. Are you hungry?"
It was my turn to lean my forehead on a bar, "Oh, God yes. It's been a couple days since I've eaten... Wait--how long have I--"
"You've been here for five days."
He kept it simple, but it felt like a lot longer than five days. I almost didn't believe him.
Micah clears his throat, "I'll be back in a few minutes with your food."
I give a nod and release the bars.
His candlelight travels down the hallway, fading into the darkness.
Just as soon as he's gone, footsteps clomp over to my cell. I figure it's Micah back already, but I don't think there's a magical kitchen down the corridor.
Keys jingle and clink, but I can't see who's there. The candlelight isn't in the area it had been when Micah was standing there. The cell door rattles open.
There's nothing but silence. Not even a drip from random water somewhere. No jingling keys, no rattling doors, no sloshing footsteps.
An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach, and I scuffle backwards two steps.
"Marcus?" I call out. My voice falters, so I clear my throat. "Marcus, leave me alone."
Definitely is not Marcus.
Who is it?
No answer.
"H-Hel--" Soft fingertips on my right cheek cut me off. I instantly hold my breath, frozen.
The scent of cinnamon fills my nostrils, but it isn't too strong. The smell is almost familiar.
Warm breath is on my throat, and my heartbeat races. The soft fingertips move into my nasty, gnarly hair, and a palm rests on my cheek. Who could this possibly be?
Marcus would not be able to be soft and sweet like this. Micah is gone for all I know.
Whomever this is is completely different then the people I've been around lately.
Another hand cups my other cheek, and what I'm guessing to be a nose is touching the side of my own. A low moan escapes the lips of my intruder; the deep tone relieves me from thinking I had some freaky chick in my room.
His lips are insanely close to mine, breathing calm. I wish I could be that cool. Instead my lungs are screaming from lack of oxygen, and my heart is bustin' a move inside my chest. My thoughts are swarming and running around the small room we're in.
I finally take one shakey breath before the stranger's mouth presses against my own. It's a sweet kiss at first, but he presses harder before pulling away. My closed eyes open to find darkness, but the guy's hands are still on my face.
Mr. Intruder suddenly presses soft lips upon my own again before running out of the cell, leaving the door wide open.
I don't think twice before running out after him.
I don't hear his footsteps or anything else. It's almost as if he vanished out of thin air. Actually, down here, it's thick air.
My stomach rocks like an earthquake, so I stop running. It's no use anyway. He is long gone.
"I suggest you get back into your cage, birdie."
Marcus's voice makes my veins flow cold. Yet instead of passing out from fear, I collapse from lack of energy.
Hurry up, I need my ALF fix.
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