Irresistible Compulsions

||Chp. Fourteen|| "You Guys Are Family."

My eyes snap to Dylan's in a panic, finding solace in his calm expression staring back at me.

"It's fine. He doesn't know we're here." My shoulders sag in relief at his words. Despite already knowing this information, his reassurance grounds me.

"We just need to be quiet 'til he drives off, he's just doing the daily rounds." He stands still, neither of us moving to avoid making any further noise.

"What do you mean daily rounds?" My words come out barely a whisper but I know they're loud enough when he doesn't hesitate in responding.

"He just drives around a couple times a day to make sure nobody's hanging around. Doesn't even get out of his car."

The rough rumble of an engine gets louder the closer he drives then just as quickly it dissipates into nothing, drifting off into the distance as the room lapses into silence once again.

It's not until Dylan speaks that my body fully relaxes, no longer frozen to my spot. "Okay he's gone." Dylan reassures after craning his neck to peer out the window.

I can't help the quiet laugh that escapes my lips, a mixture of nerves and relief washing over me.

Dylan's eyes find mine, looking at me with equal parts amusement and intrigue.

"What?" I interrupt my own laughing, suddenly feeling self conscious under his gaze.

He lends me a smile accompanied by a slight head shake. "Nothing. I'm just impressed by the way you handled that. You're usually so uptight."

My eyes practically roll out of my head at his words, unimpressed to say the least.

"I'm not uptight!" I practically yell in response but mentally scorn myself at how loud I'm being.

"Unclench you're fists if you're so chill and laid back." He counters, wearing a smirk as he nods his head down towards my hands. It's only then that I notice my finger nails digging into the palm of my hands and immediately unclench them.

"Just shut up."

His laugh fills the room behind me as I turn and make my way further down the corridor.

My feet carry me to the end of the expansive hallway until I find my way to the last room on the left. I can't explain it but it's like I'm being beckoned towards it...lured almost. The door is mostly shut, sitting only slightly ajar.

M. George

The harsh black ink etched into the door, dulled from the years of nothingness that surrounds it.

The door creaks open beneath my finger tips, revealing another grim sight. Similar to the last room, this one houses a single bed frame with a tattered old musty mattress in the corner. Unlike the other room though, this one has a lone dresser sitting modestly beneath the barred window. To my surprise, a framed photo of a family sits upon it, completely undisturbed apart from the dust that encases it.

The tips of my fingers skim over the dusty surface to unveil the picture of a young man in a soldier's uniform, standing proudly beside who I'm assuming are his mother and father.

The boy - barely a man - looks to be no older than myself.

My heart aches at the notion of such a youthful soul being locked away in here, presumably over something as undeserving as suffering PTSD from their time in the army.

My mind drifts, wondering what came of this man. Where did he end up when this place shut down? Why didn't he take his things? Why didn't his parents come to collect them?