Please don't feed the children

please don't feed the children chp. 2

“They did that to you?" Lane asked. He held his breath when he touched me, his fingertips tracing along the carving that they left in my arm.

I winced and pulled back. The bleeding had stopped, but my flesh was still raw and pink. Crusted blood had made my skin feel tight and constricted. I pulled down my sleeve, which now looked like someone had spilled black paint on it. Every time I moved, my arm flared in angry protest. But I kept my hurt secret; I didn’t want to bother Lane with it.

"Don't worry about it; they usually don't get infected anyway." I reassured him, but I was also trying to reassure myself that this would just scab over and heal. My stomach then reeled thinking about the puss and sores when they did get worse. I swallowed the lump growing in my throat then looked over at Lane. Sadness was evident in his eyes.

Lane let go of his breath, his hand laced into his hair, running through it multiple times like he was trying to calm himself.

"At least now I won’t forget my name." I chuckled half-heartily, attempting to turn my situation into humor. I saw him turn to smile at me, but the smile died down before it could take a full effect. Guilt riddled his face, creeping slowly until it covered him.

"It's my fault." He said to himself.

"No,” I reassured him, squeezing his shoulder. “I talked back to them when I knew the consequences of my actions. I take the blame."

He looked at me, holding my eyes, accessing the whole situation, having heard both sides of the story. Putting his hands deep inside his pockets, letting out a slow breath. I think the weight of what is happening around us finally sunk in.

"You really have been here a long time, haven't you?" he asked, hazel eyes piercing into my blue ones.

I nodded, my eyes shifting down to my sleeves."And I’ve learned from every single mistake I made."

My arms weren't the only body parts that were scarred.

But he doesn’t need to know that.

He leaned on the wall and dragged himself down to the floor, motioning me to come closer. Cautiously I wait to hear if they had come back yet, but when no clack of boots sounds out, I walk over. My feet not yet adjusted to the temperature, I noticed that this side of the cell was colder than mine. I felt a twinge of sadness thinking about how much colder it must be when he sleeps over here. Maybe I should've asked him if he was cold.....

But I snap out of that thought, correcting myself.

You can't get attached; they just might kill him soon anyway.

Sitting down, I could meet his eyes. There was distress in them, but who could blame him? It took a lot out of me to get used to this new reality, and I was roughing it alone. I tug at my sleeves, as if to erase my memory of what was under them.