Hollows In Time (✔️) | 'Hollows' Book Ⅱ

Chapter Fifteen

^ Sky's outfit for this chapter ^

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H o l l o w s   I n
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The nurses and doctors left. They had weighed me, and claimed that I was severely underweight. They set up a meeting with a nutritionist, who would help me get "back onto my feet." When Jameson was told how much I weighed, I could see in his eyes that he was worried, perhaps shattered. It was still his fault.

They did other health check-ups too, and took pictures of me to show the damage done to my physical frame. I felt like a puppet by the time they finally left.

I was now sitting upright in bed, watching as Jameson scurried around like a mouse in front of me.

"It's a bit light in here—don't you think it's a bit light?" He asked, pausing for a breath. I shrugged.

"I don't know," I looked up at the clock, "It's ten to nine." Jameson frowned, then looked up at the clock above the door.

"Oh, that clock has been broken since April." Then, with one swift motion, Jameson had plucked it from the wall and laid it onto the surface of my vanity. He shifted back into his room then came out with pack of batteries. He pulled off the back of the clock then proceeded to perform clock-surgery.

"You're nineteen." I acknowledged, startling Jameson slightly.

He looked over at me. "Yes, I am." He confirmed before turning back to the clock. I knew he was nineteen, I didn't have to guess. I wasn't locked in a cage, out of civilisation, when he turned nineteen. I remembered it oh-so-clearly, how I was already suffering, and then those memories of him were drudged up after I spent so much time ignoring them.

"How was Christmas?" I asked him. I had to catch up with this world.

Jameson paused again, then, whilst looking at me, placed the cover back on the clock. "Lonely." He murmured, almost too quiet for me to hear, before hanging the clock above the door.

"There we go," He announced, "It's quarter past six." He stood by the doorway as I watched him.

"What is the date today?" I shot at him next. Of course, as if it was instinctive, Jameson knew the date by heart without any reference to a calendar.

"It's Wednesday, the sixth of September." He informed me and I looked down, trying to figure out what that meant to me.

Jameson edged over to my bed, and just stood there. His eyes flickered from my bed to me, before he dragged my vanity chair over to the corner of the room and sat on it. He was a good metre away from me, where he deserves to be. Where I want him to be.

"What was summer like? Was it hot?" Full of questions. Also full of absolutely no information.

Jameson stared at me, "I've had better summers." He admitted. "It was hot, but last year was hotter." He then told me. His hands were dancing in his lap, folding and unfolding, almost as if he was nervous.

"Sky," he addressed me and I looked over at him. "What's the last date that you remember?" He asked. It seems, that in my rush to find out information, Jameson also had a rush to find out information. I must have lost the ability to read him, because I used to be able to tell when there was something on his mind.