Accidentally On Purpose

The Feet

                                                           Sketch's P.O.V.

It was cold. I felt that much when I woke up. The skeleton had disappeared in my sleep, and now I was even more freaked out. I hope it was just Al trying to be funny because it's near Halloween. But then I looked down and my clothes were gone, replaced with tacky prisoner's uniform.

And I had no shoes. Or socks.

Just.

Bare.

Feet.

My heart began to pound and I tried to look away, get away, but they were there. Bare. Cold. In the open. I could hear my breaths coming in shorts bursts, and I began to think about the times before. I screamed, trying to get someone to come. Give me socks, shoes, anything. I hate remembering, and now...now...

Now I could see them. Al had dropped me on the floor, where I lay forgotten. And feet. Walked on, squished, folded, covered in dirt. Until the paper I was on ripped. I screamed again, this time in real life and in memory. I was ripped from my left shoulder to my right hip, and the scar was still there, a haunting reminder. I screamed again, my voice cracking, and held my arms and sat on my feet. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind.

Out of sight, still in mind.

I was trembling now, my eyes stinging. My scar burned and felt like it was anew, bleeding and unnoticed. Like a thousand knives driven into my side, and then alcohol poured onto it. Like falling onto concrete from a thousand stories up, it tore itself apart. I could almost see the blood.

I remember laying there in pain for a whole month, still tread on. Feet made the tear wider. Cut me in half, yet I remained alive. Al finally found me, taped me up, and decided to make me real. Exist, like now. But whenever I sleep is still dream the same dream, though I try and try to stop it.

I was so alone. Broken. Nothing to do except feel pain, watch the feet, feel more pain. For a whole month. I was alone now, too. The shadows danced closer to me, the only light being a small bulb overhead. And it was cold.

So very cold...

I whimpered, leaning on the glass. I saw Dylan, still in a mass in the other cell. Asleep. And then I heard footsteps. They got closer, and I banged on the glass. Two people came into view, stopped at my cell. My breath fogged the glass, as I waited. Waited for them to do something. Anything. Get me shoes. Food. Socks. Water. Let me free.

But then one of them sneered and tapped on the glass, mocking my horrified face. "Leave the prisoner alone until interrogation." the other person said. Both were male, only the one who tapped on the glass couldn't have been any older than me. They turned to go, and I finally found the words to speak. "Please! Can you please give me some socks?" I cried, my voice cracking. They stopped, and shared a glance.

One of them came back, opened the cell door, and leaned in. "Some socks?" he asked, his putrid breath getting all in my face. I was too stunned to nod. The guy grinned, and stood. Then yanked my up by the collar and threw me against the glass before punching me in the face. "One sock." he said, and then punched me again. "Two socks. Now, it's getting cold out, so you need to layer up. Three sock." he said, and punched me even harder than before. Or maybe he didn't, maybe it was the fact I was bleeding that it hurt more. He punched me one last time before dropping me to the floor. "Four socks. You happy? Don't ask for anything again." he spat at me, saliva dripping down my face. I didn't dare wipe it off until he left.

Blood coated my sleeves and my face was sore and I tasted the metallic tang of blood, and I had gotten it. The bandana on his hip, I had gotten it. I untwisted it, ripped it in half, and tied the pieces around my feet, careful so not to touch my skin.

I leaned on the glass, my heart thudding. I've never been punched before, and yet this feeling felt familiar. The one in my chest.

Anger?

Yes, I remember anger now. When Arctica had held scissors to Kitty's neck. When Arctica threw Mayson out a window telling him to fly. When Arctica yelled. But now, now I wanted to hold scissors to her neck. Throw her out a window. Yell.

And this feeling right now...it's almost as if...

I would enjoy it.

Which doesn't make sense to me. I always get sick at the sight of violence, and I've never been this angry. So why was I angry now? Maybe this wasn't anger. Maybe it was fear.

Fear that I would be hit again. And again. And stabbed. And spat on. And kicked. Fear, fear that I wouldn't be found. That they would come to help Dylan escape, look at me, and roll their eyes. That when that happened, Kitty wouldn't throw a glance my way. That Quill will ignore me. Fear that I would be here forever.

Alone.

Alone, and cold.

I shivered again, looking around the tiny concrete cell again. The light began to flicker, and adrenaline shot through my veins. I wish Kitty was here. She'll find a way to escape, to make everything seem fine. She always makes me happy, she can make everyone happy if she just tried. I wish she were here right now, so I have someone to hold onto when the light goes out. Because though she can see in the dark, I can't. Or maybe Quill. He's always so chill, maybe he can teach me how to be calm no matter the circumstance.

Blood dripped onto the floor. The only sound I heard was my breathing, and the drip of blood from my chin. Drip, drip, drip. Like the sand of the hourglass, timing until I go crazy. Timing until my end.

I closed my eyes as the light went out, and could feel my heart pounding. Pounding. Kitty would say something right about now, something like, "It's just the dark, Sketch. Magical things happen if you just look." and I would keep my eyes closed, and she would be hesitant but she would hug me and I would hug her and everything would be fine.

I could almost see this happen, but then I opened my eyes, dim light filtering in from Dylan's cell.

I was cold, colder than before, a whisper of a touch left around me. Like she had been here, but left before I knew. And I was alone.

Alone.