Don't Go

Faélin

Connor pulls his hand away from mine and stands up. I watch as he starts to pace.

“Everything okay?” I ask, unsure of why he had gotten up so abruptly.

“We need to find a way out of here. I was thinking about what they've done to us so far, and we can't go on like this. We're starving, we're hurt, and it's always so dark. Sunlight is important.” Connor stops pacing momentarily and glances around the room. We had since been moved to a new one, though it wasn't much different from the previous.

There was one candle and a small pool of water inside a stone barrier of sorts. This room in particular stunk of rotting flesh and dried blood, though there was no evidence of any violence or gore. I was desperate to drink something, and was half tempted to take water from the pool. Connor had realized it wouldn't be a smart idea. There was no saying what could be in the water, or if it even was water. If only there was a way for us to find out; we would be able to clean ourselves, and quench our thirsts. I yawn widely and lean back against the wall, looking away from Connor’s ceaseless moving. Something about this room didn't seem right. It was as if I could hear the creatures moving behind the wall. At any moment, they could come in and just end it all.

I've been trying to recall what they look like. They're faceless, I know that. They're strong, and they don't care what happens to us, as long as we die. I guess it could be worse, right? I feel like there should be something more to it. But there just isn't.

I feel him sit down beside me and glance over. “No more pacing, please. It makes me nervous.”

Connor shakes his head. “I know you're upset about it, but sometimes it's easier for me to think when I'm moving.”

I sigh and look down at my hands. Scrapes litter the backs of them, and there's dirt stuck under all my nails. In any other scenario, I would make it my first priority to clean my nails. The dirt that gets under them always bothers me. I can feel Connor watching me again. He's been doing that a lot more, but it hasn't really bothered me. Not as much as it normally would. There really isn't much else to do in here, so I can't blame him.

Discreetly, I glance over at his face. He's in better shape than I am. His face has taken minimal damage, though his hands are hardly better than mine. I shift how I'm sitting, just by bit, and lay my head on his shoulder to do some thinking of my own. It seemed like the creatures were coming back and moving us more often than they were at the beginning. I don't really mind it; a minor change of scenery is the only thing I seem to get now. It's taking its toll though. The faceless things aren't careful with me. I'm tired so often, I'm weak, and I'm beyond famished. I think Connor has started noticing. Maybe he's the same way. The cut on my face is infected- or at least, it feels like it is.

Everything hurts.

I wish we could go back home. Back to New York, where it was loud all the time. Where it was light, and there was sun. Central Park. Trees and birds and color. All these things are just gone. It's starting to feel like I'll never have any of it back. I probably won't. I hope Connor gets to see it again. I'd rather him see it than me. I feel his lips against my forehead, but by then my eyes are already closed and I drift off to sleep.