Your teenage years were the most wildest years of your life, and yet the most blissful and calm, because of her; Kate Hayes. The girl you met in 8th grade, the person that was by your side as both a friend, and romantic partner. But once the woman y...
The creak of the wooden floorboards ahead of you make you jolt awake, arms tied your back and ankles still tied together makes you mentally curse. Bound to the old, small black couch another morning, you suppose.
"Reminds me of a sick dog." The voice belongs to a man who stands by the door, tan coat, dirty jeans, and most off putting, a white plastic mask sits before his face. Brunette hair, brushed, and taken care of.
The other, who stands taller, wears a brown hoodie and a black fabric mask. You narrow your eyes on the sewn in red frowny face on it. "Hm, reminds me of a bitch." The one in the hoodie mutters, the voice distorted.
It makes goosebumps rise on your arms.
"Do you think it can hear us?" The one in the mask mocks, stepping closer to inspect you. All you do in response is stare ahead, trying to detach from the moment. "Hey, can you hear me, bitch?" The man waves his black glove in front of your face, making you lean away with a glare to the dark eyes of the mask.
A grunt is heard from behind the mask.
"You're in relations with Monica Collins, correct?" The hooded one steps closer, bring the broken wooden chair from the corner by the door to sit across from you who is sat on the couch. He sits straight, hands on lap.
All you do is stare, stare, stare.
"Dissociation wont help you in a time like this, Mrs. (Last Name)." How does he know my last name? You question yourself, looking in the 'eyes' of the red dots on his black mask.
"Why are you asking me this?" You sore throat makes you realize how dehydrated you are, and makes you wince at the pain. The man with the plastic mask tilts his head at you, as if wanting to insult you.
"I will ask you this again; Do you know of a woman named, Monica Collins?" Not of right now, you say to yourself. Not as I am bound to this room, you say to the man silently. Not as I am once you decide to kill me, your inner monologue cries.
"No, I believe not." You say quietly, tiredly, more of. The hooded man slightly nods to himself, and leans closer to your face. You sit still, feeling anger and fear swarm inside you the closer and closer he leans in.
"Liars are not treated well, in this house." Before you can react, you feel a sudden pain to your face. You lean forward, forehead touching knees in shock. You squint your eyes closed as hard as you can, to stop the tears from coming.
"I don't fucking know what you want from me-" Your hair is grabbed and pulled, forcing you to look up to the mask of the hooded man. The red frowny face, and black mask may conceal his identity, but the harsh breaths and burn of his eyes give him away. A fairly unstable man, Bipolar, insecure and deep down, very weak.
Very, fucking, weak.
The sting of yours strands of hair being wrapped into the mans fist, makes the pulse of your tired body thump like a dying heart. "How's your mom?" You manage to spit through your teeth. The hooded man shoves you back, letting go of you, as if you had just said the most offensive thing ever. He raises his head in dominance, looking down on you through the mask.
You expect to be hit, but felt nothing as the man turned his broad back on you. Silently walking out of the room, leaving you with the plastic masked man. You try to seem relaxed, even though your lungs gasp for air and your nerves jump with pain. You try to ignore how the mask just stares, stares, stares.
He seems like the kind of guy to sit on the porch early in the morning, and grieve over the death of himself even though his hearts still pumping and his lungs are still working.
Something about the eyes behind the mask make you question them.
"How'd you know the girl before the recruitment?" His voice sounds even more empty than the empty room the two of you inhabit. You take in his question, and assume it's about the girl, the whole reason why you're sitting on this couch, Kate.
You take in a breath. "She was my girlfriend." That was the first time you ever said that aloud, to anyone.
He stands in the same position, breathes the same breaths, and doesn't say anything.
"Why did that man freak out when I asked about his mom?" You ask, to fill the silence. You don't know if you're going to get a slap to the face, or a simple answer. In the end, at least you'll have some leverage on this hooded guy.
The masked man sighs, and turns to open the door. He stops, holding the door handle, and turns to look at you. He is quiet without his partner. Not as scary, definitely, but some how more in control of things without the hooded man.
"She died of a heart attack last Spring, after seeing her sons death on the News." The answer confuses you, but you take it and nod, letting the man walk out and close the door behind him.
"Did these angry people come to you, or did you go to them?" You whisper, wishing to ask this question to Kate.
My back hearts like hell after writng this chapter oml
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