Cataclysm

0.5

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"He's still sitting there."

Pause.

"No. He hasn't moved."

Pause.

"I couldn't see what happened, could you?"

Longer pause.

"Yeah, I guess. I don't want to ask."

Leo's voice faded in and out, swirling around my head like waves. I stared blankly at the ground, focusing all of my attention on a small rock. I was exhausted after the round, but I couldn't sleep. I couldn't even close my eyes. I just sat there on the floor, my head between my knees, staring at that rock. I guess that's all I was good at. Staring.

I couldn't get that image out of my head - Laszlo lying there in a puddle of his own blood, gasping for breath, writhing in agony, all because of me. His blood was on my hands - both literally and figuratively. I'd killed him. I couldn't get the dried crusts of blood off of my fingers. Maybe it was because my hands were shaking too bad.

"So ..." Leo said awkwardly. "How'd it go?"

I felt all the guilt rush back into my chest, replacing the numbness and making me ache. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't find the energy. I'd killed an innocent boy. I was a murderer.

"I'm surprised, I'll admit. I didn't think you'd make it."

"Please, Leo," I whispered.

"Sorry?"

"I killed someone!" I shouted, my voice cracking. I finally allowed myself to look up at the Unnatural, leaning against the window of my cage.

"So?" he said.

"So?" I repeated. "I just ended someone's life for the entertainment of an entire country!"

"Yeah?"

"You don't get it, do you?" I accused, staggering to my feet and marching toward him. He actually stepped back this time, and Braken made a sharp gesture. "You're just like they said you were. You don't even care if you kill someone, as long as you survive. It doesn't matter. You enjoy these games, don't you? You enjoy killing people. You're just making up Howell and your nightmares and being all scared of the dark. You're a coward, just like the rest of them!"

Leo's eyes darkened with anger, but at the mention of Howell and his nightmares, they filled up with pain. "How can you accuse me of that?" he whispered, backing up. One hand rested against his heart, grasping his shirt, and the other felt behind him, as if for a table or a bed. "You have no idea what it's like in here. Yesterday was nothing."

"Really? I doubt it. You're too 'oh yeah, I killed a guy but that's nothing' to be in as much pain as you claim you are. You're making all of it up!" I screamed, my emotions running wildly out of control. I needed to calm down, but I couldn't think straight. All I could see was the look in Laszlo's eyes.

"I'm not making it up!" Leo snapped back, his pale and bruised face flushing deep scarlet in anger.

"Really?" I said, laughing hysterically. "Then prove it."

Immediately, Leo pulled his shirt off over his head and threw it on the ground, like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He whirled around, jerked his thumb at his back, and said, "There. Happy now?"

His back was covered in scars. Some were long, some small, and a few weren't lines, but dark splotches blemishing his fair skin. Some were purple and blackish, and others were red or pink, and a few were pale white, barely noticeable. There were scars upon scars, some of the tissue bumpy and mangled beyond repair. There was hardly a spot of untouched skin.