Darkness Ethereal | K.TH

Come Outside

He still isn't awake when I return to the cell with my pockets full of Tylenol and a bunch of other medicine that I'd concluded to be linked somewhat to healing fever and its symptoms.

His forehead is still burning to the touch, and I quickly measure out some medicine for him to drink. A fever this hot could be dangerous— cause lasting damage to his brain. Or worse.

"Shh." I hush comfortingly when he starts shaking, covering the expanse of his body with the blanket. "It's going to be fine."

At this point, I don't even know who I'm talking to.

The cloth is wet and cool in my hand as I touch it to his sweaty forehead, and I'm glad that his temperature seemed to have lowered down after the medicine as well.

As time slowly passes, his trembling stills— his breathing stabilizes from a rush hiss to a quiet and even rise and fall of his chest.

While he'd been doing that, I'd been eating and drinking all the lunchboxes I could find. Passing out any further would be catastrophic— even more since I passed out for days at a time.

I'm still sitting by his bed chewing on my last breadstick when he shifts, making me look up in horror and surprise. I don't even have time to get to my feet before his bloodshot eyes turn to me, his hand heavy as he drags it over his face in exhaustion.

"What...."

He breathes roughly, eyes widening in surprise when his body doesn't move the way it's supposed to do. Considering the sky-high temperatures his fever had broken, the fatigue he's feeling must be overwhelming.

"Get out...."

"It's okay!" I exclaim as I get to my feet, careful not to startle him with any sudden movements. "It's fine, I won't touch you. I won't."

V groans, his voice deep and raspy in his throat as he grips the headboard of the bed to pull himself up into a sitting position. When his face contorts with strain and agony, I quickly wave my hands and yelp.

"Don't! You should be lying down!"

He simply ignores my warning as he fixes a challenging glare at me. All of a sudden, I hear him whisper a number under his breath.

"Eighteen."

Eighteen? Was that supposed to mean something?

Then realization dawns through my mind as I register the number as his answer from my earlier question. Eighteen. His current age, only the barest one year difference from my own.

Pleased from his reply, I give him the brightest smile I'm capable of at the moment. "I'm seventeen. Here, take this."

I hand him another small dose of medicine for the fever, and he takes the tiny cup with suspicion brewing in his dark eyes. Sarcasm drips from my voice as I roll my eyes playfully.

"Yes, I poisoned the medicine. Now drink it."

He purses his lips as he tips the contents into his lips, wincing at the bitter aftertaste. While he downs the entire cup, I can't help but revolve around the incredulous answer he'd given me.

Only eighteen years of age. It was too short of a time to have been through so much fire and pain, too young to be stuck in a godforsaken prison such as this.

He didn't deserve this, even if he did commit the worst crime in the history of mankind. And I could see it in his eyes that he wasn't a criminal at heart.

"How are you feeling? Did the medicine help?" I ask tentatively, wringing my hands together in worry. His eyes were still fever-bright, his cheeks flushed from the overwhelming heat.

He nods carefully as he draws the blanket around his icy figure, and immediately winces as he sees the familiar object I hold in my right hand.

"Come on, V. You can't boycott food. That's just not good for you." I whine as I set down the lunchbox in front of him. He watches me with attentiveness as I set out the meal for him, eyes alight with the hope that he wouldn't reject it.

"Did you eat?"

I smile as I nod, my lips automatically turning themselves upward at his caring words. No matter how much ice and venom coated it, the words itself warmed my heart more than he'd ever think it would.

When I gesture at the open box, he shakes his head.

"I already ate."

At his feeble excuse, I raise my brows at him in sarcasm. "And that was also more than hours ago. Did you know, V? People normally eat every few hours, so they can grow and be healthy. Don't you want to grow?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm 5'11. From what I can see, you're the one who has to eat. You're shorter than anyone I've ever met."

"You didn't have to say it like that," I pout, knowing fully well that I was short for my age. For some reason, my body had refused to grow after middle school. "It's just genetics, okay?"

Relief washes through me in waves as he gives in and begins to eat. As he does, I can feel his eyes search mine with an unexpected curiosity.

"Why aren't you afraid?"

"Why," I start, crossing my arms together as I take a seat on the cold ground. "Do I have to be afraid?"

He looks exasperated as he pushes his back against the wall. "Because I'm a murderer who's been here for eleven years. Because-"

Eleven years?

"Eleven years?" I nearly shriek at the ridiculous sentence. "They threw you in here when you were freaking seven years old?"

My excitement slowly dies down at his firm, flat stare, cold and narrowed with ice. "I mean, that's just messed up. But that doesn't mean I have to be afraid of you. You make a really good friend, actually."

He breathes out in frustration as he draws his tongue over his bottom lip. "That's why you're here? To make friends in prison?"

"No," My voice suddenly goes cold, which startles him. "I actually wasn't supposed to be here at all. My brother is. He's the one who did everything, but I'm the one who has to pay the price in the end."

When I see his face shadow, I quickly lift up my voice in forced brightness. "But it didn't turn out to be so bad after all, did it? If it wasn't for him, I would've never met you."

Not even a flicker of sympathy passes through the empty expanse of his eyes while I speak. Of course, my situation was nothing compared to what he'd gone through. Why should he sympathize for me?

Then I realize how pale his face has gotten in the cold, and how frozen his skin seems to be. Noticing that, a foreign idea pops into my head. It's a crazy idea, but it was possible.

And no matter how wrong it was, I believed it was a perfect idea at the moment.

"V," I call him, and his eyes are calculating as he meets mine back.

"Would you like to come outside?"