Of Monsters And Men | Discontinued |

Episode Ten - Yellow Tiles

Her breath stops.

Her body, not It, makes her pause when she enters an alleyway that's oddly familiar-- she was thrashing, screaming for help beneath a gloved hand. Goosebumps raise on her arms, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She eyes the ground, hesitating when she sees a phone, half hidden beneath a garbage bin, covered by a neon green case. The curling in her gut tightens. She approaches it, heart thudding painfully in her chest. She turns it on, heart further twisting when she sees a picture of a cat that seems too familiar to her for it to not be her phone. Her thumb swipes the pattern- a sort of y shape- without any pause, without any control from her part. She scowls. It opens to the home screen. She opens the apps, only to see three. The gallery, something for texts and calls, and the camera. There aren't any games, nothing that personalizes her phone at all.

She opens the gallery, only for it to be filled with pictures of people she recognizes, yet can't even try to name. Some of them have wide eyes filled with fright, others have black eyes and bloodied noses. Discomfort shudders up her spine. The rest are pictures of blurry figures and the city itself. She scrolls through the contacts next, wondering who 'Emma' is, who everyone is. She has over a hundred notifications, yet doesn't dare to open them. She isn't sure if she's still the same her anymore.

She squats, balancing on her toes, scrolling through messages of gossip between who has to be her and a group of three other people. The Thing tugs her up, not unkindly, and leads her to a dark apartment building. She climbs the stairs, feeling like a puppet as she nears one, the small front porch littered with potted plants. She stares at them for a few moment, before picking up a waterer that feels odd and light in her hand, tilting the nose until water floods into the fern. She drops the watering tin back on the small table. She reaches beneath the pot with the lilac, grasping a key she doesn't even know was there, yet her body does. It's uncomfortable- to not know anything, yet she somehow does.

She unlocks the door, hesitantly entering. The apartment smells like dust, fake vanilla, and herself. She shuts the door, flicking the light on, gripping the phone tightly. The Thing gently nudges her forward, breaking her from her stillness. This doesn't feel like her home. There are too many windows that only serve her a reminder of the glass cage she was forced into. She grimaces at the thought, venturing further. The walls are covered in random pictures and cheap art, covering the cheap paint that's already peeling at the edges. The couch is a bright white that only makes her shy away from it, not even wanting to touch it. Everything seems so... not her. So wrong. She doesn't even feel like she's ever lived here. The kitchen is empty, cabinets filled with absolutely nothing, a crappy plastic shelf only holding a couple of ramen packets. Her lip curls.

Her bedroom is much the same. Decorated with art that she doesn't find pretty, not anymore, at least, and a small bed that she doesn't even want to touch. She plugs the phone into the charger, staring at it as she sags onto the bed. She's restless, wanting to move, to hide, yet knowing that it's safe for the time being in her apartment. No- this isn't hers. Not anymore. It's wrong to even be sitting here, with something that isn't her in her veins and her mind so different than what it was.

She still doesn't even know her name. The conversations she reads through are boring, meaningless gossip about people she doesn't remember. They don't even mention her own name, which she can't help but feel frustrated by. They hardly even talked to her. She doesn't remember them, or know them anymore, but it still irritates her. Did she really let people run her over like this? Who would she allow that? She just got away from being treated like a guinea pig, being stared at as the Thing melted through her skin and melded to her bones. She doesn't have any of her memories- no, they took those away.

The phone chimes, before falling into ringing. She looks at it, before hesitantly lifting it up. The contact name says nothing but 'Wisp"', only leaving more questions than answers. Hesitantly, she lifts her finger above the button before pressing it and lifting it to her ear.

"Hey, Evren, been a while. When are you going to come get the shipment? The Boss'll be pissed if you miss another one. Midwest and Egge street." The man adds, ending the call with a simple beep. She blinks, pieces slowly shifting into place. Her name is Evren. The man was referencing her. She, Evren, isn't just a nameless puppet, she's Evren. She has a name. She's a person who has an identity in this city. She-Evren- slumps against the bed, staring at her ceiling, a rueful smile tilting the corners of her mouth.

The Thing inside of her shifts. Evren splays her hands across her stomach, legs hanging from the bed, hair splayed across the sheets haphazardly. She lays still for what feels like hours, sweat sticking to her skin, grin tugging at her lips until her cheeks are sore. Her name is Evren. She has a name. She's a person with a life before all of this. There's evidence of it- even if it's just her name.

"Shower." Evren mutters, blinking slowly, pushing herself up. Her feet take her to the dresser. She rummages through the clothes, lips curling. She's apparently a fan of dressing bright. She settles on a navy blue shirt and olive green pants, draping them over her arm as she makes her way into the bathroom. The tiles are cold and bright, ugly yellow. Evren scowls. Her body moves on its own, muscle memory blissfully taking over. The apartment doesn't feel like her, not anymore, not without so many of her memories. Her hands find the closet beside the shower, gripping onto the knob and tugging. It shrieks as it opens, revealing towels. Evren found them- without a pause, without having to look in any other cabinet. Her body didn't hesitate to wrench the door open.

She turns the shower knob all the way to the hot side. She had done the same thing so many times before she was taken. The apartments water heater doesn't work well, hardly at all. The water runs cold within just ten minutes, leaving her shivering as water runs down her skin. Now, Evren stays for nearly an hour, scrubbing dirt and skin from her skin and beneath her nails, grimacing each time she dares drag the loofa across her skin far too hard. The Thing is roiling beneath her skin, and she watches in odd fascination, green rising among her skin like veins, pulsing quietly, before it fades back into her.

The clothes feel weird on her. The blouse is loose yet tight, and smooth, unlike the crappy t-shirt that Evren's been wearing for at least three days, if not longer than a week. The jeans are nice, snug and oddly warm. The Thing still purrs between her ears, washing through her muscles and veins. Her bra is too tight around her ribcage, leaving her wondering if she was just too broke to afford a new one. There's so many small things that alarm her- how little food she has, how everything is old or already worn away, how she has so many blankets, yet no heater. She only used this apartment to sleep or eat in. The thermostat is long broken; it was when she moved in.

She presses her forehead against the bright turquoise tiles, letting the hot water scald her back.

Evren can't remember anything.

But she has a name.