Be My Salvation (Ereri/Riren)

I

He was covered in bruises. There were so many, one blending right into another, that he could barely tell them apart anymore and he thought he was starting to forget what the true color of his skin was supposed to be. Purple. Blue. Black. None of those were right, he knew, but so long it'd been that way he was beginning to think they were permanent, like someone had taken sharpies and colored giant blotches all over his skin. Very little did it seem they yellowed and went away before he sustained another hit to start the bruising process all over again.

His skin was feverish, too, but compared to the cold concrete walls surrounding him, it seemed fairly normal, and he'd forgotten the ache of all the abuse long ago. Had almost forgotten what the sun, the sky, the grass looked like because he hadn't been out of the little room in days, hadn't been out of the house in over a month. They wouldn't let him. They never would, not until his body was void of breath and they discarded it outside to rot without proper burial.

But he'd made peace with that long ago. Right now his concern wasn't for himself and how he was certain he'd never make it out, but for the newborn baby kitten wrapped in a bloody towel, cradled delicately within his thin, shaking arms. With its eyes still shut and ears still folded down, rendering the poor thing blind and deaf, the only thing to reassure him of its life was an occasional squirm or squeal. It was only days old; he was certain it was hungry, but with its mother and siblings all having passed away due to the unsanitary conditions of the basement and lack of food, he had no way to feed it. All he could do was huddle it to his chest to keep it warm, hoping in vain that help might come.

The ones upstairs didn't know about the cat or her kittens. He'd hidden them in a hole in the wall, using a loose piece of paneling to camouflage it with the rest of the wall. The Man had thrown her out a few months ago in the midst of all the violence, right into a rainstorm. He'd lost hope he'd ever see her again until he heard a rattling at the tiny basement window - his only source of light - like she knew he was in there. He pulled her inside and hid her; not a week later, she'd given birth to a litter of four kittens, one of which wasn't even alive when it was born; the rest had followed one after the other, including the mother herself, until the little white one with the black face was the only one left.

He floated in and out of consciousness for several hours. The ones upstairs hadn't been down in nearly two days, and while he'd heard them shuffling around on the floor above him quite often, it felt as if they'd forgotten about him. He could barely remember the last time he ate - it had been at least a week - and he hadn't had anything to drink since the last time The Woman had opened the door and thrown a half empty water bottle down at him. He hadn't used the bathroom in days and as a result, the inevitable happened. He was dirty. He was cold. His clothes were torn and stained, his hair matted and caked in dust. And he didn't understand why or how people could be so infinitely cruel.

Light was beginning to shine in through the one small cloudy window he had, indicating the rising of the sun. He could hear the faint wailing of sirens in the distance; everything else was dead silent. The kitten squirmed a bit, its mouth opening and closing as if it was looking for a nipple to suck on. He could offer it nothing but the tip of his pinkie finger to satisfy it for a short moment. The sirens grew a bit closer and eventually faded away. His ears rang in the silence.

He was only half conscious when he heard a loud ring and a sudden trampling sound come from upstairs. Sluggishly, his eyes peeled themselves open and he looked up toward the basement door. A few hisses of words he couldn't make out seemingly right on the other side of it, a heavy sigh, and then the sound of the big warped wooden front door dragging across the floor as it was opened.

A new voice was added to the commotion. Male. Deep. Deeper than The Man's, but smoother. More reserved. The barrier of the walls and ceiling didn't allow his ears to make out any distinct words, but he thought about screaming. Thought about standing and banging on the walls, maybe even the door to alert someone, anyone that he was there, to help him get out. But simply the thought of merely trying to stand up or use his voice had his muscles aching and his throat stinging. There was no way he could actually do it...