A smile slips onto his lips as the first drop of blood runs down his collarbone. One drop followed by more, and the smile never fades.
The beige collar of his shirt starts to stain red, along with my fingertips wrapped around the dagger handle.
He'...
A kick to the teeth is good for some A kiss with a fist is better than none Kiss With a Fist ~ Florence and the Machine ~ 'Do you want to go rot in that cell for another month with nothing to entertain you other than the rat that likes to eat it's own crap, or do you want to comply?' ~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I see trees of green... red roses too. I see them bloom... for me and you. And I think to myself..."
"'What a Wonderful World'? When the fuck are you so cheery, Brim?"
My head shoots up in the direction of my door to the familiar voice that interrupted my pathetic whimpers that I call singing. I guess it's the most you can call singinging when you're constantly holding in a sob.
"Ready to go? You look like absolute shit, by the way."
I scoff, rolling my eyes and bringing my head back down on the moldy mattress, looking up at the cement ceiling full of cracks and water leaks.
"Nope. This is my home now, can't you tell? After all, this is your home too. Isn't it, Aspen?"
I hear the cell door open and footsteps approach me. Aspen hovers over me, laying down flat on my back on the mattress. I shift my focus from the depressing ceiling to the boy's face that's looking down at me.
His dirty blonde hair is untamed, falling in uneven parts all over his forehead. His glasses reflect back what he's looking at, and he's right. I do look like shit. His brown eyes are narrowed and his eyebrows are furrowed, almost making him look... worried?
I sigh, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed, facing him. He's wearing his usual rich-boy attire; A beige sweater vest covering a collared, white long sleeve shirt, and navy blue tie. All tucked into his normal brown linen trousers and tan, leather, lace up boots.
"Can you please stop being such a brat, and listen to me?" he whisper shouts, stepping aside as I struggle to stand up from my bed.
I may or may not have a bruised rib... or two... and a possible broken ankle. Who knew the adrenaline of jumping off a balcony would distract you from the injuries it gives you in the moment? Not me.
I scoff, shaking my head looking up at him. "Are you really calling me a brat right now?"
He rolls his eyes and walks over towards the open door. "I could call you a multitude of things right now, dumbass being the most probable. But for now, yes, I am calling you a brat. And also telling you that we need to leave. Now." He peers down the hallway and back to me. "Can you walk?"
I scoff, shifting in my seat to push myself up. "Of course I can fucking walk Aspen, I'm not a crippllllLLEE— FUCK!" I collapse to the ground cursing as I put weight down on my right foot. Guess that answers that question. It is broken.
"Shut up! You're going to get us caught!" Aspen growls, getting behind me and picking me up effortlessly by hooking his arms under mine.
