Season VII
Day V
"Burn It All"
"Don't you get it?" Even as his limbs shake so hard he can't feel them, Bennett still finds himself fighting against the restraints. "No one wins."
He watches his ally through glassy eyes as Wes loops the rope through the cupboard's handle. Once, twice - Bennett's teeth chatter as he ties it again and again. Every knot feels like it settles in his stomach. Even if Bennett could feel his hands, he doesn't think he'd be able to undo all of them. Not before-
"I'm doing you a favour," Wes tells him. It's impossible to miss the bitterness of his words. Except instead of shouting, which Bennett has almost gotten used to over the past day, his tone is barely a whisper. It makes his skin crawl with the feeling of thousands of pinpricks. "I'm doing us-"
"Wes, please," Bennett says, but the chattering of his teeth all but disguises the words. A quick hand slaps him across the cheek and he whimpers in response. The sting is like nothing he's ever felt before. Tears drip from his nose before he even realizes they've fallen.
By all accounts, Bennett has gotten off easy thus far in The Cut. He was forgotten about on the first day, left to slither off when his cell block was released only a few minutes into the competition. He met up with Wes and Connor on the second day. The three of them had gotten along well in the days before. Bennett liked the brothers, he trusted them as much as someone could in this place. Sometimes, like when Wes and Connor would take playful jabs at each other, he could even forget where he was.
Yesterday, Connor was eliminated.
Yesterday, Wes spent nearly the whole day screaming. He threw everything he could get his hands on. He bloodied his knuckles on both hands from punching concrete.
Today, Bennett woke up to his ally tying his hands behind his back.
"No one fucking wins, Bennett." He tucks his chin close to his chest and tears slip silently onto Bennett's chest. Wes stands up and looks down at him for another second, his bloodshot eyes finding every knot without once making eye contact. When he's apparently satisfied, Wes turns back to the kitchen.
Bennett struggles against the knots, but nothing beyond the chafing against his wrists changes. He trembles as he watches his ally, even his posture indistinguishable from the boy he met days ago. Bennett wants to shout for him to come back, to stop whatever he's doing, but terror silences him.
He stares at his friend, Wes' figure blurred by tears that refuse to stop falling. Bennett whimpers as the older boy raises a hazy arm, something clasped between his thumb and middle finger that he can't distinguish. The tiniest hint of light sits at the top of it, but still Bennett can't think enough to realize what it is.
Not until Wes' voice comes again, quieter and calmer than he's ever heard it. "Burn it all."
