When Luck Runs Out

Starting To Feel A Bit Neglected

    I sat there all night, my eyes not closing, my pain unending, watching the tent, the tent where I saw my John disappear into, and not come out. I shuddered in the cold breeze, my wrists burning from the ropes and my arms struggling to keep my hands up. I was miserable, I was heard broken, I was getting what I deserved though. To kill someone like that, to kill them and like it, I deserved this suffering, but surely John could understand that I had done it for him, to protect him from that savage beast. John said that he didn't love me anymore, he said that I wasn't the boy he fell in love with, I was the hallowed out, ragged, poor excuse for a human living the same life as that Sherlock, but I was not he. Sherlock was troubled with the life he had taken, Sherlock was horrified of killing again, of killing other people. He loved and was loved, and he was as happy as he could be with his life. And I sat here, loving without return, longing for my love to realize that I didn't need bonds, I needed help. I cried so much that my face felt red and raw from the continuous streaks of tears, cutting their way into my skin, but I was silent, as to not wake John if he had managed to fall asleep. And through the pitch darkness I could see the undisturbed body of Jeanette, lying where I had left it, not being able to distinguish any features, but I could see the outline of her body, the cruel angle of her neck, and it was evident that she wasn't just sleeping. She was hovering over us, her soul waiting so that she could personally escort me to hell. When the sun rose Greg was the first to wake, unzipping his tent and crawling out, but he didn't look like his eyes had shut all night. He looked ragged and angry, and he walked right over to me. I eyed the neatly stacked pile of weapons, wondering if Greg would take advantage of John's absence and just get it over with, but instead he just made his way to me, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot, as if he had momentarily forgotten how to walk. He squatted down next to me and stared at me for a while, and I stared back. Neither of us said anything, we just observed the broken features the other possessed. His red, sleepless eyes, his once waved blonde hair squashed in an unattractive clump on the top of his head, the youthful skin stretched over his skull with stress, his cheeks hallowed in from the lack of a good meal in so long. He looked dreadful.
"You killed her." He decided, the first words I had heard since John left me.
"Yes." I agreed, suddenly not able to look him in the eyes. But I averted my gaze I would see Jeanette's broken body, so I simply stared at Greg's nose guiltily. He took a deep breath, not seeming to be able to make words at the moment.
"Why?" he muttered, clenching one of his fists in an effort not to lash out. I really hope he didn't, because there was nothing stopping him from inflicting the same fate on me as I had given Jeanette.
"I had to." I insisted.
"Why." Greg repeated, his voice harsh.
"She kissed John." I insisted.
"Not good enough." He muttered.
"It is for me." I insisted.
"What did she do, what did she say? What was her last word?" he asked. I took a deep breath, trying to swallow my fear, but it was never-ending. One wrong word and it could be my last.
"I don't... I don't know. I didn't hear, she didn't get the opportunity to say anything in my presence." I muttered.
"I didn't expect this from you, of all people. The one who tried to defend the life ended up taking one for himself. It's monstrous." Greg insisted.
"It's defense!" I insisted.
"HOW IS THAT DEFENCE?!" Greg roared, getting to his feet and slapping the side of my face so that my head rolled on my neck.
"We were competing deer, and my antlers were larger." I muttered.
"Sherlock if John weren't here to protect you I'd have your head on my sword." Greg growled.
"Good thing John's here then." I decided.
"What is going on?" asked a new, grumpy voice from John's tent. His sleepless face emerged, his eyes with so many bags that I could carry my groceries in them.
"Oh, just a civil conversation between the convict and the newly widowed." I sighed. Greg looked as if he was ready to slap me again, but he refrained since my guardian angel was watching over me. I don't think Greg knew though, about the speed bump in our relationship, a particularly large one at that.
"I'm not a bloody widow." Greg hissed, stepping back as if trying to look innocent.
"No violence I hope." John insisted, walking forward and inspecting Greg with suspicion.
"None more than he had caused." Greg insisted.
"I'm not saying that I forgive him, but Sherlock was only acting on what..." John started.
"HE MURDERED JEANETTE!" Greg screamed, waving and gesturing madly at me as if trying to show John the light.
"Only because she KISSED MY BOYFRIEND!"I screamed back.
"That's not a good reason, that's not a good reason at all, mistakes are made, if this were the real world then you'd be handcuffed to a prison cell, not tied to a pipe." Greg insisted.
"Well I never thought I'd say this, but thank god it's the Hunger Games, maybe it's time we play." I insisted.
"Oh, that's it." Greg growled, advancing on me, but John stopped him, jumping in between Greg and me as if breaking up a dog fight.
"No fighting, we are going to be civil, we are going to be adults, and we are going to be a team, even if not every member is overly found of the other." John insisted.
"I'd kill him without any hesitation." Greg assured.
"Not if I don't kill you first." I snapped.
"You're the worst fighter I've ever seen." Greg insisted.
"Well, I don't know, I was able to kill Jeanette pretty quickly." I shrugged.
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP STOP!" John screamed, shoving my head back roughly so that it hit against the pipe.
"I can't talk to him, not until he learns his lesson. I'd say a good day of fasting ought to set him straight." Greg insisted.
"No, John, you need me, if Moran and Moriarty come, I'm no good to you starving." I demanded.
"You shut up Sherlock, just shut up. You don't have my sympathy right now; you don't have my empathy, you'll take what you get and you won't protest, because you deserve it." John insisted, and that shut my mouth for good. There was silence, and Greg looked at John with interest, as if trying to see if he were blushing or not. But I knew John, or at least I thought I knew John, and he would never go back on his word like that.
"You can only have one meal today, but all the water you want. So pick, now." John demanded.
"Lunch, I'll have lunch." I decided, figuring that if I had a meal in the middle of the day it should be able to hold me over for however long I needed.
"Alright, that works." Greg decided, crossing his arms and looking like he really wanted to kill me right now.
"How come no one's come to take her body away, there's been no hovercraft or anything?" John asked, tapping his foot with a little bit of annoyance.
"Maybe they aren't doing that anymore, maybe they're keeping the bodies here for terror reasons?" Greg guessed.
"They aren't taking her body away because she's still in use." I insisted. They both turned to me, Greg's eyes alight with the same fire that he slapped me with.
"What do you mean, in use?" he asked.
"I mean that right now her body is serving as a reminder that I had killed her. You guys wouldn't be as mad about if you didn't have to look at her body and then look at me. The gamemakers are leaving it here so that we quarrel and they get their show." I insisted.
"I hate to admit it, but Sherlock's right. Let's put the body somewhere else." John decided.
"Not now, I'm starving." Greg decided.
"I'm sure you are." John agreed, and the two of them went over to the chairs and started eating breakfast. I watched enviously, my stomach growling as well, but I could handle it. I had gotten out of the glorious habit of not eating anything for days on end, and not sleeping for days on end. John had made sure of that, and now I was weak and exposed, I was a human, but also less than one. I set my head on my hands, screwing up my face so that they didn't see my start to cry. My John, the one who has said we'd be together forever, the one who was going to sacrifice himself for me, he simply looked at me as someone who really shouldn't be alive. Maybe he and Greg were going to team up and take me down, maybe he'd join Moran and Moriarty and ensure that I stopped breathing for good. My very own John may be my very own murderer. But I'd let him, by God I wouldn't do a thing to stop John's own blade sink into my heart, because it already had. I sat there the whole day, while John and Greg did weapons training and all of that stuff. They seemed to have momentarily forgotten about Jeanette, whose body was still lying out in the sun, probably starting to smell soon. I sat on my post, and they fed me a little bit of food around lunch time, some crackers and some beef jerky, and I got my share of the little water we had left. But it would be easier to ration it off now, since there were only three of us. After lunch the two of them went down below, into the mall, so lay Jeanette's body somewhere. I was left alone, tied to my pipe. Honestly if I wanted to break out of this stupid prison I could, it wasn't like John was very good at tying things. But I stayed, because if they came back and I was longing on the chair, Greg would probably skewer me. The sun was just starting to go down when they came back, the two of them looking very somber indeed.
"She's in a better place now." John assured as Greg viciously wiped his eyes, as to prevent himself from crying. Honestly though, there was nothing preventing me from crying, it was acceptable for all people, your life just has to suck. I haven't seen John cry that much, but not a tear was falling on his stone cold face, as if he doesn't have enough emotion to get upset. They sat in their chairs and they ate more food, and I was left to suffer, smelling the brilliant scent of peanut butter, hear John's forced jokes and Greg's pitiful laugh. They were almost happy, and I was miserable. I wanted to be the one sitting next to John, or on the same one, his arms around my neck and his head falling sleepily onto my shoulder. And then I'd wake him up to go to bed, and we'd say goodnight to Greg and then go snuggle together in the tent, where we'd share sleepy kisses and mumble our love to each other in the dark. And he'd want to be next to me, so close that he could hear my heart beating, the only sign right now that I was actually alive. But alas, I was shivering, alone, and I probably wasn't going to be told 'I love you' again.