La Mort et ses Merveilles ✔

21. I Don't Want to Remember

La Mort et ses Merveilles

Chapter 21: I Don't Want To Remember

A/N: I've decided to change the timing of events from Chapter 16 (aka Leslie's disaster date) by pushing it back to two years before the outbreak. Just a head's up and I apologise for the confusion! - 8th August 2018

I could only look at him as I pulled my pants up, pulling myself together in the process. Leslie stood up, cracking his knuckles in front of him as if he didn't do anything wrong.

I felt disgusting, deep in my core. I felt used. A means to an end.

"Get out," I told him, once the lump in my throat had disappeared. "Now."

"Where are the keys?" Leslie demanded. "Where do you keep them?"

"Is that why you sucked me off?" I asked, raising my voice. "What am I to you? That you think you could use me, and manipulate me like that?"

The young man averted his gaze. His blue eyes were full of guilt as he hung his head in shame, staring at the floor.

"Why do you even want the keys?" I asked, walking up to him. "What's it to you?"

The young man was silent, not even uttering a word.

"You know what," I told him. "Don't waste my time. Just leave me alone."

It was then when I felt him grab on to my arms, his grip tight around my wrists. He looked at me with his bright blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his lips slightly quivering. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Then why did you want the key to the infirmary for?" I questioned. "Answer me."

The young man stuttered, choking on his words, before finally being able to blurt it all out.

"I wanted to forget, alright?" he said, heaving out a heavy sigh. "After what happened yesterday, all the memories just kept coming back, and I-"

He stopped talking, and when I looked up I saw his blue eyes starting to turn glossy. Leslie was fighting back tears. It was only then did it register in my foggy brain what Leslie really wanted. He wanted to take some pills.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, streams of tears falling down his pale cheeks. "I just thought some Vicodin would help, and it helps me feel good. At least, it'll help me forget. . . I guess. Maybe even some cough syrup. I don't know. Just anything."

Placing his chin on my shoulder, he began to sob. I could only keep silent as I wrapped him in my arms, holding him close to me.

"Leslie," I said, trying to reassure him. "There are other ways. Not like this."

Josephine had warned me about letting Leslie get hold of the infirmary keys, but I never knew he had a drug problem. But knowing what he went through, it wasn't a surprise. It was one of the few ways he tried to escape himself, and I didn't blame him for it.

"You must think I'm such a good-for-nothing, don't you?" Leslie said as we finally let go. "Useless, dumb, a drug addict, what else? You know, I don't know why people stick around. I'd leave if I were you."