A/N: Nothing...to...say...

Behind Those Dark Eyes Prt. 5

Define Dancing

I open my eyes, my vision clearing in a few seconds like normal. Even though I'm sleep deprived, I'm doing okay night time wise. But overall, I feel terrible. This isn't normal for me- but- I take a look to my left. I have been getting overly irritated about this guy asking for cigars constantly. Maybe that's why he's here. Maybe to get clean because he always talking about drugs and shivering at night. It kinda hard to believe an intimidating man with tattoos running up his arms an neck that he would be cowering from doctors when they come in to tell him to go to sleep. He is very masculine, and I'm sure he won't let anyone get past him if they insult him. He ain't no pushover. You can tell by his appearance and his deep southern accent. He don't play.

As for the terd on my right, he used to be my best friend, and then murdered his sister, leaving me forever. It's almost like this jerk didn't like me. But, being here four about four days or more, all I seemed to notice was his wrapped face continuously gazing blankly at the wall in front of him. Idiot. I reach up to my face, touching my slit open mouth gently, closing my eyes. My thoughts and meditation was disturbed by Mr. Tattoos on my left by him banging his fists on the cell bars, begging for a cigar. Again. It's really irritating. I glance back at Michael, an cough slightly, seeing if he'd notice me here. Or maybe just break his gaze for a little bit.

I sigh loudly, and he doesn't seem to be fazed at all. I get up an start pacing, wanting to gain his attention. I bash my fists suddenly on the bars and he didn't even flinch. But everyone else did. Still staring at the wall. I bang my hands on the cell bars again. Nothing. The boogeyman is never fazed by anything apparently. But then, an idea sparks.

"Hey, Boogerman."

I say, unable to smirk, but in my head I did. Michael's head seemed to tilt just barely, but you would have needed 20/20 sharp eyesight to see it. Like me. He re-fixated his gaze on the wall in front of him. I sigh. "Hey Mr. Sandboxman what's wrong? Can't sleep?" I remark, and try to fire with derogatory comments and remarks. "Alright zombie face, if you aren't gonna-" I start, but in a matter of seconds, half of Michael's arm is through the bars and his hand forcing an iron grip around my neck.

My eyes widen as I see my father with both hands around my small neck. His eyes filled with pure hatred, and I'm back in my basement again. Unable to breathe, I start to hit him in the head. But suddenly, I'm looking at Michael's wrapped face, and I cannot see any of his face. I scream, but it getting cut off by a sudden grip tightening of Michael. "Michael please...I-I'm sorry..." I say softly, and he lets me go. Not because I apologised. But because of the tapping of the doctors shoes walking down the hallway. I back away from him, gasping for air, and rub my neck slightly. Michael's blank gaze returns to the wall. The doctors we heard have now stopped at Michael's cell, opened it and cuffed him, leading him away. Michael didn't even look back like most others would.

Once he has been gone for a few moments, I take into realisation that I have been standing for at least ten minutes, looking at the ground with no thoughts. That is weird. I hear more taps of people's shoes, and out of the corner of my eye, I spot Officer Chris. Really? Why does he keep coming back? It gets quite annoying sometimes*. He spots me, sighs happily, and run down the hall. I watch him with an odd look, and he returns after conversing with one of the guards. He holds up a key, with a grin, unlocks my cell door and walks in. "Hey Kal," he says with a soft smile. I...I wish I could smile like that. If I didn't have this...terrifying smile. "Well, you look awful happy today!" He says, cracking himself up. I never know how he manages to do that. In a matter of moments, he takes my hand in his, and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. This reminds me of the one thing I've always dreaded and never wanted to tell him...

"Hey Kalli...remember prom night?" He says, with a big smile. I don't reply. In fact, I keep a poker face. He just grins at me, such happiness in his eyes, when you take one glance, you would never be able to comprehend what went through his head that makes him so happy.

He begins to move around, making me dance with him. Even though I have no clue how. He inches his face over by me ear and whispers, "You were a great dancer during prom...what happened to your smooth moves girl?" He teases, but then whispers in my ear the ways I'm supposed to go. After a few minutes of just dancing, I've actually never felt this good before. He holds me out, and looks me in the eyes. "Don't let anyone ever tell you that you aren't beautiful. And please, Kalli, get better. They may even make your mouth better! They'll fix you up in no time!" He smiles, trying to reassure me, but sadly, is failing. I'll never get better. Doctors can't heal the pains that happen within my memory. Or my head. Surprised and cut off from my thoughts, I feel his lips brush up against my slit mouth, and he dashes off, quickly closing the door, and returning the keys. "Did I finish on time? Or did I go beyond the restriction?" Chris asks the guard with a grin. "Sir, you did fine. Just a tad bit overtime but that's alright." The guard replies.

I stare straight ahead, still surprised at what had happened. I shake my head a few times. Why didn't I escape? He left the door wide open! And, why couldn't I have...killed him? I had a perfect chance! I go to sit down on the bench that is also my bed, and watch the doctors throw Michael back into his cell. Michael weakly lands on his hands and knees, looking straight down at the ground- now wearing his infamous white mask. Why did they give that back to him? I push away the thought, and go over to the bars that divide my cell from his, and bend over so I could see him better. He is breathing heavily, each rugged breath could be heard through his pale white mask. He looks up at me, for once a definite emotion visible in his baby blue eyes. He was hurting. Hurting.

"Michael..." I whisper softly. Michael continue to stare at me, and I reach out, to touch his hand, but in a split second, he had grabbed my arm, and twisted it around and a scream escape my mouth. He kept twisting it further and further, no more pain visible in his eyes, just a no mercy stare. I scream even more each time he twists it more. It feels like he is going to tear it right out of its socket, when he suddenly lets go, getting up, and retreating back to his seat staring at the wall.

I whine in pain, and a guard runs to my cell door. "Kalli you alright?" He asks, and I nod. Oh, how that isn't true.

I sit down, and remember by just a few moments ago what Chris was doing.

Dancing.

"Define Dancing..." I mutter to myself.