Shilan

Two

There was a crack in the wall beside me.

It was nothing too noticeable, nothing uncommon in this impossibly ancient building. But when locked in a six-by-nine room for long, innumerable hours, one would eventually come to note that this crack here was more profound than most.

And this night, it seemed broader and deeper than ever.

My movements steady and silent, I slid out from beneath my yellowed bedsheets and crept towards the wall in measured steps. I wasn't sure what time it was--my body far too adrelanized with nerves for me to depend on my senses--but I knew it didn't particularly matter. Those attendants roamed the corridors and passed our rooms even in the latest hours of the night, so I still needed to be as steely quiet as possible.

Fluorescent light gleamed against the varying cracks in the wall, almost giving the severest one that'd captivated my attention a shadow. Up close, it looked even more inviting, its thick edges angled away from the wall as if was blatantly asking to be picked.

Inhaling deeply, I rubbed my sweaty palms against my gown. There was no telling whether this would lead me anywhere at all, but the tightness in my chest still lessened with the hope that rose in me. 

The morning following Adam's one-on-one with the electroshock machine, I'd done nothing but sit before my locked door--knees drawn to my chest, head in my trembling hands--and simply prayed that he'd be all right, that he'd survive, that his memories would be in tact. It'd taken all my willpower not to resign to the urge to pry the door open with my own hands as I'd waited for those attendants to let me out.

To let me know if my most dreaded nightmare had finally become a part of my already nightmare-like reality.

When I'd heard steps finally approaching my room, I'd clambered to my feet with a start, ready to watch my door open so that I could sprint straight to Adam's room beside mine. See if it was empty. However, once the metal door had been unlocked and pulled open, Pauline hadn't taken a single step away from the entrance, barring it with her tall form.

Features tight and taught as a bowstring, she'd demanded that she hadn't wanted to hear a single question escape my lips. "Several hundred volts of electricity will be the only response you'll receive if you so much as mention Adam's name," the attendant had warned.

"But--"

"No one has time for your whining. Eat lunch and return to your room."

With extreme effort--and the constant reminder that a trip to the basement wouldn't get me far--I'd managed to hold my tongue, to blink back tears when I sat beside the empty chair in the dining room, to not swipe away the strange pity on Jude's face with a fist whenever he regarded me.

To not cry: "Are you really keeping him in his room, or is he bloody dead?"

How long it'd been since then, there was no telling--my days had blurred together, sleep rarely there to separate them. But I knew it'd been long enough. I'd spent enough damn time lying around and waiting.

Silently cursing myself for always chewing my nails to nubs, I began to pick at the alluring crack. The more pieces of it I chipped off, the thicker and more stubbourn its edges became, cutting into my fingertips. I carried on, teeth gritted. When compared to the gnawing pain of worry that had feasted on my insides these past few days, this pain paled rather remarkably.

Slowly deepening the crack, I tried to disregard the voice in my mind warning me of how I wouldn't be able to conceal all this damage to the wall once I was done. That there could always be cameras I didn't know about in this room, eyes watching me right this moment.