Jesse had huddled himself into the furthest corner of the room under the barred window and behind the bunks he lay on earlier. He was curled up into himself, arms hugging his legs and his face turned into the wall as far as comfortably possible. In his head, he was curled up in a corner in the front room of his house. It would be dimly lit as twilight dawned and it would be quiet, and peacefully still. This was the fantasy he returned to daily; he longed to be in his house, safe and alone. Sometimes he would dream of a fluffy duvet to wrap around himself, but that was rare. He couldn't always remember the sensation and so it began to detract from the escape. The simpler he kept the dream, the easier it was to conjure up to envelope him. There were no idle thoughts swirling through him; he had long stopped idle fancies. He thought about only two things: being home in that room or ending his life.
His first attempt to end his suffering had been the most traumatic; it took the most thought, the most preparation and the greatest emotional journey from Jesse. He had bargained with himself day and night for a week before finally accepting what he thought was his fate. After nights of planning and preparation it all came crashing to an end when the rope snapped and he fell feet first to the concrete ground of his subterranean cage. He woke to Todd reviving him, which drove him to deep despair. Jesse knew that his failure in that first instance is what led to his miserable existence presently. He was watched and guarded day and night from that point but he didn't let that stop him. At one point, he dashed several chemicals into a beaker and tried to inhale it before Todd swatted it out of his hands and toppled him to the ground, forcing his respirator onto this head. When he sliced open his wrists it was the most painful and least effective choice. A scruffy surgeon sewed him together with the skill of a girl guide on badge day and his poorly healed wounds were aggravated and re-opened by the black cord Kenny had a penchant to use on his wrists. He still tried wearily, at least every couple days, to do something to end his dismal reality. Jesse didn't believe in the afterlife and he took solace in the promise of the void. The day would come for him to die and that gave him the smallest something to hold in his heart. Jesse's day dream was suddenly shattered by a familiar voice.
"Jesse?" Walt shifted to a sitting floor position on the opposite side of the room. After Jesse's return from the incident in the clubhouse room, Walt had stayed there and watched in shock as he steadied himself and crawled to the far corner. "Jesse," he said more firmly.
Jesse didn't want to speak, but he turned his head ever so slightly and gave a furtive glance to Walt from the corners of his eyes. A bedraggled Walt was leering in his direction with eyes fixed on him heavily and mouth slightly open. Jesse turned his head away and rubbed his eyes annoyed at the mere presence of the man.
"Jesse," Walt said again this time hastened. "Yeah?" Jesse returned loudly without looking in Walt's direction.
"What exactly…is going on here…exactly?" Walt enquired slowly.
"Uh, what d'ya mean?" Jesse returned, playing as dumb and distant as he could muster.
Walt balked, throwing his eyes in all directions. "What can I say to you right now?"
"Just don't say anything at all," Jesse quietly returned, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes.
After a time that felt like hours, the metal door opened partially and tray of fast food and water was kicked inside. Watching the door slam shut and hearing the click of the deadbolts, Walt cleared his throat and moved toward the food. He grabbed for fried chicken and water but Jesse didn't stir. After sating himself, he looked to Jesse quizzically. "You need to eat and drink. We'll have no hope of getting out of here if you're limp and dehydrated on me."
"Are you for real?" Jesse retorted, half laughing. "We're not 'getting out of here' okay – this is it. Get it?"
Walt exhaled violently. "You really are…" and he trailed off, realising for once that calling Jesse pathetic was not timely. He switched gears and said, "Here, Jesse look – there's a sink here above the commode. I'm going to wash this blood off of me…and then, why don't you freshen up, then maybe you'll be hungry." He wasn't being cheerful but rather pragmatic in the face of what he was now wilfully viewing as adversity. Even though Walt knew death was lurking nearby, he refused to wallow with this burden until the last moments presented themselves.
"I'm like, a slave…you realise that, right, Mr White? Freshening up isn't part of my life anymore." Jesse spoke falteringly and lightly.
Walt turned off the tap and braced the sink. He looked down and thought for a moment. "I know that, Jesse, I know that." He coughed roughly and then turned around looking at Jesse still huddled in the corner with his head pressed to the wall. "Can we not just reframe things, maybe? Or…" realising how foolish that sounded, he said, "Can I do something here to alleviate some of the problem…?"
Jesse looked right at Walt with squinting eyes and said, "Are you going to kill me?"
"No, that I won't do."
"Unless you're going to kill me, bitch, there ain't nothing to be done." Jesse said with some finality.
Annoyance rolled through Walt but a pang of relief also resounded. He managed to rile him up a bit. There was some life in him yet, Walt was sure of it.
Time rolled ever forward until it appeared to be the nearing the night again. There was consistently a hum of television noise from the clubhouse room and occasionally Walt overheard entire conversations. He managed to gather that his car was still parked where he left it and that Jack and his associates rarely left for long periods of time. He surmised that he needed to stage a ruse to get the cell door open once he was ready to act. When it was open, all he could do is run for his keys and he would likely be shot at some point before he could set off the M60. Maybe with Jesse's help he could get time to move his car into a better position. At the back of Walt's mind there was a thought about the eighty million that was hidden in the compound. He could placate himself by engineering a plan to extricate them from the cell but he knew the odds were that the ruse would get both he and Jesse killed. There were too many in Jack's gang and Jesse was weaker than Walt. Regardless, he knew he would make one last attempt to act instead of continuing to wait for death. And he thought of the irony now presenting itself: that Jesse had pleaded with him to take his life and he had refused to be so merciful, and now he was plotting both their fates to a tragic end.
Before Jesse's treachery against Walt, he could easily sway Jesse to do his bidding or at least aggravate him into some sort of action. He may still be able to aggravate him but Walt knew what Jesse had suffered these past twelve months had weakened him to a state beyond apathy that he couldn't fully comprehend. Although Walt had endured severe loneliness and the uncompromising presence of his mortality while he dwelled in his New Hampshire cabin, he had not been dragged through the depths of sorrow and agony as Jesse had.
Jesse slowly stood up from the corner and shuffled over to the commode. Walt stared at him as he did so but Jesse kept his eyes averted. He stood with his back to Walt and stood for some time in silence. Walt looked away but a familiar feeling of ire and the desire to goad entranced Walt. He had made peace with so much of his life between New Hampshire and being locked in this cell but being in this confined space with him brought out the worst in Walt.
"Is everything…okay over there?" Walt enquired with a tinge of sarcasm.
"Fuck off, please" Jesse whined. He started to pee with what looked like some effort, wincing with a slight moan.
Walt stared at the ceiling and encountered a momentary wave of guilt. It passed quickly and he returned his eyes to Jesse, who was steadying himself against the wall with one arm. In the next moment he lost hold of his pants and they tumbled to his ankles. He swore, hurrying to finish in order to pull them back up.
Walt shook his head idly before glancing back when the sight befell him. The scars were too many to count and so deep and horrid that Walt sucked a breath in and held it without realising. He was so unclean Walt could not begin to imagine all the indignities he had suffered. A fatherly impulse beat in his chest and he desired to wash him and put him in the bunk for the night. It was only a fleeting wish, however, as Walt wouldn't do it and Jesse would never let him. Jesse finished and picked up his paints swiftly never turning to face Walt. He then slid into the bottom bunk against the far wall and brought his knees to his chest.
Tears pricked at Walt's eyes unexpectedly as he watched Jesse shiver, curled up in the bunk. For once, thoughts of himself drifted out of his mind and he dwelled only on the other person inhabiting his space. He thought about the loneliness and despair he must have felt each and everyone one of those three hundred and sixty five nights dirty and alone. About how the only touch he felt would have been a hand to strike him or caress him against his will. And then he thought, I let this happen. It may not have been my hand to his body but I let this happen. And then Walt cried in earnest feeling the weight of his actions piled atop his chest and the brutality of their consequences manifested thickly in the very ether surrounding him. Audible sobs began to slip out and Jesse slowly turned onto his back to peer at Walt. He stared at him, perplexed.
"Why are you crying?" Jesse said harshly, not asking for an honest answer.
Walt's eyes rolled upward and he wiped away the wetness from under them. "I think I can get us out of here. I'm formulating a plan and I'll need you to, uh...I'll need you to help me execute it." Tears were still forming and he could barely get the words out.
Jesse stared back at him for a long time as he lay on his back. His arms awkwardly lay beside him and he looked uncomfortable. "We're not getting out...Walt."
Hearing Jesse say his name jarred him and the sight of him was strangling his intestines more and more as each minute passed. He was now profusely sweating and his heart beat accelerating at what felt like a life-ending pace. Contradictions swirling inside of him started to tear him apart. The ire and aggravation Jesse provoked in him, especially in this tiny room, were grinding against deep regret, and the heaviest, harrowing guilt and sorrow he'd ever experienced. He couldn't decide if he wanted to scream at Jesse or take him in his arms. Such was Walt's nature that his mind worked swiftly to dilute or deny any truths that could cause him this level of pain and so Walt chose to raise his voice.
"Jesse for God's sakes will you just snap out of it? Swear at me, lay into me – just do something other than lay there and say there is no hope for us." The loud words fell out of Walt's mouth and his mouth stayed open after he finished.
Jesse slowly slipped himself out of the bunk and sat on the floor a metre in front of Walt.
"I can't want to leave here. Why can't you see that? There is no life that I want to live. Everything about me, everything I was is gone and ruined. You took everything from me…every single thing…but that wasn't enough. You let these people take me and keep me, and now things I didn't know I had to give are gone, forever."
