I was depressed, so I decided to share the sadness. So sorry. This chapter was inspired by the song 'Bring Me To Life' by Evanescence.

Bring Me To Life

Matthew curled up on the cracked cement and tried to block out the screaming with frantic hands.

It was not working.

The single fixture above him rocked back and forth in perpetual motion, casting shadows and highlighting the darkened corners of his nine by nine prison. There was a bucket of piss in one corner and his untouched meal in another. Other than that, there was nothing. Just him. And the screaming.

He clawed at his ears in desperation. His neighbour was growing hoarse, gasping for breath and begging for death, and that meant it would be his turn soon… Too soon. Much too soon.

Matthew sobbed and curled tighter around himself.

Matthew never opened his eyes until they were gone. Somehow, it was easier to endure if he did not have to watch the needles and scalpels slide into his skin. The flames. The clamps and staples and sutures. Somehow, it was easier.

Matthew looked down at himself and traced his newest scars; a cut along his hipbone, a patch of blistering skin on his thigh, and a stitched incision over his sternum. The skin was puckering and weeping where the stitches met.

He bit his lip. It was bad, but not as bad as it could have been. He touched the blisters on his leg with tender fingers and gasped at the sensation.

It hurt.

"Oh god…" He hiccupped.

"No such thing."

Matthew scooted to the furthest corner of his prison and pressed his ear against the cement. There was a crack as long as his forearm.

And on the other side of that crack was his one salvation.

"Gilbert?"

"Of course it's me, dumbass. Who else would it be?" Gilbert drawled. His voice was still hoarse from his earlier encounter.

"How bad is it?"

"Let's see…" He trailed off, marking his injuries. "The soles of my feet are fried. Strip of skin missing. Stitches across my stomach…"

"Ouch."

"Understatement," Gilbert laughed. "You?"

"Burns on my thigh. Open cut on my hip. Stitches a little higher, and bleeding."

"Gross."

"Mmhmm."

"Did they take anything this time?"

"I don't think so. You?"

"I think they took my appendix. At least, I hope it was my appendix. I blacked out."

"Small miracles."

"I told you," he snorted, "there is no such thing as 'god'. Not here."

Matthew outlined the crack in the cement with trembling fingertips and an aching desire to argue. He could not give up hope. It was all he had left.

But he kept quiet and pretended that he could not hear Gilbert crying.

Matthew screwed his eyes shut when they came back, running precise and practical fingers over his wounds. An impassive man in a gasmask asked him questions. He answered.

It was easier to answer them. And less painful.

The man never referred to him by name, he never used identifiers or pronouns. He called Matthew 'The Subject', both to the other scientists and to his face. It was cruel in a way, but not half as cruel as using his name would be.

Gilbert was the only one who said his name in this place.

He knew that Gilbert was sitting on the other side, listening in and waiting his turn. Praying under his breath. Gilbert refused to pray to god, he had been here too long for that, but he kept praying to someone, anyone.

One of the scientists slipped a scalpel under his skin and he moaned. It hurt. He told them so.

But they did not care.

"Where do you think we are?" Matthew asked a couple of hours later. At least, he thought that it had been a couple of hours. It might have been a couple of days.

"Does it matter?" Gilbert snorted. They had cut along his calves and braided them back together, even though Gilbert had begged and pleaded. Matthew had begged too.

Anything to stop the screaming.

"I guess not," Matthew hummed, circling his bellybutton and the wires there. "What do you think they want?"

Gilbert muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'whatever we'll fucking give them'. He sounded broken. Matthew pressed his hand to the cement and knew that he would give anything, anything, if only they would let Gilbert go.

He was in love with him, in love with a man he had never seen before. In love with a man he had never touched. He was in love with the sound of his voice, and his sense of humour, and those odd moments of aching openness.

Gilbert had been here before him, and he would probably survive him, but in the meantime, Matthew was in love with him.

He was in love with his salvation. His saving grace.

Matthew bit down on his knuckles and tried to swallow his screams. He did not want to worry Gilbert, he was sure that he was eavesdropping, but little sounds and sobs slipped past his lips and coloured the air. Someone was cutting along his ribcage, his stomach, his hipbones; slicing skin from muscle, muscle from bone.

He kept his eyes closed and focused on breathing in and out. In and out. He felt numb and empty inside, but his skin was burning.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Oh god.

They loomed over him, distant and detached, and he hated them. He hated the men who stood around and watched more than he hated the scientist cutting him open. He hated them, he hated them, he hated them…

It was stifling.

Matthew had never hated anyone before. He had never thought that he had it in him. It felt like a vice on his heart; it dripped down his throat and coated his lungs and tried to drown him. It was awful; a throbbing nothingness that somehow still meant everything.

And it was stifling.

"How bad?" Gilbert asked from the other side of the crack. His voice was slow and sluggish and Matthew wondered if they had drugged him. He hoped that they had.

"Open from my ribcage to my hipbone. Left side. Inside of my thighs too. Back of my knee." He listed the injuries like he used to list groceries. Humdrum. An everyday occurrence.

He wondered when he had become so disimpassioned. He wondered when he had stopped caring.

He still prayed, sure, but he wondered when he had stopped meaning it.

Disillusioned… Disenchanted… Disheartened… He was broken and scarred, inside and out.

"Take anything?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure what it was. Red and squishy."

"Ewww…"

Matthew laughed and savoured the warm bloom of affection. It felt nice.

"You?"

"Not sure yet. I'm waiting for the drugs to wear off. I can't feel my fingers."

"Hmm."

"Last time they took one of my eyes."

"… I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"But I am."

Gilbert snorted.

"I don't want your pity."

"It's not pity. I think I'm in love with you."

Gilbert coughed and spluttered. Matthew patiently waited for him to sort through his emotions.

He had not meant to spring it on him like that, without lead up or segue, but there it was. He just had to tell him. He felt better now that it was out in the open.

"Matthew…"

"I know."

"We've never even…"

"I know."

"And this place…"

"I know."

Gilbert trailed off again. Matthew wished that he could hold his hand, that he could tell him that everything would be alright, but he could not and he would not. He would not lie.

"Are you really in love with me?!" Gilbert shouted a week later as the men worked him over. Matthew might have laughed if he had not been rocking back and forth, holding his breath. "Like, really, really?"

He curled up near the crack and wrapped his arms around his legs.

"Really, really."

"And you're sure?"

"Pretty sure."

He would never know what the scientists thought of their conversation but he knew that they were in there with him; he could hear the saw whirring.

Gilbert shrieked, panting.

"Then you should probably know that I'm in love with you too!" He bellowed between broken sobs. Matthew actually smiled, thin and wobbly.

"Really?"

"Really, really."

Matthew and Gilbert starting 'dating' after that, if it could be called that, and spent long hours whispering endearments through the crack in the wall, laughing, and comparing injuries. It was nice. He was fully aware that romance had worked differently in the outside world, but the details grew fuzzier with each passing day, week, month. He forgot what it felt like to be normal.

He used to have a career, he thought, and a pet friendly apartment. He used to have a girlfriend.

Now he had Gilbert, and that was okay too. Better than okay.

It was great.

"What is this supposed to be?"

"What?"

"The… Does this qualify as food? I can't tell anymore."

Matthew giggled lightly and reached for the crude plate of gruel they had slipped under his door. It was pale and watery. It smelt like dirty dishrags.

"I don't think so."

"Should we eat it?"

"Probably not, but I'm going to eat it anyway."

"Ugh. Your stomach must be stronger than mine."

"I thought they removed your stomach last week," Matthew snorted affectionately.

"…Is that what that was?"

Matthew struggled to focus on the soothing sound of Gilbert's voice as they bent over him, flayed and pulled open. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt… He could hear the strain in his vowels, in his clipped consonants, as he tried to distract him. He talked about the nonexistent weather, the nonexistent football game… He made it up as he went along, desperate and worried.

Matthew wanted to reach out and hold his hand. He wanted to tell him that it was okay.

It hurt because he knew that he would never be able to.

"What would you say if I asked you to marry me?"

"I would say that you've finally lost it."

"Har-dee-har-har. I mean it, Matthew. I want to marry you."

Matthew looked up from where he was tracing the scars on his bare legs. He scrambled over to the wall.

"What?! Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"No, I mean… Like… Really?"

"Really, really."

He grinned and scooted closer.

"Can we have a big wedding?"

"The biggest."

"And our honeymoon?"

"Portugal and Spain. We'll backpack across Europe."

He wondered if it was strange that they played 'make believe' so often but he supposed that it was the natural progression of things. After all, they had been imprisoned for a year… Two years… A lifetime…

Reality was bleak and painful. 'Make believe' was easier.

"And you'll buy me a ring?"

"The nicest one money can buy. Come on, Matthew. What do you say?" He paused for effect. "Will you marry me?"

Matthew smacked the cement twice and laughed.

"Of course I will!"

Less than a week later, Gilbert stopped answering his cries.

And Matthew stopped believing in god.

Author's Notes:

Is it more or less depressing if Gilbert was a figment of his addled mind? Hmm…