I Know Your Truth

Chapter 19 - Love Like A Drug

-ZEPHRILIA'S POV-

-A DAY LATER-

An older male with gelled back, white hair brought himself into my unescapable room with a worried look on his face and a look for haste in his steps, "Miss, are you well? You look awful- Not in a bad way but.."

"Are you here to hurt me?" I give a begging plea in my eyes that I needed aid immediately. He pulls himself down to my molded mattress on the cement flooring, scrutinizing every angle of my fatigued body.

"Definitely not, sweetie." He answers with a slightly calmer tone, bringing his wrinkled, pale hand to wipe away the dirt and terror-stricken tears, "Are you okay?"

I let out a soft sob, my entire body aching with the need for a comfortable bedding and for the torture to cease, "I don't know. I just wanna go home."

"Hey, hey." He calms, "Come here."

He pulls my head into his chest, wrapping his arms around me before lying his chin on my messy and greasy hair. Feeling a male entrap me into this overwhelming comfort was both giving me a disagreeable feeling in my stomach, but also felt like breathing a cold, fresh air in on a beautiful Saturday morning. I had no knowing if this man was planning on mutilating me, but I didn't care. I needed this physical contact and care or else I might've gone crazy. I never had a father to say loved me; that's why I instantly fell for Matthew. Where was Matthew? Was he okay?

The man speaks in a less comforting voice, "We need to get you out of here. If they find us now, then I'll have more blood on my hands. Can you stand?"

"Yeah, my ankle just hurts." I reply. He helps pick me up by grasping under my arm, bringing me to painfully be upright. He pulls a handgun from his pocket, taking a few seconds to shove a couple bullets into its container. I take a look at his blue eyes, fear filling my veins. I was most likely going to watch multiple people that would have their own lives end. I hated the thought of death. It terrified me to know that murderers don't take into account that the people they kill have been small kids running up to their guardians with a messy portrait in their grabby hands that sought for the validation of the parent. I don't think any murderers have taken into thought that those people that fell to the ground in death were most likely once a small baby taking in the blurry vision of a mother smiling into their newborn eyes. This is why I never brought blood to my hands. But, almost all of the people, even Matthew, were once viewing the life leave someone's eyes.

"Kay, just stick behind me and I'll deal with anyone that gets in the way, miss." The male orders, moving his arm to plant me behind his tall, skinny frame. I was terrified, my bones feeling as if they'd been turning into move and I was a walking robot struggling to move through the flesh and fat that overlapped my figure, "3.. 2.. 1.. out."

The door quietly unlatches easily, opening to the large hallway that overtook the futuristic aesthetic of being. Our steps echo throughout the place, an emptiness dropping into my chest as no one was around to stop us. It felt as if we stepped foot in the most abandoned building you could lie your eyes on. It left me in a high alert, yet disoriented state as I followed slowly by the guarded and mysterious man in front of me. The air smelled of nothing; like a hospital with its crisp zephyr. With the man's quick talking of blood on his hands, I fully expected to be traumatized by multiple corpses as soon as I left the holdings of the small room.

"Down these stairs." The male whispers, instantly regretting it as his voice bounces off the walls and ceiling. I don't answer. My silent panic and need to not get caught was great, and I wasn't going to risk anything at that moment. I bring myself down the small stairway, the 2nd flooring above us almost like a middle loft with its clear viewing from the floor below.