Trapped

Chapter 35

The more he remained awake, sitting at the edge of the bed, curled up against the wall, and the more Kurtz remained unmoving, snoring soundlessly on the other side, the easier it all became. There was a time when sleep had to be earned, and Kurtz would use that to either torture or punish him. Because it was fun, for him. It reinforced his power over Jughead with the added bonus of Jughead's desperation.

So Jughead would never forego sleep. Even if Kurtz was a lot less cruel now than he had been back then. Sometimes, thinking back on everything, he struggled to cope with the fact that all of it was real. It reminded him more of a horror movie than actual memories. But it wasn't. When it was silent like this, it all came back to him, which was another reason why he preferred to sleep through the night. 

But he had, for some reason, blinked his eyes open, and instead of immediately shutting them, telling himself that he was back in his childhood room, repeating it inside his head until he could trick himself into believing it, he had kept them open. He had taken time to tell himself that no, he was not home, no he was not safe and yes, this was real. Willingly he had chased his sleep away and crawled away from his spot next to Kurtz. 

It was all he could think about, lying there, eyes stuck on the ceiling of the shelter, dimly lit by the generator running. That he needed to get away. That he couldn't remain next to him. He hadn't felt such strong repulsion in a long while. He'd buried his uncomfortness under fear, under the knowledge that he had to do what he was told, play along. He hadn't felt that nauseous since those first few weeks. Since the day in the car. 

"Kurtz, are you taking me to my sister?"

 "The little princess is safe and sound in your house"

He had been so relieved. He still was most days. At least he had managed that. At least Jellybean would not have to go through what he had. She would never feel the way he did. She would never know the need to scratch your skin off, peel all the layers back until you find something untouched, that wasn't rotten. That had to count for something. 

"Where are you taking me then?"

"Your new home" 

Your new personal hell is what he should have said. Though, to Kurtz, it probably didn't seem like that. Even now he slept peacefully, chest falling and rising slowly, which was more infuriating than Jughead cared to admit. 

He had no remorse, no guilt. He was completely incapable of seeing anything wrong with what he did, what he was doing every day. God, Jughead hated him. If he could kill him right now, right this moment, he would. But it was a long way down from the mountaintop. A week's travel and he wasn't going to pretend he had Kurtz's skills or knowledge of the terrain. 

Nobody came around this part of the mountain anymore. No one would find him if he left. Always trapped, and he was growing tired of it. Reassuring himself that Kurtz was too deep into his sleep, exhausted by their climb, he carefully got out of bed. 

This place had definitely seen better days. It had a certain smell of suffocation, of something that had not been allowed to breathe. Everything was clumsily put aside. There were a few books and notebooks on the table and collecting dust, scattered on the floor. 

There were a few cabinets on the side, containing cans that were past their expiration date. He took one, turning it around in his hand curiously. Spam. He smiled to himself. At some point in his childhood, they used to live off of canned goods. Not the healthiest. It was probably the reason why Jughead was never picky when it came to food. He didn't have the most refined taste palette. But the good thing was, he never ran out of recycling materials for his arts and crafts class in primary school.