Darkness Ethereal | K.TH

Not A Child

"What?"

My face is calm as I look into his shocked expression. I'd completely meant what I'd said- had completely thought over the idea as well.

"I meant it. Do you want to come outside? You know, to wash and like freshen up."

He gives me a dark look as he whispers heavily. "I can do anything to you once I'm out of this prison. Why are you so stupid? Are you accustomed to be letting out prisoners?"

"No..." My voice fades off into the distance as it revives itself. "But I know you won't hurt me. Come on- nobody's around, anyways. They're all at the mess hall."

His blank eyes meet the ground as I unlock the door, safely moving out of his range as he carefully steps out onto the long hallway. If I went too close by accident, he'd start to panic and retreat back inside the layers and layers of barriers he'd built around his heart.

That was the last thing I wanted in this situation.

He looks at the blank walls with a fascination that I possibly couldn't even dream to imagine. Having been stuck in that cell for eleven years and having never seen the world outside must have been painstakingly agonizing.

V becomes so distracted to the point where I almost grab his elbow to prevent him from slamming face first into the door, but I retract my hand just in time and yell instead.

"Hey!"

All he does is mutter a bit, step away and continue to stare blankly at his surroundings. Worried that he might come close to hitting himself again, I threaten him.

"I know that this is all really amazing for you, but I will touch you if you keep running into things."

He flinches away from me the moment I say the t-word, his eyes wild with anger and fear as he pulls down his sleeves all the way to the tips of his long, slender fingers.

"I said will," I smile, watching his incredulity increase at my nerve to joke around with him. "Will, which means future tense."

"I know that," He shoots back at me as his eyes focus straight ahead. "I'm not a child."

As I reach the washing room, a sudden thought comes through me like a spark of unexpected lightning.

Uh oh.

"Uh, for starters," I mutter, eyes flickering to his confused ones in obvious worry.

"Do you know what to do once you're in there?"

At my nervous expression, he scoffs as if I shouldn't be worrying about this topic at all. His slanted eyes slant even further in beautiful sarcasm as he shrugs his shoulders.

"Like I said, I'm not a child who has to be walked his every step." He says, voice deep and musical as he disappears behind the door.

Only when he's out of my sight can I find myself to breathe regularly. His scent was amazing— it was so intense, yet filled with so much fragrance that it made my head spin.

It made me wonder how in the world he managed to smell that nice having been stuck eleven years in prison.

Deciding that he would need fresh clothes when he got out of the shower, I decide that my only option was the jailer's personal closet. Maybe I'd find something that'd fit a broad, tall male that probably towered over the jailer by a good five inches.

On the side note, that probably wasn't going to happen.

I hear the water begin to run behind the walls as I walk into the closet. The rhythm of it hitting the tiles is soft and constant, and I let it drown my worries as I look over the nearly empty space.

He'd nearly taken all of his clothes except for a dark, oversized sweatshirt and a pair of black jeans that may or may not be too tight on V.

It was most likely he'd probably bought them on a shopping impulse and had found it to be completely out of size.

But, I think. It might fit V.

Folding the clothing into a neat stack, I place it carefully just outside the washroom door. Silence fills the air instead of the sound of running water, and I can only hope that there was a towel in there that he could use.

Then a distant sound of a bell rings throughout the empty hallways of the prison, telling me that a visitor was here.

Who could it be?

It was nearly midnight— and there was no way that a regular person would attempt to visit a prison during the dark of night. Unless they were insane, there couldn't be—

Could it be the jailer?

Terror suddenly shoots up my spine as I hurry to answer the front desk. If it really was the jailer— what would I do? What would V do?

But I find the person not to be the short, plump jailer at all.

My brother.

Disgust instantly curls my lips as I see him standing there, his own mouth twisting into an amused grin as he notices my petite figure.

"What are you doing here." I hiss, revolt and hate clear on my face as he looks ready to explode into laughter at my state.

His stupid smirk deepens.

"Come on, baby sister. That's no way to treat your darling older brother, is it?"

Is he insane?

Judging by the scarlet flush in his cheeks and his slurred words, it was obvious to assume that he was drunk. I could smell the acrid tang of the alcohol all the way to here, and I wasn't even that close to him.

"Leave. I don't want to see you, Hanzi. Go burn more things and drink more alcohol, I don't care. Just go."

Rage creates darker splotches in his neck as he advances towards me. Seeing my head tipped forward defiantly only makes his anger worse.

"Don't act brave, Tzuyu. I know you."

My wall crumbles as I bare my teeth in fury. "Don't call me that. That's not my name anymore."

"Do you think I give a damn about your name?"

Panic flashes through me in bright red lights as he grips my wrist, his skin hot with the alcohol pumping through his blood.

Now that he's only inches from me, I can smell his reeking stench as clear as V's intoxicating one.

Except they were worlds different.

"Stop touching me," I hiss as I push back, eyes wide with annoyance. "Why can't you just leave me be?"

A blur.

An explosion of pain.

A stifled scream bursts from my strangled lips as I land heavily against the stone-cold floor, gasping profusely for breath.

He did not just—

Agony drowns my thoughts in a whirlwind of chaos, and I lay there in shock as he lowers himself down to my eye level.

I want to punch him.

I want to punch him so bad I would give anything just for the sparks in my head to go away, to disappear.

"You can't just expect me to not do anything when you disrespect me like that," My brother slurs, eyes disoriented as he pokes my forehead.

I scream as loud as I can.

My brother flinches before clapping my mouth shut, so much raw force behind his strike that I can taste blood on my tongue.

"Stay quiet, baby sister."

But the next scream of pure agony comes from him, not me.