One.
I couldn't take it any longer. I remember thinking that I'd never be able to be in the same room with him any more. I remember thinking, I remember so clearly, the words, "Kill him." Over, and over, and over, the words kept repeating in my mind.
"Kill him." Should I do it? Should I take this chance? "Kill him."
But I never got around to it. "Kill him."
The door opened, and the light was clicked on. Light. I never got why people always had to turn on lights. Cannot they just walk through the dark, carefully? "Hey, hun? How come you're in the bathroom? With the lights out?"
"I was dizzy." A lie. I always had to lie, or else they would find out, wouldn't they? "I came in here 'cause it was dark, and cool." Just add to it, why don't you? I have to, of course. "Migraine."
"Are you okay now?" Oh, good. He turned off the light. A smile, I could feel a real smile, crept over my lips. A real smile. "Do you need something?" He moved over to me, and sat down, an arm slipping around me. Cold hands. He had cold hands . . . he always had cold hands.
"I'm fine." More lies. "I just need to sit here in the dark for a little while. 'Til I stop feeling like I'm going to throw up." Hojo. That was his name. A scientist, a man to be respected, and yet a man who deserved no respect. And yet, I look up to this man, this disgusting creature, this thing that is helping destroy my body for the city. I couldn't look at him, not now, not ever.
"Alright, hun. Just, don't throw up, okay?" He looked down at me. My god, he's rubbing my shoulder with that ice cold hand. "You need to keep everything in your system."
Does he care for me? Or is it for the experiments? "I won't throw up. . ." Keep on acting, I had to. I had to pretend as if I wanted to be there, with his arm around my body, on that cold bathroom floor. I had to keep playing. So I laid my head down, right in his lap. That cold hand . . . it trailed up from my elbow to my shoulder, and I could feel god-awful goose bumps rise. So icy.
"Good." I had to look up, to look at that placid face. He was smiling. . . Why would he smile at me? "I wouldn't want you to get sick. . . Are you sure you don't want anything?"
Get away from him. Now that was running through my mind, over and over. Run. Get away. "I feel like going to sleep. . ." Why did I just say that?
"Sleep?" Oh, and there's that soft laugh, that cold, practiced chuckle. I hate that laugh. "Come on then, I'll get you to bed." He sat me up. Both of his hands were cold, on my arms, as he pulled me up while he stood. I had to act like I had a bad migraine, lean on him and sway some. How else would I keep him from doing anything to me?
"Thank you." I had to mutter a thanks, or he might keep talking. I didn't want to hear his voice, his smooth, attractive voice. . .
"You're welcome." His neck was even cold. So bitterly cold. As if, as if his whole body was frozen, a wintry beast. I had to squint my eyes, to act as if that fluorescent light hurt my eyes, made me ill. As a matter of fact, it does. I don't like light, too much. I could live without it. . .
"Ho. . ." Fuck. Did I just call him a ho? "I mean. . . Professor Hojo?" Now he'll think something, something I don't want him to think. That icy creature has a way of doing that, of twisting those words, then running those cold hands down your body.
I hate it, how he's able to manipulate you, to get what he wants, to make you do what he wants. I hate it. "Kill him." Came back. My eyes turned away, for I could not look at his pretty face any longer. That dark hair, those honey brown eyes. . . "Yes, hun?" Hun. He always calls me that. So maybe, maybe it isn't just for the experiment.
"I. . ." I don't know. I don't know why I said your name. I think, I think that I said your name, because I like the way it sounds. I like referring to you as Hojo, and as nothing else. "I don't want to be alone. I'm afraid. . ." Afraid. So many odd things come from me, when I do not think. Is everyone like that?
"What are you afraid of?" His voice. What did he just do to it? It was deeper, more smooth . . . it was, sexier. And then, there we were, at a bed. But why weren't we in one of the cell things? Was it a room, a real bedroom? We did go up some of those escalators. Oh, god! One of those cold hands, oh god. He put it under my shirt, onto my back. I had to shiver. "No one is going to hurt you."
Lie. Make something up! But, I just stared at him. That cold hand, it made me gasp, and I saw something. I saw something in those eyes of his, those pretty golden brown eyes, that told me that he enjoyed that gasp. "Nothing?"
"I . . . don't know. I'm just, scared, I guess." Nothing. I'm not afraid of anything, nothing. Only you. Only this thing I feel, this odd thing I shouldn't feel.
"Then lay down." There was that voice again. And then those cold hands pushed me down, to gently lay me on that bed. Why was he doing this, with so much care? He ignored the rest of the subjects, all but me. Why?
Does he care about me?
Just ask. There you go, open your mouth and say something. "Hey, Cloud. . ." He cut me off. And he used my first name. A chilly finger placed itself on my lips . . . I guess he saw me open my mouth to say something. But what was he silencing me for? Oh. . .
That was why.
A kiss. OH FUCK! A kiss! Now, I really am dizzy. But, his tongue . . . it's not cold. I thought it would be. But, push him off. I have to push him off. But I can't. . .
I couldn't take it any longer. I remember thinking that I'd never be able to be in the same room with him any more. I remember thinking, I remember so clearly, the words, "Kill him." Over, and over, and over, the words kept repeating in my mind.
"Kill him." Should I do it? Should I take this chance? "Kill him."
But I never got around to it. "Kill him."
The door opened, and the light was clicked on. Light. I never got why people always had to turn on lights. Cannot they just walk through the dark, carefully? "Hey, hun? How come you're in the bathroom? With the lights out?"
"I was dizzy." A lie. I always had to lie, or else they would find out, wouldn't they? "I came in here 'cause it was dark, and cool." Just add to it, why don't you? I have to, of course. "Migraine."
"Are you okay now?" Oh, good. He turned off the light. A smile, I could feel a real smile, crept over my lips. A real smile. "Do you need something?" He moved over to me, and sat down, an arm slipping around me. Cold hands. He had cold hands . . . he always had cold hands.
"I'm fine." More lies. "I just need to sit here in the dark for a little while. 'Til I stop feeling like I'm going to throw up." Hojo. That was his name. A scientist, a man to be respected, and yet a man who deserved no respect. And yet, I look up to this man, this disgusting creature, this thing that is helping destroy my body for the city. I couldn't look at him, not now, not ever.
"Alright, hun. Just, don't throw up, okay?" He looked down at me. My god, he's rubbing my shoulder with that ice cold hand. "You need to keep everything in your system."
Does he care for me? Or is it for the experiments? "I won't throw up. . ." Keep on acting, I had to. I had to pretend as if I wanted to be there, with his arm around my body, on that cold bathroom floor. I had to keep playing. So I laid my head down, right in his lap. That cold hand . . . it trailed up from my elbow to my shoulder, and I could feel god-awful goose bumps rise. So icy.
"Good." I had to look up, to look at that placid face. He was smiling. . . Why would he smile at me? "I wouldn't want you to get sick. . . Are you sure you don't want anything?"
Get away from him. Now that was running through my mind, over and over. Run. Get away. "I feel like going to sleep. . ." Why did I just say that?
"Sleep?" Oh, and there's that soft laugh, that cold, practiced chuckle. I hate that laugh. "Come on then, I'll get you to bed." He sat me up. Both of his hands were cold, on my arms, as he pulled me up while he stood. I had to act like I had a bad migraine, lean on him and sway some. How else would I keep him from doing anything to me?
"Thank you." I had to mutter a thanks, or he might keep talking. I didn't want to hear his voice, his smooth, attractive voice. . .
"You're welcome." His neck was even cold. So bitterly cold. As if, as if his whole body was frozen, a wintry beast. I had to squint my eyes, to act as if that fluorescent light hurt my eyes, made me ill. As a matter of fact, it does. I don't like light, too much. I could live without it. . .
"Ho. . ." Fuck. Did I just call him a ho? "I mean. . . Professor Hojo?" Now he'll think something, something I don't want him to think. That icy creature has a way of doing that, of twisting those words, then running those cold hands down your body.
I hate it, how he's able to manipulate you, to get what he wants, to make you do what he wants. I hate it. "Kill him." Came back. My eyes turned away, for I could not look at his pretty face any longer. That dark hair, those honey brown eyes. . . "Yes, hun?" Hun. He always calls me that. So maybe, maybe it isn't just for the experiment.
"I. . ." I don't know. I don't know why I said your name. I think, I think that I said your name, because I like the way it sounds. I like referring to you as Hojo, and as nothing else. "I don't want to be alone. I'm afraid. . ." Afraid. So many odd things come from me, when I do not think. Is everyone like that?
"What are you afraid of?" His voice. What did he just do to it? It was deeper, more smooth . . . it was, sexier. And then, there we were, at a bed. But why weren't we in one of the cell things? Was it a room, a real bedroom? We did go up some of those escalators. Oh, god! One of those cold hands, oh god. He put it under my shirt, onto my back. I had to shiver. "No one is going to hurt you."
Lie. Make something up! But, I just stared at him. That cold hand, it made me gasp, and I saw something. I saw something in those eyes of his, those pretty golden brown eyes, that told me that he enjoyed that gasp. "Nothing?"
"I . . . don't know. I'm just, scared, I guess." Nothing. I'm not afraid of anything, nothing. Only you. Only this thing I feel, this odd thing I shouldn't feel.
"Then lay down." There was that voice again. And then those cold hands pushed me down, to gently lay me on that bed. Why was he doing this, with so much care? He ignored the rest of the subjects, all but me. Why?
Does he care about me?
Just ask. There you go, open your mouth and say something. "Hey, Cloud. . ." He cut me off. And he used my first name. A chilly finger placed itself on my lips . . . I guess he saw me open my mouth to say something. But what was he silencing me for? Oh. . .
That was why.
A kiss. OH FUCK! A kiss! Now, I really am dizzy. But, his tongue . . . it's not cold. I thought it would be. But, push him off. I have to push him off. But I can't. . .