Stuck in the Elevator Again | ONC 2022

Loop 5.1

Last edited: 25/4/2022
[Roselyn]
(TRIGGER WARNING)

"I'm sorry, Roselyn... it's all my fault."

Is that the demon apologizing?

If yes, it's a pity that I haven't recorded it.

- - - - -

I wake up to the reflection of my awful face again.

Who wakes up to their reflection every single damn time?

Me. And some narcissists.

Does that make me a narcissist?

I form my palm into a fist and settle my chin on it, admiring the beauty and the beast in the mirror.

With me being the beast, of course.

Sensing the blank gaze burning my back, profound anger that has been building up since the beginning explodes within me.

"Jaxtyn Uburg. Why did you not let me go near the object?" I ask, my tone deadly calm.

Jaxtyn Uburg lowers his eyelashes, shading the glimmer of misery from my hawk-like eyes.

"Why?" I repeat, my serious tone causing him to glance up for a second before backing down again.

"Is it because you want to take revenge on me? If yes, why don't you stab me instead? Did you deliberately waste an opportunity for us to live? Do you not care about yourself?"

My nostrils flare open as I take in deep breaths. "I don't care if you want to take revenge. Go ahead, I'm not stopping you. But why are you killing your chance of survival?"

I trudge towards him and stand right in front of him, raising my head such that I meet his lowered gaze. "Because, Jaxtyn Uburg, you're worse than me. I'm already a spoiled brat, but you? You are a coward."

Spitting out my fury, I stomp towards my usual corner and curl up against the wall.

Disappointment and anger well up inside me as I rock myself to sleep.

We were both too selfish. That's why we fucked up.

- - - - -

The usual jolt doesn't wake me up from my sleep this time. I just somehow... woke. As if my guts know that something is off and is smacking my cheeks frantically to get me to wake up from my sweet dreams.

Frowning, I peel my eyelids open, my foggy vision sharpening and clearing up as I rub my eyes.

I blink a few times before the scene in front of me has my pupils contract tightly.

Deep red coats most of the floor, the thick liquid turning brown and slick as every second ticks by. A repulsive metallic smell flitters into my nostrils, a vile pungency that is smothering my sensitive sense of smell to its finest.

A fresh line of flowing liquid zigzags slowly towards my direction, leaving a trail behind as little beads of crimson branch off from the original trail and creates a whole new route for completing its mission to conquer.

My eyes follow the trail back to its origin, my trembling jaw holding back the sob that is threatening to spill out from my chest.

It isn't real. Is it?

I finally see the cause of this pool of mess. Sitting from the opposite corner of me is the man who has accepted my annoyance and vice versa during the entire time loop, the man who saw my worst and ugliest moments as I saw his.

And he is lying there, unmoving, rigid.

Dead.

The muted clicks of my heels reverberate in the elevator as I plod towards his body, splotches of blood splattering onto my feet as I make every move. It gets harder and harder to lift my legs as I inch closer, the thick layer of blood pulling on my heels in an attempt to stop me.

I halt a few centimeters away from his outstretched hand with the tip of my heels half-submerged in the pool of sins, skimming the surface of his forearm ever so lightly and leaving a light sketch on his flawed arm. His sleeves are neatly rolled up, revealing the disfigured arms beneath. A fresh bead of blood trickles down his arm as pressure is applied to his wounds, and I watch with tightly pursed lips as it dribbles into the pool of agony its brothers and sisters have created.

Crouching slowly, I raise my trembling fingers towards his neck, coming into contact with his cool skin. I place them on his pulse, only to feel none.

I force down the fear, which I have yet to register, and am about to blow off my calm cover. I then place my palm on his muscular chest, surprisingly sensing the fading beat of his heart making its final call.

My gloomy eyes light up and, acting without proper thought, I tear his suit off him and tie the fabric on his left inner elbow. I give it a hard tug as I secure the knot, praying to all the deities who I know for this to work and for the movie scenes to be real. Then I jerk at the remaining of his jacket which isn't used towards his wounds, using them to absorb the exuding blood.

Unbuttoning his shirt as well, I don't stop to blush at the baffling sight and immediately do the same to his other arm.

After doing what I hope will help, I lay him down and sits on his bare waist, positioning my arms to prepare for CPR, which I have absolutely no idea if it is the right thing to do for a person who committed suicide. I run my fingers across his upper chest to locate the dent-like place of the ribs that my dad told me about. After finding it, I position my left palm above it, remembering my dad mentioning something along the lines of "that's where the heart of most people is". Then, I straighten my arms, slot my right hand's fingers into my left's, take a deep breath, and start pushing.

"One and two and three and four and..." I count as I press. The words begin tangling with my tongue, but I don't dare stop, beads of sweat dripping down my forehead and falling onto the specimen below me.

I forget how much I should be doing before I breathe air into his mouth. My dad, as a fireman, briefly taught me and my sister how to do CPR before, but it was such a long time ago, and I had never practiced it before.

I decide to press thirty times. It seems reasonable. As I reach thirty, I lift my right hand and tilt his chin. I get up slightly as I take in a big breath and smash my lips onto his, exhaling all my breath into his mouth.

I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no idea if I'm doing the right thing. But I keep in mind my dad's words, that sometimes it might take the rescuer to do CPR for more than 30 minutes to successfully save a life.

This is why I don't dare stop. I can't accept the consequences of losing Jaxtyn Uburg's life.

I repeat my actions over and over again. Press, breathe. Press, breathe. Press, breathe.

My arms are shaking violently every time I push. My legs are trembling beside me, not because of fear, but because of exhaustion. My lips are swollen and scathed on the surface, the result of anxiousness taking a toll on me and causing me to bump my lips onto his teeth.

It is when my arms give away, and I collapse onto his cold body, unable to move even my pinky anymore, that I register this moral.

I can't save everybody. Sometimes things just get out of control.