EVELYN (ON HOLD)

2 ~ Out of the Cell

"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death." --- Coco Chanel

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My eyes adjust to the sudden light the lantern has brought to the room. The bright, light-emitting object is placed on the floor, and the owner stands straight once again. I squint and focus on the newcomer, my heart thudding in my chest like it's never before.

I see polished, black leather shoes. Grey slacks and a navy blue jacket with hundreds of shimmery gold pins and buttons closed all the way down. His clothes are ironed and without a single crease. I see broad shoulders, a black metal wristwatch with silver clasps. He stands stiff and straight, no slouch, no comfort, yet his expression is relaxed. His hair is bronze and blonde at the same time and filled with soft curls, styled to perfection. His eyes the brightest shade of gold, unique. He looks young, maybe around my age. His skin is clear, unblemished, un-scarred, and supports a healthy golden glow. He's impeccable, he's flawless, he's exquisite, he's angelic.

He's absolutely beautiful. 

And my heart is doing things I've never felt before. It's because of his eyes.

He's looking down at me like he can't believe he's found me and he's relieved and he sighs. His bright golden eyes twinkle and he looks amazed and I ask myself how, how can one human be so impeccable and eye-catching?

I stand up.

I stand up to show him that I'm ready. I'm prepared to be used and disposed of. I want to be out of my mind. I want to be insane. I want something to think of other than whether I'm alive or not. I want to completely be out of my senses.

Maybe I already am.

But he doesn't seem like he's in a rush.

His eyes don't get off me and he's looking at me with an intensity I've never felt before. Like he knows me so, so well. Like he can't believe he's seeing me, this girl who hasn't been seen for years. It's the emotional kind of intensity and can't seem to match it.

So I look away.

But it's been so long since I saw a human being and I can't resist.

I look back.

And he's still staring at me.

Should I speak?

I think and I think and I think. It's been more than 3 minutes and I'm starting to think that I really have gone insane. That finally, my mind is making things up but it feels so real. So real and my eyes are starting to hurt and I don't know why.

And he steps closer.

I feel like I just woke up.

He's standing near me and I can see the way his eyes are slightly wider than normal from the light stretch on the corners and I'm wondering and wondering why, how I can notice these things.

And he sighs again and I inhale. His breath smells clean and sweet, but I don't know how to describe it because I've never really smelt many things in my life. Most of the scents here are foul and stale.

And then he smiles and my heart is in my throat and I feel like I'm getting strangled, like my heart wants to soar out of my throat and up to the sky and never come back.

It hurts and I try to swallow, but it hurts so much.

He's smiling like he's so happy and there're dimples in the sides of his mouth and I just want to poke them.

I wonder what another persons skin feels like.

I've only ever felt my own, and it's just as cold as this stone.

'Come on,' I hear, and my eyes widen.

The first proper words I've heard in years.

It feels so strange. So odd.

He sounds so relaxed, and his voice is a whisper. It's a whisper but I still seem to hear it over the screams and cries.

Somehow.

I think I've forgotten how to speak, so I just look around.

Maybe he'll understand that I don't know what he's talking about. That I require assistance.

I look at the shadow on the uneven stones from the lantern and at their shapes. I look over at my bed, at the sheets that're replaced weekly while I'm in the shower. I look at the large lid on the ground that we can lift to reveal a makeshift toilet that disappears into a thin, thin tunnel in the ground.

There's nowhere else to look. It's all stone, stone, stone.

He sighs again and I wonder why he's so relaxed. How is he not feeling a mixture of emotions.

He's seen people before, I think. He's someone important, I know.

'Um, huh,' those are the first words I speak in years. I don't know if they count as proper words. My voice is muddled and I cough a few times to clear my throat. His eyes shine brighter.

'Come on,' he says again, and this time he turns around and walks out the door. I follow, my heart beat irregular but not as bad as a few minutes ago. Now I'm nervous. I step into the hall and see it for the first time. It's long. So, so long.

There are doors upon doors upon doors similar to mine and I get a glimpse of one as the light of the lantern passes.

There's a thin, bony young guy looking at me.

With one eye.

There's blood and hundreds of scratches on his non-existent eye and it looks like he's responsible for them. By scratching and clawing.

I feel like I might vomit, and it's an unpleasant sensation. A stomach-churning feeling.

I avoid looking into any other cells and instead focus on the way he walks. He's right next to me, but not too close and I look down at his lower half and notice the stiff, uncomfortable way he walks. Like he's a robot and he's programmed. I look up at his face and it's a whole new story.

He seems ecstatic.

And its strange and confusing because I've only ever read about positive feelings and looks, but I never new that it would look so refreshing. I never new I'd like it so much.

We get to the end of the hall without saying anything else, just listening to the different cries from each individual cell as we pass them, and there comes a door.

Big, black, and what seems like matte. It has so, so many claw marks.

Maybe they purposely coated the door with matte, so they could see all the smudges and scratches.

We stop right in front of the door and my heart feels like jumping out again. I feel sick and I just want my heart to be normal again. To relax. I tell myself that I've been waiting for this my entire life and that dying was something that was bound to happen and so my heart relaxes a bit.

I take a deep, shaky breath that hurts and squeeze my eyes tight before opening them again.

He presses a card to a square panel on the side of the door and only then do I notice that he's wearing plastic gloves. The kind described in my book as surgical gloves. And this time my heart relaxes even more, because it knows that this was bound to happen. That since everyone else faced this, I'll have to face it too.

The experiment that they'll do on me, whatever it'll be, I'm ready for it.

And while the doors open on their own, I can feel him staring at me again.

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