20- Millennia

"I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for you like a parched land." - Psalm 143:6

"I…I don't remember…"

"…I don't know."

"…"

These were the basic iterations of Sammy's only three answers for a very long while. Why was "Sammy Lawrence" written all over the music department? Why didn't he recognize it as his name before? And most terribly, who did he used to be? …and so on. It seemed maybe she had more intuition of his identity than he, until-

"What…happened to you?"

At this point, it seemed like a failing interview, a list that had to keep going on and on even if they both suffered. This question felt so…rude; even though it was the one that directly impacted her the most- that her life was surrounded by the mysteries of the ink- it seemed cruel to say. She regretted doing so despite how much it meant to her. It wasn't surprising when the tall figure on the other side of the table was utterly wordless once again, but it formed a great drop in her stomach to see his body was speaking for him.

It was like when she first called him by his name; he started shaking and his shoulders lurched towards the sides of his head. She was just about to apologize- assuming he was in great distress from not being able to answer- when he began to utter:

"The ink…it…took us. We had no choice."

One hand moved to hold his tired head while the other rested on the table to show him its wrist. The way he slumped was an unwritten story of pain, indescribable pain- a life of nothing but the darkness around them. Even as this new position showed the profile of her companion once again, she couldn't see any features beyond his moving lips- and that barely so.

"It…" She was beside herself trying to decipher his riddle. "It-…took you?" She leaned over the table in astonishment. "You…were you…" She swallowed so she could spit out the incredible. "…human?"

The wisp of vision she had of his face was enough to show his swift displeasure, his gritting teeth. It scared her all the same, but he was holding back the hottest of his fury at her ignorance.

"Yes."

Even though she suspected as much, its confirmation was enough to render her limp, sloping back into her chair breathlessly.

Then, as she had dreaded before, he began to squeeze the fingers near his mask into a fist, shakes of trauma turning into that of incense. He tried to remember, he tried, but all he saw was-

Ink. Ink. Ink. Ink. Ink. Ink. Ink. Ink. Ink. Ink. Ink. Ink.

A groan in agony that vibrated from his chest.

A touch on his hand.

"…That's…that's enough for now." It'd be a fib to say she wasn't utterly exhausted herself in this moment, and so she hoped her grip would remind him there was a world outside of memory…no matter how his skin felt. It lingered with her how little she cared in this moment despite knowing what he was made of. She blinked down at their hands and exhaled.

"Let's give you a break from all this. I shouldn't have pushed you."

Sammy breathed in sharply as he emerged to the surface of reality; the sliver of his face disappeared, replaced by the false one of his master so he may have the power to look at her as she possessed him.

Touch. Touch. Touch.

Even though he began to obsess with it- how the idea of doing so made him foolishly hope her blood could transfuse through his fingers and once again beat this old heart- despite that or maybe even because of how deeply that rooted through his veins…-

He had abrasively retracted his hand with a backward wobble of his head- a total denial of all temptation. The only reward was a voice that pierced his chest and pinned him to the chair at his back, leaving him paralyzed.

"I'm…I'm sorry."

He once again could only stare at his flesh as he strangled his own wrist, watching her own slither out of sight in the window of his forearms. This was the last thing he saw before ink washed over his eyes and blurred her into blackness.

Not knowing what else to do, she left him to drown.

Knees were pulled towards her stomach; it stung so bad. She was once again in the bedroom and once again had left him alone. The conflict boiled in her chest, wondering if trying to comfort him was wrong, if leaving him alone was wrong, or both simultaneously.

Of course, it hurt her too to be denied the companionship she so desperately wanted to have again, even if it was with him. Even though he…oh gosh.

There was such an incredible dissonance in her sudden judgement, seeing that the true misdeed he had purposely done- that grotesque confession of sacrificing her- was what he'd been trying to make up for. She winced as this bit into her; she shouldn't- she shouldn't forget he did that, but she kept pretending that he hadn't poured himself out to her in the music hall, confessing he was wrong about his-…life.

What must have been his entire known life. He left everything he had…so he could apologize to the person he hurt. It didn't absolve him of his sins to her, of course, but he did the right thing from then forward. Her actions stung him because she was still stinging.

Something sounded down the hall. She listened, then nothing more. All it did was stop her heart for a second, leading to realization that something needed to be done. She couldn't live in agony like this.

As she did in the orchestra room, she was resigned to pick herself up and journey for diversion. Sure, the trouble was that she had stared at the items in this room for a long time, but this was what she was driven to do to save herself. Something stood out in the background…something she didn't notice before.

Time seemed to skip because suddenly it was in her hand, smiling up at the giantess.

"Hey li'l dude," a hoarse but earnest greeting came from her throat. Agonizingly, she forced herself to smile at the Bendy toy; at first it was entirely ingenuine- a "fake-it-till-you-make-it" tactic that eventually worked, and soon the smile bubbled into soft laughter. She finally shed a single tear when its wrinkle reached her eyes.

A shameful desire crept to her heart. She looked side to side as if there was something to hide, and then a gaze fell upon the smooth, black plush. It was the visage of the beings that haunted her, the ones that always watched, the ones that were her comrades. Her grin faded as she pressed the toy into her chest, trying to ignore the irony of it, trying to ignore that it wasn't a person.

She didn't look well enough because the prophet was standing there.

The visions met again were indescribable. He knew it was something, because when he came to he felt colder than ever before. It took much effort to pick himself from the chair, as if he'd been running for hours. Unknown to him, it was probably only a minute since she left-

Since she left.

Gone yet again, and he didn't know what to do about it. He felt like tearing himself apart, it was so frustrating. Why was he like this?! Why?!

"Oh, ink demon…" he muttered, the hands leaning onto the table, curling their fingers, "Your shepherd can't even care for one of your flock…"

Just ahead of his clenched fists sat the treasure of the fallen. Inspiration sparked through his extremities as he reached to hold the phone within his hands.

Purpose…in this eon of uncertainty, maybe he still had a purpose…

And so, he could never forget how black washed over him, obscuring the sights that had captured his soul forever and locked them away. He could never forget, but it was pushed away to make a path towards her.

That brought them to the present moment, as the man approached with new resolve.

"'Dude?'"

Sammy saw her body tighten in surprise. Even though it was to be expected, it was still disappointing. Somehow, he had hoped that all would be miraculously well when he came back to her. Likewise, the woman hadn't anticipated they'd meet together so soon after what she did; it was unclear if his quick return was an omen of healing or further troubles. Fortunately, her predisposition to share and describe overcame the heartache.

In their desperation, the two accepted curiosity over apology. It was a welcome beginning to conversation…much needed contact, like warriors in combat comprehending their fight was for naught only after wounds started to gape.

"Oh, Sa-…" The name was halted before it emerged fully; it took a second for her to reframe her speech. She noticed the way he quoted her, the perplexity in his voice. Ah, well…she was strange after all.

A nose slipped past the mass of hair as the oily being faced her back, surprised she had the strength to look at him so soon. It gave him…pleasure. Was that it? As it blended with puzzlement, he wasn't sure what he felt. That word he caught- it was recognizable, but not one that came with a meaning. That made it an easy place to start over their interaction. He saw her profile dip down to look at something towards her ribs.

The woman then realized how bizarre her use of language must be. She had a hunch it wasn't a word he was exposed to, at least in this form.

"It's uh…a familiar and casual term for 'person.'" To both of their reliefs, when the turn of her body completed it revealed the genuine smile had returned. Sure, it was small, accompanied by raw sadness, but it was there and granted them peace.

At least for that second.

"I use it- uh- pretty liberally," she quickly added with an embarrassed smirk. In good humor, she pointed at the doll she held to her chest, who she deemed as definitely not a "person." Almost in silliness, its head dipped down to show Sammy its own grin as well- perfect comedic timing. Ease radiated from the man at this sight; she noticed a small tilt and forward lurch of the head. So unfortunately, she had the comfort and encouragement to keep talking.

"Lots of my friends do, too, so I guess it's just how I talk now!" She shrugged, eyelids tightening with the rise in her cheeks. "Millennial speech and all that." A short chuckle emerged with the last word as if to dismiss her own ridiculousness.

…

"Mill…" he began slowly, "…en all?" He tilted his head further, still enveloped in the light mood. It was clear in his tone that he was confused, however.

She rolled her eyes not in exasperation but thought. She didn't stop to ponder why this word needed to be explained; she simply desired to do so.

"It's like-," she began in a high pitch, the word "like" drawn out to procrastinate until the proper idea was captured. "It's like, a word for kids born between 1990 and 1999, I think."

Dead. Silence. Everything they had happily accepted fled their presence, like birds sensing the first chills of winter. Nothing about him changed in the worst way possible. He didn't make a noise; he didn't move. But she saw, and she did those things for him as the pain in her stomach returned. The doll would have fallen to the floor if her natural state wasn't a tender grip of the hand.

"Sammy?" No one cared she said his name. The great consequence of this moment quaked her voice, overwhelmed her with abrupt wisdom. "How long have you been here?"

And they were suddenly too tired to say anything else, questions circling the air like clouds of smoke that choked their words. Even if they both didn't know, they knew. Then in unspoken unity, they decided it was too much.

Their hearts sank together- one with the realization that time existed outside of the studio while the other comprehending time had stopped. It was a sickening truth all too heavy to bear, and so two heads hung down with this burden. With his height, the man ended up looking down upon her and could directly observe her pain sheltering under his own.

He was the one that decided to hold her hand this time, selfishly ignoring what she must have endured to have his horrible body contact hers. It was still such a terrible instinct, but it was all he had, the only thing left in him…so it was done. In his other hand was the remnant of heaven- a cellphone to her- that had come to remind them of the hell they wandered. In her own second palm, the dusty sneer of Bendy looked down upon his gift to her, approving of his prophet's obedient return.

This moment needed to pass…Please let it pass…

Unbelievably, he felt her press into his palm as she began to cry. Her voice crawled through the walls and encased them, and he understood she might as well be crying for the both of them. She accepted then in this epoch of afflictions that even though he had much to make up for, his apologies were certainly true. Thus was the beginning of reconciliation, of true middle ground.

"Please don't let go," someone whispered.