Lights (Scomiche)

Waiting

Waiting. 

Always waiting. 

There was nothing else to do but wait. He was so tired of just waiting. He felt as if his insides had turned to lead when that psychopath had shot those people. He’d made a choice and it had cost those strangers, those human beings their lives. He knew deep down that they had been destined for death anyway, look at Jeremy… he’d been spared a bullet by his choice, but only to go through a much slower and agonizing death.

He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t his fault. Olivier would have manipulated the lineup order no matter the number he chose just to play these mind games.  He repeatedly assured himself that it wasn’t his fault. 

Now all he could do was pace back and forth while they waited for news. 

He could hear Kirstie still crying and yelling in another room, could hear Kevin trying to keep Scott from having another panic attack on the other side of the house.

Back and forth… back and forth.

He listened to the beeps and the static, the muffled words and the clicking of fingers on keyboards as the uniforms did their thing.  He listened for any indication that their friends were… found… safe… After everything that had happened, he still somehow found a way to hope and he held onto it with every bit of strength he had, even if it wasn't very much.

___

You know how on tv shows and movies when you hear about people getting stabbed and they just kind of go numb and push through it? Well they’re fu¢king liars. Every breath felt like he was being stabbed all over again.

He’d been ripped down from the hook he'd been attached to (trying his best to avoid looking at the carnage around him) and walked/dragged back from one building to the other and tossed back into ‘his’ room once again, hands still bound together.  He hoped his friends got his message. He hoped he hadn’t screwed up the letters he’d seen on a rusty sign as he was pushed between buildings. His knowledge of sign language was limited to start with and his brain was definitely not at its best, but there was no use wasting energy worrying about it now. It was already over, he’d done all he could.

After a couple of moments to gather strength he tried to sit up from his landing place on the floor, but pain shot through him like an electric current. He knew he had to get pressure on this or he was a goner, but even crawling felt like he was about to spill his insides all over the floor. 

He tried to grab at the sheets to pull them off of the bed, or even the dirty old blanket, but blood loss and severe malnutrition finally caught up to him and his vision swam as he tried to get the room to stop spinning. He ended up laid out on his back, covered in his own blood.

____

The minutes ticked by, yet nothing changed. He just couldn’t seem to get Scott to calm down.  He would get him under control, calm him until his breath began to slow to a normal pace again, but minutes later he’d be right back in the same panicked state.

He was worrying himself into a black pit of despair and nothing he said or did could help him.

“We’re going to know .... and they’re gonna tell me he’s dead." His fingers pulled at his blonde hair. "Kevin, he’s dead and I’m never …”  and there it went. His breath began to hitch as he worked himself up again, tears like waterfalls falling down his cheeks and onto the carpet. 

“They’re going to find him and they’re going to bring him back to us, ok? You have to have faith.” He tried to soothe him, searching his brain for anything from his premed days to aid him.