Everything was quiet for the next few days; the person on the floor had either walked away or been dragged some time when I was asleep. Carter didn't come, probably busy with some other horrible thing, and even though I knew he would be back it was still mercifully pain-free time that I cherished. No one had come near me, except on one occasion when someone threw in a few bits of bread and a bottle of water. I was enjoying the relative piece when, suddenly, I was torn back to my awful reality - just like always.
On maybe the fourth day of peace I heard yelling outside. The British voice was back and sounded even more distraught than last time, shrieking and, by the sound of the other people's grunts and swearing, struggling magnificently.
Except today, they didn't pass by my door. It burst open and before I could even move out of the way, a dark, live form was flung in, crashing into me and sending us both to the ground as the door slammed shut again before I saw who it had been. Healing bruises and cuts stung painfully as the body on top of me pushed me away in haste to stand, before falling again. The room was too small for the both of us; their foot clanged off of the tiny metal, toddler-sized toilet crammed into the corner and they yelped.
It was the British man. "Calm down!" I told him quickly, scared he would lash out again and hurt me or himself, but my voice was hoarse and scratchy and not very reassuring.
He straightened out finally and forced himself into the corner by the door. His eyes were screwed shut, but his hair was brown and I could see how painfully thin he was; I was skinny too from lack of food, but he was near skeletal, and there were sores and bruises and scars all over him. His ragged clothes hung off of him and I winced in sympathy just from looking.
"Just, calm down, all right?" I tried. "It's okay."
"Don't touch me."
"I'm not."
His body convulsed once. "Don't!"
I held up my hands in surrender. "I'm not. Open your eyes, I won't hurt you."
He did, cautiously; they were the same shade as his hair, a rich dark brown. "I..." he started, and looked me over once, slowly moving out from the wall. There was barely a metre between us, so I stayed still as to not startle him. "I thought you were..." A shudder shook his frame, and he didn't have to finish.
"I'm Tyler." I said cautiously. I was going to shake his hand, but it was too stiff and formal for somewhere like this; boys with bruises don't shake hands.
He smiled faintly at me, a ghost of a grin like sunshine, something so battered it was like it had never existed. "I'm Dan."
SURPRISE HE'S NOT DEAD
YOU ARE READING
The Good Life ~ Troyler AU
Fiksi Penggemar"You've never changed, have you? No matter how much you've tried to outrun it. You'll always end up here, and you'll always end up a monster, Troye Sivan."
