thieves and princes // phan

Chapter 11

And Found

Connor was a sickly palor, alone with the darkness.

In that cold, wet basement Connor had screamed and cried and begged for hours on end. Nothing ever happened.

You'd think Connor would be used to it. After being in captivity for so long, maybe, just maybe, he would be better.

But his previous prison was better. There, he was with Troye and Troye wouldn't hurt him. Sure, sometimes his words would sting him, more than he would like to admit, but there he knew what was around him.

He knew what to be afraid of.

Shadows called for him to give up. They told him to just close his eyes, just to sleep. Then everything would be okay. But the shadows told him lies. When he closed his eyes his whole body burned. The darkness enveloped him in a thick blanket, a nurturing suffocation. With every breath he took, he would only taste the dust, the stale air scratching the back of his throat and coating his tongue. Breathing was hard, a tough rarity. The only light that he had been granted in his sentence to the prison was the dim light from the stairs, but even that came with an ill omen. In exchange for the precious stream of light, either Tyler or Lloyd would come to "keep him company."

If what they did to him was called company, he certainly wanted no part of it.

They would punch, kick, and hit him, their smiles growing ever wider as if it was all just a sick and twisted game. The first hit was always the worst; it would sting his skin like a freezing wind he'd felt as a child, but over time the laughing and punches would muddle together until they faded completely. After all, it was no fun if Connor wasn't begging for mercy. One particular evening, they had gone so far as to burn him, the white iron searing his flesh. Connor hated it, hated the suffering, hated existing.

And then there was mental torment. They would tell him things. Tell him that no one would care, that he would rot and die in that basement, they would tell him it was Troye's fault, deprive him of the one thing that no one should ever be without: hope.

He was alone and loneliness clung to him like a leech, angrily biting him. Connor hated being alone.

Gradually, as with all things, Connor broke. He was beginning to believe it. No one cared. Death was inevitable. One day he would die in this basement, die alone and forgotten. His father didn't need him, his stepmother surely didn't miss him. One of his siblings was dead and the other two...they would get over it.

And Troye. Whatever feelings he had for the thin boy were wearing down, replaced with a slow burning hatred in his stomach. It was always Troye pulling the strings. Troye made escape plans. Troye did this to him. It was his fault.

And some small part of him told him is was his too.

Connor was so tired. Hung up on that dreaded wall his frail arms burned as if threatening to dislodge completely, staving off his only escape: sleep. He couldn't remember when days ended and when new days began, when days turned into weeks and even if weeks turned into months. When was the last time he'd actually gotten any sleep? Any food? Any water? Yet, at the same time, he had begun to wonder why he deserved any of it. Time seemed to move at a different pace down there--it was enduring as if it were the will of the world to keep him down in the depths of melancholia.

Footsteps were heard from the narrow stairs, the cheap, splintered wood creaking and emitting a horrible noise. Connor flinched, and a hint of pain resounded from his forehead. He couldn't take it anymore, but he knew that he would submit to the torment just like he always did. It was wrong to give in, and he knew it, but it was the only way to escape. The word no echoed over in his head, his body preparing for any torture he was going to be put through.

The person stepped into the damp basement. "Connor? Where are you? Connor?" The voice was a small, strained whisper. The words refused to register to the captive boy; he had all but forgotten about kindness.

"Leave me alone! Don't touch me!" He yelled, his voice a weak, strangled scream.

"Connor? It's you! Oh thank god you're alive!" The words still had no effect on Connor, but the voice did. The voice he'd been stuck with for so long, the only voice he'd known for so many months on end. Troye. Even through the pitch black, Connor's eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see the outline of a thin and dirty boy.

"Troye." Connor's voice shifted from the high pitched screams and shouts to a small, low voice. "You're actually here."

"Oh Connor, I'm so sorry. We have to get out, we have to leave, please." Troye's disembodied voice echoed through the basement and Connor winced.

"Shh. They'll hear you." Connor warned him in a monotone voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting you out of here. What else?"

Connor ignored him. "What are you doing here Troye? Why have you come here? You can't be here, you wanted this. This was your whole plan from the beginning."

"What? Connor, no, it wasn't-" Troye's defense was quickly cut off by the scratchy voice of the boy on the wall.

"Tyler told me. He told me everything. You were supposed to kill me. You were supposed to kill me and no one ever told you why. You just were going to do it. Like a stupid puppet on strings." Connor laughed humorlessly. "Although who's the one hanging on the wall here."

"Connor, I'll explain, but we need to leave. Please listen to me, if we don't go now we might never have the chance to."

"I-"

"Well, look at what the cat dragged in. How's it going Troye?"

"Tyler."

A very very special thank you to the following users, I couldn't have written this chapter without you guys: scorpia015, tortorofranta, TroyeTheSpiritAnimal, ToffeeCupcakes, Thekawaiipenguin. And if you ship joshler, go read my friend forestfranta's new story 'like u lots'.

Have a nice day! ^_^