Your Fall

Doe eyes

They took you. It was daylight and they took you. Raven was in class. You were getting ready for work. They rushed in and they took you. Shouting untruths and shoving you out of your dwelling.

You have been sitting here for hours in an old t-shirt that shows a new rip from how forceful the guards were with you while they brought you here. You had managed to hide your journal in the pocket of your oversized sweatpants and whatever is left of the charcoal that was smashed in the pages as you were pushed down the hallway.

You don't have your sweatshirt. Raven was still cleaning it.

You have no way to tell her where you are or that you're okay. She is going to hate you.

You pull your legs to your chest, letting your eyes stay focused on the drawings laying on the pages before you on the floor. The room is cold. Quiet. Colorless. The light is an odd cloudy blue that seems to suck any life and warmth from the room. You let a hum form as you rock back and forth on the dirty dingy floor of the cell.

She's going to hate you. You don't deserve her help. You never did. But she kept trying. You rub your back against the cold metal wall, relishing in the familiarity of pain as your healing tattooed skin comes in contact with the harsh material.

Now she'll see how useless it all was. All the late-night thoughts and wordless conversations. All the blood and tear stained entries in the journal. All the hours mulling through everything in your apartment to find the last scrap of charcoal and the delicate snuggling under heavy covers looking at the old scrap sketches done with Cayen. You didn't deserve her. You still don't.

You throw your head back letting the vibrations settle while you continue to lean your recovering skin against the hard metal. The entire room starts to shake and a weak whimper escapes your lips. Your teeth scratch over your bottom lip.

"Hello, Y/n." You look up to see kind brown eyes, doe shaped. You sit frozen watching what you thought is your father until he takes a step back and sits on the floor beside you and your vision starts to focus. "I know it's time for bed, but the first night can sometimes be rough." His hair is brown, your father's had been gray for years. He didn't have the mouth creases at the corners of his mouth.

"Is it alright if I stay?" He leans closer, his head tilted. This guy has baby stubble under his chin and around the edges of his face, your father never grew out his beard to even stubble. He always said that any beard or stubble made him look ancient. A corner of your lip twitches up at the thought of your father.

You jump at a pounding in the wall from one of the cells beside you. He leans over towards you and puts his hand on your hand.

"Don't worry. That's just Octavia. She's a rough sleeper." Another pound is heard but it falls from your thoughts. Your dad's hands were always soft and smooth. He was so delicate with the flowers and plants. This guy's hands are rough and scratchy. They feel like sandpaper against your skin. You pull your hand away and wrap it once more around your bent knees. You wince as your sore skin on your back puts pressure once more on the wall behind you.

"Are you okay?" You don't make eye contact. There is nothing to be done anyways. You move your torso against the wall once more. The pain that you deserve takes over. You bite your lip to hold back a scream. He moves quickly towards you and wraps his arm around your shoulders. You stiffen in his touch but don't move. There is no point. You're stuck here.

"I I see you like tattoos." You don't respond. Only rest your head on the top of your knees and attempt to look through the solid metal door in front of you. It's dark out there. You can see out of the corner of your eyes the flicker of a putrid yellow from the window bars towards the top of the door.

"I have a few myself." You can hear him shift while he moves a piece of his stark dark gray uniform to show you the tattoos he is referring to, but make no movement to look. Why bother? What's the point? They think that you are the reason that your parents, best friend and his family are dead. What's the point? "I have been getting training, I could give you a couple of simple ones if you want?" No response. He'll give up eventually. Noone is as headstrong as Raven, and even Raven will know now what a waste of time you are.

His arm moves to get out from around your shoulders, gliding slightly against the fabric of your old T-shirt. You try to swallow a hiss of pain but fail. You're a failure. She won't miss you. You are nothing.

"S-sorry." He pulls his arm back quickly and backs up. You can see that his head is tilted. Calculating. "I have something that may help the pain, if you want." No movement. The door is the only thing that has captured your attention for more than a few seconds in this dreary box. You hear a familiar clatter. Your eyes shift to see his hand reaching out to you with two white oval pills resting in the creases in his palm.

No movement. You're frozen. Raven would say no, but she also knows now that she shouldn't care. She knows you're worthless. She wouldn't stop you now. Would she? You close your eyes, trying to think straight. All you see is the outline of the ovals. The echoed pounding of footsteps drums in your head. You open your eyes and grab the pills, throwing them back and dry swallowing before returning your stare to the door.

"I heard why you are in here." Your eyebrows raise waiting for a type of explanation. The quiet seems to prolong and solidify. His voice is toneless, and eyes give way to no emotion. You take in a breath and close your eyes, feeling the familiar numb coming over you. They may be the same shape as your fathers but this guy is far from him.

"They say you went awol and killed five people." You hear him but he is far away. His voice could be coming from outside on a space walk if you didn't know he was right there beside you on the ground.

"They say you killed your parents." You lean your head back. The dark washes over you.