The Revolution (On Hold)

Chapter 2: Brain Dead Moron

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The Revolution

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The Revolution

Chapter 2: Brain Dead Moron

Yesterday's events seem like a surreal dream until my eyes snap open and I realise where I am; my old room and it looks exactly the same as how I left it. The canopy bed is still sitting across from the large window in between two white wooden bedside tables; the blue cover matching the sheets. The theme colour for the room and basically everything in it is a white and blue pairing. I remember wishing I could paint all the furniture a different colour.

White gets dirty too easily.

The two tall blue lamps are sitting by their lonesome on the bedside tables; the white painted bookshelf still neatly organised. I'm guessing if I take a look in the wardrobe; it will be filled with the clothes I left behind. Even the various perfumes and pieces of jewellery are still sitting on the vanity exactly where I left them.

It feels like a completely different life.

Being the idiot I am I thought Bass and Miles were restoring order in the world; I thought I was a part of something good. I thought I was safe in our home, and I thought that I knew who Bass was; a good person fighting his inner demons like everybody else. I thought he was winning. I had no idea that murder had become the norm for Bass, and Miles. I let them keep me in the dark about everything, and I ignored what I knew was happening because I loved them.

Ignorance really is bliss.

Knock, knock . . . Knock. I hear rapping on the door before the lock clicks and the door opens.

It's Bass holding a wooden tray with food. I wonder if there's a syringe hidden on the tray or maybe tucked away in his pocket, or maybe the food is laced with drugs. That's the only way he is going to keep me here.

Asshole!

"You really haven't aged a day," he closes the door and I hear the click as a guard outside locks us in.

I'm really starting to hate that clicking sound.

"And you've aged a lot," I snap and shift to the other side of the bed as Bass sits on the edge of the mattress and places the tray between us. There's toast, eggs and coffee and my stomach growls instantly.

It smells great.

"I brought your favourites."

"What the hell are you doing?" I somehow manage to resist the food even though I'm starving and I'm 90% sure my stomach is eating itself.

"You should eat," Bass ignores my question and the irritation doubles inside my chest. I'm 31 years old for God's sake; far too old to be locked in my room.

"First you drug me and now you're concerned for my health?!" The outrage is clear in my voice and I'm sure on my face.

"I'm doing this to protect you."

"Protect me?" I scoff.

"You're safe here with me."

"And you're delusional. Miles really screwed you up when he left didn't he?"

There's a slight pause, "You're going to pretend that you didn't know he was leaving?" Bass asks, clearly unconvinced and sure that I'm against him and plotting with Miles.