'I can't believe you broke the handle!' Adam said again, piqued.
I groaned. 'GOD!' I snapped. 'That's like, the millionth time you've said that!'
'Eleventh,' he supplied. 'Not that I keep count or anything.'
I bet you don't.
It was 6.30pm.
Or something.
We'd tried everything. Yelling, screaming, ramming the door, and Adam insisted on attempting telekinesis.
Surprise of the millennium, it wasn't all that successful.
'This is not cool,' Adam stated.
'You're telling me.'
'I AM telling you. You're the only person TO tell. Ugh. I had to get stuck in a closet with YOU,' he complained again.
Yeah. He'd been saying that for the past hour.
HOUR.
It was kind of upsetting, you know? To find out that the guy you're madly in love with, since FOREVER, isn't all that interested in jumping you when there's no one around to see.
Not that I want to get jumped.
...Much.
Oh well. It doesn't look like there's much of a CHANCE, though, of, you know, reciprocating anything if Adam were to take advantage of our near death situation. You know, with the whole me-having-the-hots-for-the-new-guy-who-was-head-over-heels-in-love-with-Suze thing.
But who lets THAT get them down?
...What a mess.
I sighed, for the billionth time.
That was when Adam's stomach emitted the loudest, most GURGLIEST grumble that I had ever heard.
It ECHOED.
Adam looked up at me with wide eyes.
'I think that's all the gas in my stomach, dying to come out or something,' he said. 'I'm gonna get gastro or something.'
'Ewww.'
He ran one of his hands through his hair. He looked a little pale. 'God . . . I am so hungry.'
I stared at him, before digging into my bag. There wasn't that much light to see. I wasn't thinking all that much, either. Which is surprising. I mean, considering the whole thing where I was secluded from the world outside, you think that I would have been thinking about anything and everything.
Not so much. All that was running through my mind was stuff about that essay that I'd written earlier. Well, you know...I was trying to remember how on earth I'd known that much about a text I hadn't actually studied. But whatever.
I'm sure all that was running through Adam's mind was "Black Betty" or something.
Goof.
Yeah. Back with the bag-searching.
I guess it pays to be anorexic for one lunchtime. I mean, the fact that I hadn't eaten any of my food that day pretty much gave us a days worth of snackies, right? I yanked out my little lunch box, and shoved it at him.
With the enthusiasm of a predator ripping apart its prey, he snatched up the lunch box, clicked it open, and practically dove at the chocolate bar that was inside.
'Score!' he said, stripping it from its wrapper. He was about to shove it in his mouth, when he looked at me, and blinked. 'Oh yeah . . . you,' he grinned. 'How much do you want?'
'I'm not that hungry,' I said quietly. Because I really wasn't. In fact, I felt pretty sick.
Probably with the knowledge that this closet was air-tight. As in, no vents, no space under the door, no cracks and stuff.
'Nah, it's okay, you can so have half - '
'Just have it all,' I said. 'Seriously.'
He gave me a long look. I replied his expression with an earnest, stubborn one. Still staring at me, he took a slow bite of the chocolate-y goodness in front of him, looking regretful.
Oh well. Better I don't have it. I'd get fat with chocolate, anyway.
Oh yeah. And one chocolate bar is going to make you obese.
Get over yourself.
He got over his guilt pretty quickly, and started munching on it happily. 'Dude, thanks,' he said gratefully. 'Aaah, soothe my aching stomach. You don't have a live chicken in your bag, do you? I mean, we can slaughter it, and roast it, rotisserie style,' he joked. 'Dunno what were going to do about FIRE, but you get that. We can throw in some marshmallows for the hell of it.'
Yeah. Marshmallows.
'Uh huh,' I said, sitting on my butt.
'What's your problem?' he asked, after stuffing his face with my source of endorphins.
What a great question. We only have twenty four hours in a day, Adam.
'We're stuck in a janitor's closet, Adam,' I pointed out. 'Or did you miss something?'
He shrugged. 'Someone'll find us.'
How optimistic of him.
'We've tried yelling. All that turned up was Suze's dickhead step-brother,' I muttered bluntly.
'Well, someone's a happy little platypus today,' he snapped.
'Shut up,' I glared at him. 'Adam . . . don't you get what's so serious about this?'
'Hey, you're the science nerd, how long is this oxygen gonna last?' he asked.
My point exactly.
'What's your hypothesis, Dr. Webbington?' he queried, lowering his voice.
I paused.
'We're going to die,' I concluded.
'Wow. That sure was scientific,' he said sarcastically. 'God. You'll get a Ph.D. with that brain of yours - '
I blanched.
Adam groaned. 'Great,' he said, half to himself. 'I'm stuck in a janitor's closet with CeeCee Webb. Where is SUZE, I ask?'
I think he only meant it as a joke. But I felt deeply hurt, nevertheless.
I felt it was best not to reply to that. I mean . . . what could I have said? Something gay like, "But Adam, don't you see what a waste SUZE would be in here, when it is ME that really wants you?!"
No.
And anyway . . . I wasn't sure, anymore.
In fact . . . I was dead confused.
Adam noted my silence, and frowned. 'What?' he asked slowly.
I gave a small sigh, looking at nothing in particular. 'Nothing. Just nice to know that you care.'
Only sliiiiiight sarcasm there.
He went on with his little joke. 'I mean, come on. Where is the justice? But - hey, what did you say?'
I blinked at him. 'What?'
'I do care,' he said firmly to me.
'Just . . . you know. Suze would have kicked the door down, by now.' A grin flashed across his wonky lips, 'After some tonsil hockey, and alternate spanking - '
'Adam!' I snapped. I really wasn't in the mood. I REALLY wasn't.
He was still beaming at me insanely. 'God,' I muttered.
With raised furry brows, he enquired, 'What about God?'
. . . What?
'Oh God what?' he asked. 'He here?' Yet another smile lit up his face. 'HULLO GOD! THANKS FOR THE DEATH ARRANGEMENTS. LOVE THE COMPANY. REALLY, I DO. THAT WAS SAAAARCASM, BY THE FRIGGING WAY!'
Yeah, well, I wasn't so happy with the company all of a sudden either.
I gave him another glare. 'I'm not all that happy with being stuck in a closet with you either, McTavish. Out in open air . . . I know there's a chance that I can run, flag down a car and leave the country. Here . . . no chance.'
'Good,' he replied in a very short tone, 'We have a mutual rage then. Just perfect.'
'Yep,' I said.
Then I sighed.
And he groaned.
So did his stomach . . . again.
And, just when matters couldn't get any worse . . .
The light bulb blew.
I am not even kidding.
'Shit!' yelled Adam in outrage, as we were plunged into inpenetrable darkness. My breath caught in my throat suddenly. 'Oh, God,' I said again.
'You're KIDDING!' Adam went on. I hear scuffle as he stood up, and him flicking the switch for the light.
This was so hopeless . . . come Monday morning, we were going to be decomposing -
Well, technically, no. A human can survive a fair while without eating, yeah. Drinking was a bit different, but I don't think we'd be dead by just the weekend. Air, however . . . in a room this small? Yeah.
We'd stop breathing pretty soon. I'd give us a couple more hours. Seven at the most?
And we wouldn't be decomposing. The decomposition rate, depending on the climate of a carcass, would be -
'THIS IS NOT FRIGGING HAPPENING,' Adam continued ranting, and I heard banging on the door. 'My shoulder aches. I need a painkiller. My head is woozy. I'm hungry. And horny. But Suze is not present. Damn.'
Okay. Ewww.
'This is not funny, Adam,' I said harshly. 'God? Do you HATE ME?'
I don't even BELIEVE IN A GOD.
Adam, thinking that he was being a clown, imitated an all powerful voice.
'Yes . . . '
He sniggered again. Despite the fact that it really wasn't that funny.
Because seriously. Scientifically . . . we couldn't survive. There was no more air in this room. It was only about thrice the size of a coffin. I am serious. I felt like I was buried alive, not damn locked in a cupboard.
'Shut up,' I pleaded. 'Adam . . . we're not going to make it out of here. Seriously. So please . . . don't joke.'
There was a bodily movement. I guessed that he's folded his arms in annoyance. 'At least I'm not a freaking pessimist,' he retorted, sounding louder in the darkness. And he sounded angry with me.
But still . . . determined to make light of the situation.
'If we're found,' I went on glumly, 'I hope that Brad Ackerman knows that he's the one who killed us, that asshole - '
'CEECEE. We are NOT going to die!' Adam growled, and I flinched a little. Not being able to see, all my other senses were sharper. I could hear every breath that Adam took. Every slight twist of his shoe as it squeaked on the carpet. Every sigh that left my lungs.
Every thud of my heart.
'Gawd,' he griped at me. 'What is WITH you? Why are you being this negative, CeeCee? It's annoying the shit out of me.'
'Like a laxative,' I replied.
What? It's true.
Think about it.
Usually, he'd appreciate my humour. Black comedy, I'd call it at the current time. But I think he was getting pissed at me. Like he'd been about the Paul thing.
'Whatever,' he said, 'What is with this "My glass is half empty" thing?'
Half empty.
'Might as well see it sooner rather than later,' I shrugged, even though he couldn't see me anymore. The flooding, overwhelming blackness took care of that. 'Do you see a way out? Adam, the door is lined with rubber. Rubber that is moulding against the frame of the door, keeping this closet air tight.'
AIR TIGHT.
'Probably for the chemicals in here,' I explained, as if I was in Chemistry. 'You know, detergents and stuff. So, not only are we stuck in an air tight area, but the air that we are breathing is polluted with all the chemicals from the - '
'I don't want to know,' Adam said, raising his voice above mine.
Fair enough.
It was worse knowing WHAT we were breathing in, than not.
'But seriously, Adam,' I picked up, 'There is no way to get out. No vents. No key, no one in the school, by now, and it's Friday, so unless by some mirical someone should so happen to come by the Mission and perchance, open up a random door and it just HAPPENS to be this one, then we're in big trouble - '
'GOD?' Adam yelled, in reference to the Ass Upstairs, 'WHY HER?'
I bashed by head against the door gloomily.
'I do NOT want to when I have my crisis situation!' he snapped.
'This IS your crisis situation,' I pointed out.
'Oh yeah.'
'I'm just stating the obvious,' I said simply, in something more like detachment. I guess I was kind of in shock. A suppressed kind. I dunno. But I didn't feel scared. I just felt really quiet, and whenever Adam talked . . . well, I started getting freaked again. So I just wanted him to shut the hell up.
'No you're not. You're being depressing!' he argued. 'All this "WE'RE GONNA DIE!" stuff, CeeCee!' he said, in a very high-pitched imitation of me that rang mercilessly in my ears. I blinked down, again hurt.
'At least I don't keep cracking jokes,' I countered defensively.
'They save my sanity,' he sniffed. 'Don't diss the jokes. Some things just need to be cracked, CeeCee. Like eggs . . . and . . . well, eggs.'
'Sanity?' I echoed, horrified at the rustiness of my voice, 'What sanity would that be, you freak?'
. . . I called him a freak . . . I was the resident freak . . . I called Adam a freak, when I knew how badly it could hurt.
I knew, all right. Me, and my white skin.
Thank God, he didn't seem to notice.
'As a matter of fact,' he said with dignity, 'I possess a great deal of sanity. It's just . . . hiding. It embarrasses me, so I prefer not to show it off.'
'Oh yeah?' I glared up at . . . where I assumed his face was. 'I'd like to see it some day.
I was answered with blinding maturity.
He blew me a raspberry.
'Yeah,' he said, prior to said display of maturity. 'Too bad, though Cee. According to you, we're going to die, right?'
'Well, we are.'
'Good. Great. Excellent,' he snapped. 'I'll show you tomorrow, when we're getting buried then.'
'Monday,' I mumbled.
'What?' he demanded.
'Monday,' I repeated. 'They won't find us to Monday – '
He had the nerve to snigger.
I swear to God . . . he is not going to die from lack of air.
I AM GOING TO STRANGLE HIM FIRST.
- 8 -
According to Adam's luminous digital watch, it was 11.07.
I was so dizzy, it wasn't funny. My stomach ached, as if it was ready to eat itself for satisfaction. Adam wasn't all that good himself. His tummy reminded me every three and a half minutes that it was not full, and wasn't too chuffed about that fact.
Yeah. Got it.
We were both sitting down, now, facing each other. I know, because his left foot was brushing my thigh. With a slightly shuddering breath, I closed my eyes, the reality of the situation really beginning to set in. My whole body felt like it was lead. Oxalates were crystallizing my blood, making blood flow painful. I let out very soft moans, ever now and then, for my own ease. They were probably annoying Adam. He hadn't spoken in a while, which, at the same time as being a blessing, was kind of daunting. The fact that he wasn't talking, meant that something really was wrong . . .
I wonder what Paul's doing, right now.
Gah. Probably harassing Suze again. Calling her up . . . talking about Jesse, because he obviously knew about him too.
Or maybe Paul's having a shower. Something which I will never have the luxury of, ever again. Due to, you know, deadness and all.
Imagine what my family would say, when they've found me. In a cupboard with Adam McTavish, at the trusted Mission, long dead. Died from lack of air. My mum would cry. Aunt Pru would go on and on about how she'd "seen it coming," or some bullshit. Stupid old bat . . . as if any of that prophesy stuff was real. Who was she kidding?
And yet, I believed Suze about the ghost thing.
I didn't even know why I did.
What would Suze say?
Would I – God, why am I even humouring the thought? – come back as one of her precious ghosts, for her to medium-ify or whatever? Oh yeah . . . mediate. Would she have to mediate me? And Adam? Or would I slip straight into Heaven, or something?
Oh, wait.
I didn't believe in God. Stupid Greater Being.
So it was Hell for me, then.
How depressing.
What would Paul Slater even think, if I was discovered dead? He wouldn't probably care. I was just the best friend of the girl whom he wanted with all of his being, right? I mean, as if someone like Paul would show interest in someone like me.
Oh, how I laugh.
Not.
'Got anything else to eat, Cee?' Adam asked, breaking what must have been a twenty minute long silence.
'No,' I scowled.
'I'll take asparagus . . . horseradish . . . raw tripe, I don't care,' he joked softly.
'I don't have asparagus, horseradish, or tripe,' I replied blandly, annoyed at the disruption of my depressive musing.
'This is so screwed,' he whispered in an exhale of breath, and stretched. His foot brushed further up my thigh, so his heel was now planted unknowingly by my butt. I blushed a blush that he could not see.
'You don't think I'm hungry too?' I said with a rumble of quiet thunder in my voice. There was something that wanted to come cannoning out of me, with a scream that would pierce the night, in a cry for help.
Quiet hysteria.
He released another breath. Another breath that converted our limited oxygen into carbon dioxide.
'I know,' he said gently to me.
Wow. He's being serious. Considerate. Compassionate. Wow –
'That's why I'm hoping you won't resort to cannibalism.'
. . . Okay. Thank you for destroying such a sacred moment, you dork.
'Well,' he said casually, 'At least not before me.'
It's wonderful to know that he puts himself first. Oh, feel my reassurance just flooding in there.
'It would shut you up,' I reasoned.
'True,' he considered. 'Because there's a lot to eat of me, Sweet CeeCee. You know, getting through all that muscle is going to be tough. Well, okay, not muscle. It's something I like to refer to as . . . fuscle. Not fat, not muscle. Hence: fuscle.'
Genius, Really.
Yeah, the guy I like?
That'd be . . . .oh, Fuscle Dude.
That sounds just greeeeeeat.
As opposed to Paul Slater.
The New Guy.
"The New Guy" beats "Fuscle Dude" any day.
I . . . I think.
'The question remains,' Adam's voice dipped in a low tone of jokey seduction. 'Is, will you eat my – '
'SHUT UP!' I groaned in outright frustration.
He laughed weakly. Like he didn't actually have the energy . . . but he was laughing for the sake of laughing. 'I was going to say toes,' he noted innocuously.
He coughed.
'We're running out of air,' I pointed out.
'It's damned obvious,' he replied in a grunt.
I sighed, burying my head in my hands.
'And yet . . . your breath still smells minty,' he observed.
'Huh?'
'It's all minty.'
'My breath isn't minty.'
'Yeah, it is. Colgate minty freshness. Fills the whole room. Not an unpleasant smell. I've just never noticed that your breath was minty,' he concluded.
Wow. I think that's the deepest thoughts you're going to get out of Adam.
This was starting to get scary.
No, not just Adam's persistent randomness.
We really were running out of air . . .
- 8 -
Please review! LONG REVIEWS, FOOLS.
Thankies for reading! You all rock! And happy new year.
Lucky Americans . . . Twilight comes out today for you.
Ugh.
Love Lolly and Kat.
