𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 │ 𝐓. 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃

two.

⠀She only shook her head, leaning back into the doorway as to herd him out of the room but the man opposite her needed more information.

⠀"What is this place?" A sense of dread tore its way into his words, and he felt weak under her stare.

⠀"It's safe," her words were more rushed than before. "You earn what you take. We've used up valuable resources on you to keep you alive, so now you owe us."

⠀Isiah rose his eyes to her face, an aghast expression. "Your people hit me with a car, and you think I owe you my services?"

⠀"That was an accident."

⠀The man shook his head, laughing to himself for a split second. "An accident? I was in the middle of a road, and I seem to remember them speeding up just as they tore a freaking car right into my crotch."

⠀He didn't much know why, but he swore he could see a ghost of a smirk on her lips for at least a second. He wanted to stress how much he wanted to just leave, but the clean hallways and locked windows struck a cord in his chest telling him that this was a prison.

⠀It threw up walls in his head, and his skin rose in goosebumps as a chill ran up his body.

⠀"What do you want me to do?" He finally asked, bringing a hand to his hair before clutching his elbows tightly against his body.

⠀Dawn stepped back and forth, before approaching the taller person. She hooked her thumbs in the loopholes in her trousers, her icy gaze analysing him. "Keep order. Do your part."

⠀Isiah clenched his jaw. "My part, okay. When can I― me and my sister leave."

⠀Her voice was soft and hard at the same time, constantly carrying a sense of sociopathy yet sounding like she wanted to scream all at once. "When you no longer owe us. Everything has a price."

⠀Isiah took a moment, fingering a scar on his forearm ― a nervous tick he remembered Daryl had pointed out. His neck ached as he strained to look down at her, and watch the way she stood absolutely still.

⠀And he nodded, pressing his lips together, feeling how dry they were. His throat ached, and his neck pained. He wished he could be numb ― it's all he ever thought about most of the time.

⠀He never thought he was ever the best he could be; he knew that he could have been. He just wasn't. That's what haunted him.

⠀He could be so much better.

⠀Dawn gave a gesture back, before walking over to the doorframe she was once leaning on and waiting for him to follow.

⠀Isiah lifted himself from leaning on the sink, pressuring all his weight on his left leg as he let his right drag behind him like a phantom limb. A sudden sense of deja vu hit him, and he felt his eyes prickle with hot tears. So he rose a hand to his cheeks, wiping furiously at ones that never fell.

⠀The hallways in front of him were almost so void of sound, Isiah could hear his own heartbeat. He felt it in his fingers, all the way down to his toes.

⠀After all the venturesome looks he had cast this place, it was only just then that he figured out it was a hospital.

⠀Dawn's shoes clicked down the walkway, and he followed slowly after her. Isiah clutched all he had to himself, feeling the fabric of the scrubs in his calloused hands. They were rough and faded. He felt like he could disappear within them.

⠀Once again disappointing himself.

⠀He didn't know she had stopped walking until he almost ran into her back, but he drew in a breath before he could make contact. It was then he noticed her looking into a room, and he followed her eyes.