one by one.

-fourteen-

[A couple weeks ago. One day after Lucas beat up Farkle.]

Lucas walks into a white-walled room, the door shuts abruptly behind him. Bandages, sterile needles, and medical equipment line the cabinets in an orderly manner. The room was be pristine, perfect almost. Almost.

Pale, Farkle's skin made him seem as if he too was built specifically for this room. His breaths match the repetitive beeps of the heart rate monitor. So what is making the room imperfect?

Lucas drags a chair from the corner to the side of the bed. Dark circles cover the other boy's eyes from the bright lights of the room. A concussion. Silently, Lucas watches Farkle's chest steadily go up and the back down. Two broken ribs.

For the first time since Farkle had left the forest he looks at peace. The blood that stains the corner of his mouth made it appear as if he is smiling. Perfectly.

Lucas looks down at his hands, and his eyes slowly linger down to his feet. His hands were swollen and a spot of blood remains on his boot from the day before.  Closing his eyes to prevent himself from crying, Lucas sighs and lifts his head up. When he reopens his eyes he is met with his own distorted figure from his reflection in the metal cabinets.

He looks back down at Farkle, and gently sets his hand on the weak shoulder of his friend. "I didn't mean to," Lucas says, chocking back the tears. "I let my anger get to me. I'm sorry. I really am."

Lucas rubs his eyes dry and slowly drags the chair back to its corner. He glances back at Farkle's body, which hasn't seemed to move the entire time he was, before beginning to exit the room.

"Hate me?" He hears a faintly familiar voice croak from behind his back.

"Farkle?" Lucas lets out in disbelief, as he turns back towards the bed.

"Hate me?" Farkle repeats after clearing his voice.

"No, Farkle I don't hate you. You're my friend, you'll always be-" Lucas begins before he is cut of by the other boy's actions.

Quietly Farkle lifts up his gown, revealing the damage from the incident from yesterday. His stomach was painted with an array of purples that faded into a shade of deathly yellow. Lumps and cuts carved his body like a landscape.

"Friend?" Farkle questions, as he stares directly at Lucas.

"I-I" Lucas stutters, unable to contain his tears. His gaze stuck on Farkle's chest. Lucas once called Farkle his friend. His best friend. But Lucas couldn't help but wonder what kind of friend was he? "I really want to apologize, but," Lucas shakes his head as he looks up at Farkle. "But I don't deserve to be forgiven. There's nothing I can ever do to make up for this. I'm sorry, Farkle. I truly am."

A smile spreads across the bruised boys face. "Well I wouldn't say nothing. Shoot me," Farkle simply directs.

"What?" Lucas asks in bewilderment. "I'm not going to shoot you, Farkle. I never should have done this to you in the first place."

"I have a plan to get us out of here, but I need you to shoot me," Farkle insists."It just has to be in my shoulder. Your left, my right," he explains, as he glances down to his right shoulder.

"Why do I need to shoot you?"

"If they didn't care about us they would have let us die out there in the forest, but they didn't. They want us alive. If you shoot me it will cause a big enough distraction for you to escape and go find Riley. Once you get her we can all get out of here," Farkle eagerly claims.