Asylum Love

Chapter 3

The mind
A place where no one
Knows what's happening
But you, yourself
A Maze with no ones signs
but your own
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His eyes flew open, as he lunged up.
Violent shudders wracked his lithe body, shirt clinging to his skin, soaked in sweat.
Hair clinging to his face, sweat or tears he'd never know the difference.

Wiping his face off, then rubbing his hands on his thighs in feeble hope they'd stop shaking and to wipe them off.
It was his dreams, again.
A girl this time, her skin...
He didn't let himself linger on the thought.

Throwing the blankets and sheets to the side, Will climbed out of bed, the cold floor almost comforting with the heat pulsing through his limbs.
Moonlight trickled in through the window, at the top of the far wall.
It was a small luxury, and it wasn't a threat to the system.

Even if he dreamed of running, their was no way he'd fit his ass through a seven by five barred window.
He almost rolled his eyes at the thought. Then almost laughed at if he managed to fit and get stuck, thinking if they'd leave him their as punishment or bother getting him out. Probably the first.

He shook his head, pushing his hair back as he paced, a small dance on shaky legs as he stabilized himself and waited for his head to stop hurting.
The dreams were nothing new, but the panic and pain every time he woke up never seemed to fade.

He looked at the moon, guessing the time. Breakfast would be in three, maybe four hours.
What could he even do with that time? Their was no way he'd get back to sleep easily, but their wasn't much moonlight to read either. And he rather be stuck doing nothing, just with his thoughts.

Standing their in nothing but his boxers and more sweat then fabric shirt, looking up and out at the moon as light filtered in like a cold whisper, is when he first heard it.

Dragging.

It sounded like a cloth bag being pulled across the ground, dragging against the concrete with its weight.
No one was awake at this hour.
Aside from him and what ever was in the hall, apparently.

Will didn't know if he should even breath, didn't know if he wanted too.
Because deep in his core, he knew that sound shouldn't be there.

His stomach clenched in all the wrong ways, eyes locked on the slats of his door waiting to see if it came to him or left, not knowing what he would even do if it came closer.                                            

Paranoia and him were long time friends, he thought bitterly.
But it was perfectly  reasonable to be terrified when your trapped in a black box, suddenly learning your not alone and that whatever your with has something heavy, and is almost silent, because Will sure as hell didn't hear any foot steps.

He didn't trust his own footfalls to be as soft, knowing he was more likely to slip on his sweat and break a bone on the concrete floor then make it back to bed.

So he waited, breath almost gone from his lungs, listening. He heard the dragging pause, before continuing, going farther and farther away.

Finally he relaxed, the sound gone, climbing back into bed.
Tucking his limbs neatly together, he curled his head to his chest, closing his eyes.
He hated being afraid.
Hated the shake of his hands, the cold in his bones, the numbness it brought his head.

So long he has been afraid, then he had finally not been, only for his power to be stripped away from him and leave him barren and defenseless.

At least the shadows of nightfall don't tell when a man cries.