sold // [elegant]

I’m used to being judged. Everyday, there are eyes that trail my skin to decide whether I am worth keeping or not. They examine how pale my skin has grown, how frail my bones look from beneath the thin cells that just barely cover them, how cold my eyes have gone since they have met me. I’m a veritable mess of a being, but I’m still considered beautiful in the eyes of the Capitol. I look like a life-sized doll to be played with. My cheekbones and jawline are less defined than the average male’s, giving me a softer appearance. I’ve had little girls tugging dresses onto me and placing carefully crafted wigs atop my head for most of my life. Even my hips jut out in a more girlish way and my footsteps are soft as if I walk upon blooming lilies in fear of damaging a single petal. The floor made only quiet squeaks when I walked upon it instead of the loud chirping that signaled Mr. Otaki’s footsteps. I’m delicate in a way I cannot change, especially not when it is the only thing that has ever gotten me bought.

I see now that I’m not to be put into a laboring task like I had assumed earlier. My hands will remain callousless, it seems, for all of my life until I am no longer considered a beauty to be put on display. I wonder what will happen to me once I am sold again. Surely I’ll only be here two years, at the most. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m only kept a few months. The longest I had ever been kept was just over two years when I was first made an Avox and trained how to behave. The family that owned me was overjoyed that they were the first to have me, claiming that I was too cute to believe was true and had the face of a little angel. They coddled me and clothed me and fed me well. I think I could have been happy staying there forever. Their daughter grew up, however, and grew out of playing with her human doll. Her little sister didn’t want a hand-me-down. I was back on the market quicker than I could think possible.

My training tells me to keep my head down when silence envelopes the room following Mr. Otari’s question. The boy doesn’t answer. Mr. Otari doesn’t make a single sound as he waits for words to answer him. I hear a slight shuffle and allow myself to peak up through my lashes as the boy slips from his perch on the window sill. He’s wearing a deep maroon suit, perfectly cut to frame him and accentuate his strengths like his father’s, no doubt. I’m barely able to catch a glimpse of his dyed hair before a loud bang rattles through my drum and sends my eyes back to their rightful place. A shallow breath inflates my lungs just slightly as I try to calm the jump in my heartbeat, the sudden rush of blood through the pathways under my skin making me uneasy. Slammed doors were a common occurrence in my previous master’s home when he would be feeling especially ill. There were nights when he wouldn’t be able to work up the nerve to lay a hand on me, but he would scream his insults and his anguish and slam the doors and throw vases and papers and books until the room was completely destroyed. Sometimes, I thought those nights were worse than the ones he would touch me during. Touch is tangible. The damage is known the moment it is taken. When he would wrap himself in his rage and make me watch, I would never know how worked up he was or how much farther he would go. On the nights he’d touch me, he’d always end by scratching trails of broken skin into my back. I never knew how he’d end on the screaming nights until it was done all at once and I was left to clean up the wreck he’d left behind.

I can hear the footsteps lead away quickly and I let out the breath I had been holding without thought. It hardly takes a thought for me to reign myself in and stop the subtle twitch of my fingers. In a place like this, I cannot show just how fragile I really am. Everyone has to believe I’m perfectly fine, if not a little underfed. Being malnourished isn’t uncommon among new Avoxes. Being mentally scarred from trauma is something different. Even here, it’s frowned upon to abuse them, at least if they’re not the type of Avox that is supposed to be abused. I straighten my spine almost imperceptibly and let my chin raise just a fraction. Mr. Otari shifts beside me for a moment, moving forward towards the now-open door, but stops. He’s still as he watched the clouds pass before turning to me again. The silent finger prodding at my chin is all the command I need to raise my head and eyes to meet his gaze. His lips are set in a firm line a moment before they lift a fraction to smile at me, the warmth doubling in his eyes.

He hums low in his throat as he examines me, eyes trailing over my small nose and slight eyes. I suck my lip into my mouth out of habit, but quickly release it when I realize I’ve done it. My lips settle into a straight line quickly and I breathe in shallowly again. There’s such a concentration in his eyes as he searches me for something, it seems. Finally, his eyes meet mine again and he speaks. ” Right then, this will not be easy young man. I chose you because you had a look in your eye I liked. For now, you will go as Ai.” I nod mutely in response, letting the simple name lock in my thoughts. Ai. It’s so close to who I am, but so far from being right. I watch silently as he walks over towards the open door and beckons me forward with a wave of his hand. My shoes slip easily across the floor until I’m standing beside him, looking out at the garden that the other boy disappears into. Mr. Otari sighs beside me before looking over. ”That is my son, Sin. Sin is in need of a companion more than he knows. He doesn’t say it, but I’m sure he’s afraid. He needs someone to be there. You understand, don’t you Ai?”

I pause, trying to puzzle out what he’s saying. (But what is he afraid of?) If I had the ability to say them, I would be screaming the words. I don’t, however, so I simply nod instead. It seems to be the right thing to do, especially as Mr. Otari smiles again and ushers me outside. He explains in a quiet voice that Sin is probably seeking solitude somewhere in the garden and that he seems to have a special love for the bridge that overlooks a stream that’s a little farther back, hidden behind some of the trees. My lips turn up politely and I bow before turning around and quietly going into the garden. I turn when I’m halfway through, looking back up at where Mr. Otari stands on the veranda, but he waves me on to keep going. Again, I bow quickly and spin around, shuffling between the flowers and walking beneath the trees. The sound of the stream is quiet, but I’ve lived enough in silence to have learned to focus on sound. It’s like a beacon. I head toward it silently, eyes searching the area curiously until they land upon the bridge. Sin is there, looking down into the water as quietly as I have lived for most of my life. I can’t move, my body frozen behind a tree and my face just barely sticking out to look. It feels rude to intrude upon such a time alone. It feels rude to even look upon it, especially when I have already intruded once upon his solace. My eyes slip down so I’m staring at the grass by the base of the tree and I let myself lean against it, pressing close in an attempt to become as small as possible.

The tree’s bark is smooth and cool against my face as I lean towards it. My forehead just barely brushes the surface when I shift to stand more heavily on my right foot. This isn’t how an Avox stands, typically. I’ve been taught to keep my back straight, but my shoulders always lowered. My hands are to be held in front of me and my face dipped so as to not make myself an obvious presence. I’m supposed to blend in and be forgotten. That is the way an Avox is supposed to live; in the shadows, bones curled around by solitude and seclusion. I unravel my hands from each other to grip the thin branches of the maple before me. The rich crimson of the leaves is soothing, but the tree offers little real blockage from sight. I’m not surprised when I hear the other boy stalk closer. In an instant, my training kicks in.

Just before he is within my personal space, I have straightened up again and let my bones go lax. My hands are carefully curled together and my eyes are lowered to my worn shoes. The white is scuffed with dirt and use. I’ll never get the perfect blankness of that surface back, no matter how hard I try. I won’t ever get that clean slate either. That was taken from me a long time ago. I can practically feel the fear of others that has taken control of my bone. It has drilled deep into my marrow and taken out the very thing that gives me life: my humanity. If eyes are a window to the soul, mine are an accurate glass-separated vision of lifelessness. Humans thrive from care and contact. Abuse of that trust destroys the very thing that makes them up and allows them to breathe in and relish all that changes in a single breath of air. To violate that is the most reprehensible of crimes and something that should not be allowed to pass unnoticed. Instead, it’s become a market to thrive from, because who really cares if people are dying if you’re becoming rich?

The apprehension that had spun acid webs in my stomach at his approach blooms into full blown fear when he is within my breathing range. My nose almost bumps his chest with how close he is and I find my breath catching in my throat in preparation for a strike to come. (“How dare you just stand there?” “What makes you think you’re allowed to look at me?” “Didn’t you get enough last time, doll face?”) I feel as if someone has taken all the blood from my body and frozen it solid before shoving it back through my veins in spikes. My body wants to shake, but I keep my posture rigid in an attempt to keep my wits about me. Staying still doesn’t help much when the screaming won’t stop in my head and the memories make the wounds sear hot even now after everything has healed. For a moment, I continue to anticipate his hand curling around my arm until I know I’ll see the marks for days, or his palm colliding heavy across my face, or his nails digging into the skin of my throat.

None of that comes. Instead, my chin is eased up slowly by a single finger so I’m forced to look up into the eyes of the boy standing nearly flush against me. My breath stutters out in a small exhale before I press my lips firmly together again, making them as small as possible. (“Why don’t you pout for me, baby?” “Just one little kiss.” “Come here, boy, and don’t forget to pucker up.”) Just the memory of his voice makes my skin crawl and I find myself just barely suppressing a shudder. I blink quickly, my mind trying to run recon in order to keep me functioning at a normal level, but I find those processes cut short the minute I really look at Sin’s face. His eyes stare right back into mine, just as his father’s had, and I find myself just as confused by the depth of them. Where Mr. Otari’s eyes seem to sparkle with a happiness that cannot be lidded, Sin’s hold such untold sorrow that I find my breathing becoming shallow from the sheer magnitude of it. The last time I looked into eyes so darkened by the weight of the world, I left the room with a split lip and a limp. I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t need to be taught it twice. Just as deep as the depression is the sudden bursting rage hidden behind brown irises. This is the lesson I have scarred into my back, a stark reminder of why not to go near those who have eyes that speak a thousand sad stories upon a pretty face.

His hand flashes away and I tense, joints locking despite the fact that rigidness will only make it worse. To bounce back, one has to stay loose. I cannot remove the iron from my bones. I keep my widened eyes on him as he steps away, and I wait. I will always wait. Flight is not an option in my life. It hasn’t been an option since it got both of my parents killed and my tongue cut out. A moment passes and the strike never comes. There are no blows to roll with. Sin steps away and spreads his arms for a fraction of a second, never letting go of my gaze. I inhale through my mouth, my fingers twisting tighter together as he walks away. All the feeling in my body seems as if it is gone and been sucked away with his soothed anger. My lip is between my teeth and worried by my mouth in an instant. I can almost taste the blood just beneath the gentle skin as I press down hard against it. I feel as if I’m going to scream if I don’t hold it in. My eyes stay trained on him, even as I lean slightly against the tree again. His finger crooks and I feel my feet moving me forward without a thought.

I know my eyes are still wide as I approach with small steps, carefully toeing through the grass. A shaky breath escapes from between my lips just before I reach the bridge. For a moment, I stay back on the grass, determined not to get too close. My body rocks forward unsurely until I ground myself and let my limbs relax into my usual stance. Sin’s head turns slowly to look over at me instead of the fish below him and I feel myself go pink in embarrassment as he points his finger again and gestures me closer. I’ve looked too long to be comfortable with. I shuffle closer, dropping my head to look at the koi below in lieu of having to continue looking at this boy beside me.

The world around me slumps while I must remain rigid in obedience. Lines blur between what is right and what is wrong. Duties are left to fail. Titles are left out of address. For an Avox to relax, however, is something practically unheard of. They are always to be at attention and ready to serve at a moment’s notice. They are silent and focused. Should they stray past the line as the rest of the world does, it could mean their death. I feel as if my spine is made of welded iron, the stiff creaky movements of it setting me on edge. My posture is always upright, but there is a more concentrated stiffness here and now. I can feel it sitting thick between each disk in my back and it sets me on edge. Even Sin lets himself fall forward against the railing to watch the fish, following their watery dances around each other.

It’s a few moments before he moves again, but it isn’t much. He doesn’t bother to turn to me, but it’s clear that his actions are meant for my consumption. A singular finger outstretches on the hand nearest me. Sin raises it slowly and point off to the side of the stream where a small castle structure that sits within the water. It’s beautiful. The style matches all that I have seen in the estate so far. (But what are you pointing a- Oh!) There, nestled within the walls of the castle and floating soundly by itself, is a little white fish. It’s pure save for the bloom on its tail, a singular mark of radical difference. It doesn’t move even an inch, instead watching the other fish swim hurriedly by. There’s a comfort in its gentle flaps of its fins that keep it stationary. It’s routine. Sin moves his hand again, pointing instead to a fish that is swimming haphazardly our way. I narrow my eyes at the red blur, willing it to stop, to slow down so I can study it just a little more, but it keeps swimming. A small white spot is encircled by the vibrant red and quickly swallowed by the moving water. We stand in silence for a few moments more, my eyes carefully watching some of the fish of my own accord now, taking in the bright colors and their slippery movements. It’s not long after the red one goes racing by that it comes back into sight again, swimming along with the current. There’s no doubt in my mind that this will continue forever.

Sin moves again after the red fish has raced past for the third time, but I don’t look up right away. My eyes are fixed upon the water and it takes all of my will to pull my attention back, wide eyes catching his motions of eating and gestures towards the house. I nod jaggedly, my chin bobbing unevenly as he begins to leave without fully waiting for a response. I’m an Avox. My opinion, my thoughts, don’t matter. I wait for him to pass me, letting my eyes fall to the stream one last time as the red fish swims along the left side towards the castle. It slips through the decretive archways and circles the smaller white one for a moment before they’re both swimming back towards the current. My head tilts in confusion as they turn together and go upstream instead of down. I choose to turn away.

I’ve already fallen behind a short distance by the time I look up. A quick gasp is snatched into my lungs and my legs move on autopilot. I jog after Sin, dipping beneath trees and navigating between the flowers quickly to catch up with him and stumble in the process. My legs feel wobbly beneath me as I straighten and slow my pace, eyes trained on my even dirtier shoes. I let a frown cross my lips as we step up onto the veranda and he goes inside before me. It’s a silly thing, but something my former owner was insistent about. He hated his floor being dirtied, contaminated. This house is pristine in visage, nothing like the worn mansion of my past. I cannot imagine what would befall me should I ruin something in here. My shoes slip off easily and the floorboards chirp their goodbyes as I step inside, not daring to look at Sin as I walk quickly to the door that adjoins our rooms and push it open. As for my own room, I can clean it later. I drop them off to the left and quickly shut the door again.

I can feel the flush on my cheeks again as I scurry back towards Sin, my feel tangling and making me stumble again. It’s easy to catch myself with some subtle grace, but I keep my head low even as I sit uncertainly across from him. The low table between us is topped with a tray practically overflowing with food of all kinds. Much of it seems to be reasonably healthy, which is surprising to see in a Capitol home. Usually, a life of glutinous excess is the choice of Capitolites I’ve served. Fruits of every color are upon a tray and there’s a matching one with vegetables across from it. There are some small puffy looking pastries in the center, but it doesn’t look like any kind of dessert I’ve seen. A few choice meats are thinly sliced and on another dish. Each thing upon the tray is different and I find myself confused when Sin nods toward me. My eyes just barely catch his movement from how I am bowed. Surely, he’s joking. This must be a test. Avoxes don’t eat with their masters, but after. They also certainly don’t eat in the same room with them, from the same selection.

For a moment I can only blink is surprise as he gestures again, very clearly pushing my time-upheld expectations away and encouraging me to eat with his small movements. My lips part and my mouth drops open a little, my voice itching to be heard, but I am the only one who can hear it now. (You cannot be serious. I don’t eat with you. That’s not how this is supposed to work.) The look in his eyes shows he is getting frustrated with my lack of response. My throat closes up quickly at that and I bite down on my lower lip as I reach out an uncertain hand and pick up one of the pastry like things. It’s uncomfortable, eating while I can feel his eyes looking at me. I tear it in half with my teeth, making sure my head is bent, and chew it carefully. The texture of the outer shell is smooth, almost like dough. The inside though has the obvious fee of meat. There’s just the faintest taste, but I’m sure if my tongue was still within my mouth it would be ten fold. I swallow the bit that I’ve chewed and pop the other half into my mouth, eyes sweeping over the tray before rising to Sin’s again. I try not to react, but I can feel the embarrassment flooding my face.

Sometimes, I find myself in a most profound state of longing that I cannot even bear to describe the pain of wanting something so badly. Surely enunciating the feelings that tether down my soul and scream a thousand wants that I cannot obtain would tear me cell from cell until all that is left of me is but a remnant of a shadow of a person. There would be nothing left of the pallid skin covering brittle bones or the dark eyes that hold sadness beyond the depths of the oceans. No longer would pouted lips turn down in a semblance of an emotion that was once allowed to be felt, or quirk in an amusement untamable despite the lashings that would surely follow. To voice such a thing would kill me quicker than a knife lodged within my most vital, but weary, possession: my heart.

But to voice this intense desperation would be receiving the one thing I long for most. I can feel my throat clench around the small rumblings of words never to be voiced again as Sin stands up and turns his back on me. (I’m sorry. I know I’m not doing this right. I know I’m not perfect, but I’ll do better. Just give me time. Please, give me time.) I feel my hands shake in tiny tremors that tip-toe up through the muscles of my forearm and into my chest. My breathing stutters to a halt for a minute, lungs collapsing inside of me in a slow breakdown of the very core of me. I can’t go back to the market, not yet. Not now. There’s not a single shred of me left that can handle living like a piece of stock to be sold, especially not so soon after I have escaped the shelf and found a new place to pretend to belong in for a little while. In time, it’s obvious I’ll be sent back. Not yet.

My breath comes back to me just as I feel my head start to get fuzzy and my limbs become weightless around me. The scene before me is blurry and I blink back the film of water that has settled over my tired eyes, wiping away what little escapes with a swipe of my forefinger. I glance up quickly to see that Sin is still sitting within the frame of the window, looking out at the dimming sun in the distance. The haze casts the boy in orange and I can’t help but smile at the pretty picture he makes. If I could wax poetic, I’m not sure my lips could ever shut back the words that would tumble forth and be breathed into life from the whispers of my inked air. There are so many things in this world, so many simple things, that can take everything I view and believe and turn it on end. This world has been so cruel and so unforgiving in its dealings with me, yet I cannot grow to hate it completely when there is something as beautiful as a boy watching the sun go down in the distance.

I let my body move of its own accord for a few minutes, allowing my fingers to pick up more of the food and slip it into my mouth. It doesn’t matter what I mix. None of the flavors are strong enough to clash. There are fruits and meats and vegetables all together behind my lips as I chew soundlessly. My eyes finally drop to the table again and I carefully pick up one last thing, one more little dumpling, before I wipe my hands on the table. There’s a subtle ache in my stomach, too small to give any real thought, that reminds me of fulfillment. I’ve stopped eating because my body has told me to, not my training. Half of the dumplings are gone and almost all of the carrots, some of the grapes and a majority of the green beans. I blink slowly at the absence of food below me, shocked at both my own capacity to eat so much- (So much, though? Masters eat thrice as much as I just ate for one meal.) -as well as the fact that I was even allowed to. A flush of shame worms through my body as my training hits hard against my skull, rattling my bones and shaking me for the crime against the rules of being a perfect Avox I’ve committed. I stand abruptly, backing away from the table and looking down at my feet. The small tremors pass within a mere moment as I snap back into place, body straightening but never becoming imposing. I stay as small as I possibly can while maintaining a respectful stance, hands lacing together behind my back in a show of compliance. There’s a moment of silence before I find the courage to glance up.

I’m met with dark eyes staring at me from across the room. I feel unsettled in a moment’s notice. My fingers curl tighter together; my stomach flips; my face heats up. However, despite my discomfort, I can’t break his gaze. There’s something commanding in it and I wait with bated breath for some kind of indication as to what I’m supposed to do. I wish he would just tell me instead of stare until I feel as if I’ve been burnt to the very core of my existence and left out for the wind to scatter to all four corners of the earth. My bottom lip curls inward and I catch the bottom of it with my teeth despite every instinct in me that screams not to even blink or breathe to show him life within this shell. Finally, he moves. All he does is extend a long finger towards a corner of the room and my eyes follow it dutifully. There’s a mat, much like the one in my room, sitting in the corner. I blink for a moment before looking back at Sin only to discover he has turned away again and is taking off his suit jacket. It’s as if a fire has been set on my heels now.

I scurry over to the corner, pulling out the mat and sliding it into the open space of the room. (Well, he didn’t tell me where, so here’s to hoping this is good enough…) I grab the small bundle of blankets and the pillow that had sat beside it, unfolding them carefully and draping them across the crinkled mat before folding them back so he could get in. The pillow is soft against my hands as I put it down, softer than anything I’ve ever had the luxury to enjoy. Nights in my previous master’s room are crossed from my mind for even considering as a part of that calculation. As I stand, I spin on my heel to face Sin, only to find him directly in front of me. I draw in a short breath, cursing at the uneasiness spilling through my veins even as he turns around. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize he has a purpose for being there other than startling me. Small buttons trail down the back of his shirt, binding him in. My hands set upon the task skillfully, popping them out one by one in quick succession. More than once, I feel the pads of my fingers skim across the planes of his back, each accidental brush sending a shock through my system. I’m doing this all wrong and I can’t seem to pick up the dynamic to this servitude. It shouldn’t take me this long to adapt. Each second I don’t know exactly how to deal with this situation sets me even more on edge.

When the shirt is finally loose, I step back quickly until I’m practically in the corner the mat originated from. I drop into my respectful pose again as Sin slips off the shirt. Despite everything, I look. I look and all I can see is the body of another. Older, darker, scarred. A quick intake doesn’t stem the flow of my memories, of nights starting out so similar to this and ending so far away from everything I’m comfortable with in the world and beyond. My eyes drop to the floor and I refuse to look up even after I’ve held my breath long enough that the fuzziness in my head has stopped my panic dead in its tracks. I breathe slowly again, quiet as possible, to regain what little breath I have.

I want to be gone from here now. I feel transfixed in my spot, my knees trembling just slightly under the simple weight of my delicate frame. Every second sends my skin crawling further, pulling tighter against me in apprehension and fear. This is the moment of truth for me, here, in this room, with this boy. I am his now and he could do whatever he pleases with me. He’s stepped close within my boundaries several times by now, a darkness in his eyes that can only be begotten with the most tragic of memories and twisted of souls. My ribs cage my shaking breath within me at the very thought of him, all sour breath and searching hands and biting words. I don’t want to be bound to that again, have to survive that kind of murder another time before I’m passed off like a doll when the story ends. This is a boy. (Please, don’t let this boy be like him…)

My eyes barely catch the flicker of movement from just within my field of vision, my chin tilting upwards to catch the ends of Sin’s flourishing hand gesture. I blink stoically for just a moment before scurrying into action, feet peeling from the floor and leaving behind small, padded prints. The lights are already dim around the room, but as I snuff out one and then another and then another, leaving only one left, I see how the room descends into absolute darkness. A shiver of fear rips up my spine as I trail over to the last one, eyes finding Sin standing in the dark. His eyes are dull in the light, but here, in the darkness, I see just how sharp they are. They glint unlike any jewel when surrounded by nothingness. I take in a small breath, hand reaching up to pinch out the last lamp and lingering just too long on the flame. My fingers smart in aggravation, skin practically hissing at the heat. Without any other cause to stay, I slip quietly over to the door and inside, pushing it shut with one last glimpse at the tiger opposite me. Only when it is clicked into place do I allow myself to crumble altogether.

At this time, I don’t know where my cot is. My lights were never lit in the first place, so I didn’t think of how dark it would be. There is no light in here. It’s an utterly dark void, perfect to lose myself in for all of eternity. (Maybe I could crawl away into this endless night and they would never find me.) Sometimes I think I could hide away forever. I could lock myself down within the creaking confines of my bones forever and forget the unstoppable motions of day. They couldn’t hurt me then. They couldn’t do anything to make me sing for them like a caged bird when my song has already been cut out. They could kill me and I wouldn’t care. I have been a dead man walking since the moment they found my parents and I in the woods all those years ago in the distant, foggy recollections of my subconscious. There was no hope for me from the moment they slit me open and made me a thing, rather than a child. There’s nothing left.

For a moment, I let my hands search blindly across the space before me for my mat, but I give up easily. I’m shaking too hard to function much more than total collapse. My fingers skim the ground for only another moment until my palms press flat against the wood to try and support me. I feel as if I’m coming apart at the seams with every tremor that wrecks my very being to the core. I suck in a breath, choking upon it quietly as every moment of the past three years crashing through me in waves of smothering emotion until I cannot feel the wood beneath me or the air around me. All I can feel are the nails driving down my back and the burns along my left side and the teeth searing into my thigh. I keep myself quiet despite the urge to scream, sucking in deep against floor as I collapse full-bodied across the ground. Clenching my teeth does nothing, so instead I raise my wrist to my mouth and bite, trying to clear away the fog of memories with the tangible now. It only takes a few seconds before I can taste blood, rolling over and pulling myself across the ground until I reach a corner, feeling the paneling against my spine as I hunch over into myself a little farther. I lose track of myself there, letting the air filter through me in short gasping spurts.

Time doesn’t seem to make any sense from that point on, my lightheadedness sapping any source of functioning from my body. Every shred of me is exhausted and I stay curled there against the wall for what feels like days. My limbs have turned to jelly and relax in full not from peace but from exhaustion. The darkness shutters out little by little with my weary blinking until I am wrapped within a darkness of my own making instead of that of the outer world. I let out a small breath, holding my lungs closed for one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty twenty-one twenty-two twenty-three twenty-four twenty-five twenty-six twenty-seven seconds before I feel too dizzy to continue functioning. From then on, my breathing is shallow, but manageable.

When I open my eyes, I hear noise from next-door. My lids feel as if there is sand stuck within and with every blink I feel my eyes irritate more. I reach up to rub at them when the noise sounds again. There’s crying. Each rising in sound strikes against my heart and I find myself crawling forward despite every instinct in me screaming against the movement. My knees are smarting by the time I’ve reached the door, ear pressed against the wood to hear the noise more clearly. There’s a rustling of a blanket, movements sharp enough to cut through the silence with the swoosh of a blanket. I feel my lungs close up at the pained whimpers and cries from just beyond the door, but I pull myself back from the precipice. I cannot afford to let myself try to console another person who has lost everything when I will be the one to suffer in the long run. Masters do not care. They do not help. They do not understand. If I try again, like last, no doubt I will die trying to save someone else. I cannot do this again.

A shrill scream rips through the air and I find myself shuddering and collapsing against the ground with my hands over my ears. It keeps going and going and going. A shuddering sobs slips from my lips and I cannot help the tears that fall from me. I suck in a gasp as the cry breaks, my hands trembling as they reach up to the knob of the door. My fingers shake as I pull it open, crawling around the frame so I can look out towards Sin.

I’ve never seen so much agony in a single human being. He looks so pained, so horribly twisted, that I feel myself creeping forward slowly. Each small movement sends me closer despite the shaking in my bones at every noise he makes. My breathing slows to a nearly silent inhale, exhales shuddering from my lungs unevenly. It hitches in my throat as another scream rips from him, my eyes tearing up in response. By the time I’ve reached his side, I’m shaking like a leaf in a storm and unable to control myself from making quiet noises behind my teeth. Small ’shhh’s and quiet whimpers breaking from my throat. When I finally settle in beside him, legs curled tight beneath me with my hands folded in my lap, I can’t find it in myself to reach out to him, to console him in any other way. I can only manage to make what little noises I can in comfort, eyes staring unfocused at Sin’s clenched hands.