I Won't Forgive You

Hysterical Screams

Flashes of images rush by me, each more disturbing than the last. Each image seems so real that I have no choice but to deem them imagined. Screaming people and haunting emotions rush by me, ensnaring me in their crushing hold before escaping further into oblivion.

Excruciating pain erupts and threads into my being. My muscles spasm and my empty stomach seems to explode and tear me up from the inside out.  I shudder slowly awake and gasp for air.

My eyes are crusted over and I painfully force them open to take in my surroundings. I notice the same breathtaking boy from before staring blankly at me a few feet away after cringing from the pile of soggy and deranged rats scuttling in the corner of the…room...

 "He came" the boy mutters. His eyes flick over to a closed rusted door and back to me. "He came and then he left. Always the same, always with nothing but-" the boy stops talking as a violent fit racks his body. His muscles spasm uncontrollably and he grips at the air as if reaching for something that could save his life.

I move to help him, and I realize that chains are closed around my wrists, securing me to an iron ring fastened crudely to the floor. I glance over and notice that the boy is chained as well. Rusted chains are locked tightly around his ankles. As his fit subsides, I come to the realize that the rust isn’t rust…it’s blood. His ankles are raw and starting to scab over, still bleeding blood onto the obscene chains.

The boy whimpers, finally able to breathe again, and curls into a ball on the cold stone floor.

 I slowly crawl over to him, avoiding putting weight on my injured fingers. I cautiously test my weight on those fingers and notice that they no longer hurt. Further inspection proves that my fingers are healed, and the bandage around my waist is gone. I gingerly trace the puckered scar the knife wound left behind.

“Two weeks” the boy whispers. My head shoots up as I stare into his eyes. Two weeks? Does he mean that I was out for two weeks? Tears run over the edge of his brilliant blue eyes as he starts shivering and gasping for air. “Two weeks gone” he whispers weakly.

I lean over and poke his arm. “Was I unconscious for two weeks, is that what you mean?” I ask quietly.

His hand snaps out and captures my wrist, pulling me briskly towards him. His arms wrap around my shoulders tightly as he buries his head in my neck. His warm tears dampen my shirt and his nails dig painfully into my skin.

“Please save us” he sobs into my neck. “Please, please save us, Lola. You have to!”  

My eyes widen at his desperate cry, and I frantically try to pull away from his overwhelming embrace.

“No! Le-let me go! Please!” I choke out, impetuous tears filling up my eyes and blurring my vision.

“Help us! Damn it, Lola, help us!” he screams as he fiercely clings tighter to me.

The rusted door behind us slams open with a bang, and the psychotic man from earlier stalks into the room with a snarl and knife dripping with fresh blood hanging dangerously from his filthy hands.

Hysterical screams echo around me.