Finish the story.
Remember where you left off.
Continue.
Keep weaving words.
Twisting secrets.
Exposing lies.
Telling a lot of them yourself.
Let your voice paint the pictures.
Let your emotion come through.
Make him feel the sadness, the anger, the absolute hopeless of the situation.
They were stuck in this way.
The utter monotony of this place and the situation.
He would tell stories to pass the time. They were stories about happier times and they just made him feel worse.
But he didn't let the other see.
He was strong in the face of the boy. If the boy knew just how hard he was pretending, he might try to help.
But knowing him, probably not.
If he listened in the dark, he could hear him.
Whimper.
Beg.
Lie.
It's over now. Try and get some sleep.
And then he would turn and see him pretending to lie there, with no idea of what had been said.
And that was usually good enough to let the boy think he had confessed to the darkness around them.
But didn't the boy know that he was the darkness?
Stories always end.
Maybe not the way they were expected, but always finish in one way or another.
Anything can end.
It just takes time and patience.
Something neither of them had very much of. They didn't have much of anything.
But they shared one thing.
They were both completely empty.
And no matter how much they tried to fill the void with violence or drugs or stealing or sex, they both know it will never work.
He mentioned he wanted to leave.
The other told him he couldn't.
That was the end of that.
"This is one twisted relationship we're in."
"Yes, it is."
"Why do you stay?"
A shrug. "Where would I go if I left?"
"You would go nowhere and I would be here; waiting for you to come back."
"You love me, right?"
Please say yes.
Silence.
Please.
"I can't. I-I'm sorry. "
Liar.
I hate you.
I love you.
Please don't leave.
Please don't.
Don't.
We were nothing to begin with but together we're something and I can't let that go and I need you to stay and GOD FUCKING DAMMIT I hate myself but I love you.
Fuck.
"Does it always hurt this much?"
"What?"
"This." Whatever it is.
"No. It hurts more. "
"How much worse does it get?"
"It could kill you."
That's okay.
What is life without a little death?
What is love without a little fear?
What are you without each other?
You both dread the day you have to find out.