Hey everyone!
I'm so sorry for the late update, there's been quite a lot going on with me lately so I haven't had time to upload any more. But thank goodness for stockpiling!
Also, if you're a huge fan of the love square that is MLB, read 20 questions by DearestMrIcarus. It's an amazing story and you'll all love it.
So, here we are, another chapter. Let me know if you enjoy!
I gasp and wipe at my eyes.
"I- I'm s-sorry," I say, my voice still shaking from crying, "I- I'll be quiet. Please don't kill me."
He says nothing, does nothing. Doesn't even move. I'm beginning to wonder whether he even heard me, or whether I even spoke, when he jumps to his feet and hurries back over to the other corner of the room where he resumes his earlier position. I steal a look at him whilst he can't see me.
I don't know what it is, but something inside of me snaps. Whether or not I'm broken, or I've just been fixed and the cogs in my head have been set back into place, I do not know.
That's enough.
If they're going to put me in a cell with another person, then I'm going to make the most of it. This boy, murderer, whoever he is, I don't know him at all, and so I need to find out more about him before I judge who he is. Internally, I reprimand myself for being like everyone else. All those people who called me a freak, a mutant, a psychopath who should be locked away for the good of everyone else, they never made the choice to get to know me. So, if I can save someone else from suffering the same fate as me, I'll certainly try.
Because I remember that I have a voice.
And I'll use it until my last breath to help.
I get up and steady myself, before walking over to where Blond Boy is huddled, and I kneel down in front of him, just as he did to me. I stick out my hand, hoping to come across as friendly and as human as possible.
"Hi, I'm Marinette, what's your name?" I ask as sweetly as I can, to try and mask the terror in my voice that's seemed to set up a permanent home in my brain these days.
He freezes. Looks up.
Wow... Blond Boy has startlingly green eyes. But they're too familiar to me. When I realise where I know them from, it destroys me inside. This is the look of fear and terror, of loneliness. My eyes. Or at least, every emotion I've felt these past few years built up inside two emerald green eyes. He still doesn't say anything, but he takes one look at my outstretched hand and panics, backing into the corner of the room. Strangely, the wall around him seems to blacken and crumble, the iron near him starts to collapse. Once more, he meets my eyes, and this time I see pleading. Begging me to sit down, imploring me to stay away.
Maybe Blond Boy doesn't speak. Maybe he does, and just doesn't want to be my friend. Maybe he's just already decided that he hates me. It wouldn't make him different from anyone else, so I accept it. All I know is if I want him to be friends with me, or at least civil to me, I have to just keep myself to myself. I withdraw my hand and return to what we have seemed to silently established is my corner of the room. Lord knows what we'll do when it comes to deciding on the mattress.
Silence is just beginning to seep back into the room again when we both hear the rattle of a doorknob. I spring to my feet eagerly, but when I glance over at Blond Boy, he seems to shrink further back into his corner. I've hardly time to contemplate it before the door is flung wide open once more and Gabriel walks in, accompanied by a new guard I haven't seen before.
She's wearing black jeans, a simple black t-shirt and has long brown hair with two shorter strands at the front. She stands next to Gabriel, arms folded, and smiles at Blond Boy. But I see something is off. Her smile is too big, too perfect, too fake. I instantly wonder what is going on. She uses her index finger to gesture for my cellmate to come to her.
"Come on Adrien, let's go," she says, winking at him.
I may not have been around real people for the last few years, but I'm surprisingly good at working people out. And I can see how much Blond Boy doesn't want to leave. It's like he knows too much, way too much. Gabriel steps forwards.
"Come with Lila please, you know the procedure," he says, a warning tone in his voice.
To my surprise, he stands up and follows her out the door, without a look back. When the doors are closed once more, I get up and walk around the room. Is that the last time I'll see Blond Boy? Did they call him Adrien? Was that his name?
Now that it's just me, I can properly look around these four walls of corrosion and soot. I reach out and touch the wall with my fingertips. Some of it peels off under my light touch and falls to the floor. But how, why, is it this way, I ask myself. Frustrated with my lack of knowledge about this room, I ignore my thoughts and sigh. When I look up, I smile. I smile because although I have left the familiarity of my old cell and have been thrown into this new, unwelcoming one, there is still one thing that's the same.
A window. A small single pane of glass that I can press my outstretched hand against. Just like before. I run up to it and press myself against the wall, trying to see as far as I can out of it.
The view takes my breath away. Clearly this new place is in a more beautiful part of Paris that I've never seen before. We are surrounded by luscious green trees and baskets full of flowers, each one a different vibrant colour. Ahead of me, I see a brilliantly crystal blue river, winking as the rays of the sun bounce over it's surface. It's sparkling, brimming with life, and it's utterly picturesque.
I stare at the outside world until I can stand no more, so I walk over to the burnt mattress and gently sit down on it. Running my fingers gently along its surface, I can't bear the thought of me or Blond Boy lying on this every night for the rest of our lives. So, I stand up and flip the mattress using all my strength, hoping the fire has only burnt the one side of it.
But I'm wrong.
Now, I'm surer than ever that whatever happened to this place was no accident, that this supposed fire was not one of flames.
The other side of the mattress is equally as dilapidated as its reverse side. I groan in exasperation. At this point, the floor looks like a better option, at least it has less soot and more rubble. I stare at the mattress for what seems like hours, trying to figure out how to make the situation better.
I have a crazy idea. Really crazy.
But it just might work.
I've never tried this before. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'll try to do the only thing that I know how to do. Magic.
Kneeling at the front of the mattress, I spread my palms on the rough material and concentrate. I stay completely still and focus. I don't know what I'm focusing on, but I keep my eyes closed. Maybe if I move my fingers and... no.
Levels of frustration slowly increasing, I stand up and try again, repeating everything I was doing.
Nothing works.
This is ridiculous. I've no idea why they insist on locking me up, first alone, then with a murderer, and now all alone again, because they think I have a magic that I can't even get to work. Any hope I had left before is now gone. So, I curl up on the mattress and hug my knees. Eventually, sleep grips me and invades my mind, taking control of my body.
I'm not sure how soon after it is when I'm woken up.
Still hazy from sleep, I sit up and glance around my cell to try and find whatever it is that's causing the noise. I have no idea how oblivious I am when the door slams loudly, making me jump and blink several times, all traces of sleep gone from my mind. Blond Boy is back, to my surprise, sprawled on the floor and trying to stagger to his feet. I sit cross-legged on the mattress and watch him. Truthfully, I admit that it isn't the most helpful thing to do, but I didn't think that anything was immediately wrong.
Until he turns around to look at me.
I jump up from my place. It's like all of a sudden where I'm sitting is teeming with red hot electricity, my legs full of energy, the urge to get up and help.
Every part of him is covered with gashes and bruises.