ELBINA 3

Chapter 1

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
I'm losing my mind.
Anyone would here.
I can't stand these four walls, seven steps by seven steps.
A singular bed in the corner, a desk in the centre of the other wall. Even if it's blurred in my vision, I know every single detail of this room.
I take another sip of the bottle, bitter and harsh in my throat till I swallow.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
The white walls don't change though, no matter how much I feel the hum of alcohol in my brain. It's not like I can distract myself much, and I don't want to think too much either. I do enough of that when the lights go out.
So all I can really do is eat, sleep, drink and repeat.
And I do drink.
Probably too much.
Since a week after that day.

My hand shook, fumbling with the pen, barely able to write my own name on the numerous papers they had me sign. He looks over at me, watching me struggle.
I still felt sick, I still felt a lot of things.
I felt too much, so much that it was hard to do anything but think and thinking only makes it worse.
One pull at my hair and then another, like it will make a difference.
It never does.
One breath, then two, then three.
I try again, picking up the pen, it still shakes.
His hand pulls the pen from my grasp, I lift my head and watch him look down at me with sympathy. Before he pulls out a flask from underneath his jacket, dropping it onto the table in front of me. It thuds against the top and I gulp looking at it.
Afraid.
I crave it, I crave the numbness and lightness that it brings.
And that scares me.
My heads shakes on instinct, sitting back in the chair until he pushes it further towards me. Slowly grating against the table.
"It'll help." He says quietly.
"I can't. My dad-" I try.
"I know." I look at him, he nods, and I should have expected that they would. They knew everything about me.
He still pushes it one bit closer anyway, repeating himself.
"You need it."
In my head, I try to remind myself that I don't. I can get through this without it.
But the one person who truly understood what I was going through... she wasn't here. And nothing so far has done anything to help me sleep, nothing has given me a break.
It seems like a lifetime, him standing over me, my leg shaking uncontrollably beneath the desk.
My breaths coming out shaky too, and for a moment... I think I might resist. I think I'll be fine.
But that feeling never lasts long.
Because I always end up remembering something, which only makes me run a hand across my mouth. Sucking in sharply through my nose as I try to stem down the tears. I wasn't supposed to cry, I wasn't supposed to be this affected by everything.
I hated the feeling, the vulnerability that is.
He doesn't have to signal it once more, I give in.
I give up, I'm sick of just coping. Just surviving and hoping it'll get better.
I'm sick of it.
I want to be numb.
Or at least a little bit.
The metal flask stings my hand, icy cold and my thumb runs along the top of it. Before I can talk myself out of it I flip open the top and rise it to my lips.
And it feels shit.
A large glug of it hits my tongue and swirls down my throat. Making me cough and splutter from the strength of it. The smell on its own sends my head a little fuzzy but it's the feeling of it settling in my stomach that helps.
Warming my insides somehow.
Even with my face screwed into disgust, I look up at him. Signalling back down to the flask again... and now that I've jumped head first in.
Was there any other reason to stop?

Now I'm too scared to stop.
Van keeps bringing me it, not that the others know. He keeps me stocked and at this point, I don't think the others care.
As long as I stay in this room, it doesn't matter to them.
I reach the other wall again, resting my head against the cold wall. Pressing against it harder and harder, running it side to side, temple to temple.
Sometimes I wonder what Dad would think, seeing me like this.
Sometimes I think about what she would say too... but then the bitter reminder of her decision comes into play and I drink some more.
Today's worse.
Because I know it'll be three months in a few days. Three months of this.
Three months of these walls.
Three months since I was sober.
Three months since that day.
I'd like to say I did something worthwhile with my time, apart from becoming a functioning alcoholic that is. Except I haven't, I've just gone through the motions, day by day and never really knowing anything.
I don't know what happened to her.
I don't know what happened to Fallen. I know he died, but they never explained how. Although, a part of me doesn't want to know how.
Another sting of alcohol settles down my throat as I move away from the wall now. Settling the bottle on the top of the desk, I sit down. Slumping onto the chair and running a hand through my messy hair all over again. It's greasy and knotted and I know I should probably wash it.
I've still got a part way written letter to my Dad screwed sidewards on the desk, my fingers edge it so it straightens out in front of me. My poor hand-writing slanted and scratchy on the paper but the words held something better. Better than what I really felt.
It's my third I'll get to send to him. It's all the same though, I lie to him through the pen and paper. I say it's all fine and that I'm feeling good, he doesn't need to worry and that I'll be back as soon as I can, but I never promise.
I would never make that mistake.
Not now.
A knock sounds at the door, my head turns but my hand slips the flask into the drawer again. I didn't need them taking it off of me.
Not that they cared to look, but I didn't want to push my luck that they wouldn't just remove it from me if I had it in plain sight.
I needed it.
"What do you want Daniels?" The moment I make eye contact with him, I turn back to the desk again. My hand tightening around the handle of the pen, tapping it furiously on the table.
As the days past, my bitterness and guilt and my stupid fucking grief has made me angry.
So angry, that if my previous self had met me, I'd have probably thought I was a dick. And it wasn't untrue, I knew it, I just didn't care anymore. I'm too angry, and too stuck in this cycle that even though I know I don't like my actions, I can't stop it.
No one seems genuine anymore so why should I trust anyone?
I feel alone.
I am alone.
"Got some news for you."
"Oh yeah?" I scoff, rolling my eyes.
What happened?
I don't get to have a shower now too?
They want to extend my stay here even longer?
What could possibly be worse than this shit hole?
"You're having a meeting tomorrow; Detective Rogers is coming for a chat."
I shake my head, grinding my teeth.
"What do they need to talk to me about? Thought I wasn't needed till the trial now? I've already gone over everything; I don't want to do it all over again."
I couldn't go over it again, at least then it was all so raw that it couldn't feel any worse.
And at least then, I probably had hope that things would improve, that she'd realise her mistake. That I'd be able to go home.
I'd thought a lot of things.
Don't mean I knew anything.
"It isn't about the trial." The door shuts behind him, my eyes trail up with more interest.
"Then what?" I say and he looks a little uncomfortable now that he has my full attention.
"There was an incident and Rogers wants to know if you can help with it, he'll explain the situation tomorrow."
"What is it?" I say harder.
"Like I said Lucas, you'll know tomorrow."
"Then why the fuck come in here and tell me shit all?" I stand up, dropping the pen to the table. The veins in my arms raise from the rising heat in my stomach and the sheer tension in my fists.
"Tomorr-" I cut him off, my shout louder than I thought it would be that he shocks him a little.
"Stop pussy footing around it Daniels and tell me!" He doesn't say anything for a moment or so, he stands there, watching me closely. Thinking what he should do.
"That's not my job." I scoff at him, his jaw grinding at the same time.
"But you know what it is, so tell me. Or do you want me to make your life a misery till tomorrow?" I pause, stepping closer. "I mean... how fast can you close that door behind you?" I can tell he feels the threat, I only had to look at his adam apple bobbing up and down to know it.
He stares at me a little longer, unsure of his next move until his jaw grinds and he flits the eye contact away into the corner.
I can't help the smile pulling at the edges.
Fucking right.
He clears his throat, keeping his eye contact away from me when he speaks. "Yesterday, around 2am, we lost contact with the building."
I wait, my breathing shallows.
By the looks of his face and the way he still can't look at me, I know I'm not going to like his next few words.
"When we re-established contact, she was already gone."
My heart stops.
It cinches and constricts, ebbing painfully in my chest. But I don't let it show, I gulp down any emotion till I can reign in my breathing.
"Gone?" It comes out raspier than I'd have liked, emotion thick on my tone.
"Elbina's gone missing, some time in the night she got out."
I blow out a shaky breath, knowing that gone didn't really mean gone, or at least from what we know right now.
"What do you mean? Gone missing?" I raise my voice now that I'm not struggling to prevent myself from crying.
"We can't find her." His eyes finally zone back on mine, only to be met with my hard staring glare at his words.
"I'm not a fucking idiot. I know what missing means, I want to know how this happened!" I take another step closer, edging him backwards to the door again and I know if I'm not careful. I'm going to have the rest of them in here restraining me again.
"We don't know Lucas. She's just gone." I don't believe it.
I hate it, I hate that I'm worried about her.
After what she'd done to me, how am I still fucking worried!?
Knowing that she isn't safe in a place similar to this, knowing that she's back out there and knowing that she can't trust who she thinks she can, I want to crawl on the ground in a heap.
If she'd have let me talk to her, if she'd have let me see her then I could explain. Now she's out, and she doesn't know.
"How could she have done that? I can't get passed you and the others so how the fuck did she get passed hers?"  I prod him in the chest, stumbling on my feet. He shakes his head at me, I curl my lip up in annoyance. He looks at me like he's better than me, looking at me like a drunk. Which isn't fair, and I try to remind myself that I'm this way because she made it so. This fall into oblivion is because of her.
But that doesn't change how I actually feel about her.
"She's not the only one from the building that's missing." I grab hold of his shirt, my knuckles whiten at the tension and he grabs at my wrists hard.
I don't let go, even when I hear commotion on the other side of the door.
I lean forward and I spit in his face, knowing my face is screwed up into something unpleasant and the stench of my breath almost makes him recoil.
"Who?"
He holds my glare for a few more moments and I push him harder against the door to hurry him up.  "Nero. One of the guards, he's missing too." I swallow down a catch in my throat, it pulsated and stung but it ebbs away until Daniels speaks again.
"We assume he helped her escape, or – took her. We're unsure on that right now."
That catch in my throat travels down and settles on my chest, constricting it.
Took her.
Took her.
The door handle rattles as they try to come in, having seen me on the camera's basically assaulting Daniels again.
And so I swallow down the fear and I let my anger surface all over again.
Because anger is easy, anger mellows things out in my chest through the throw of a punch and shouting till my throat is hoarse.
Anger is a hell of a lot easier.
"And who the fuck. Is. Nero?"
Which is when the door behind Daniels is forced open, throwing us both to the floor.
And I thrive in the hard punch I manage to land in Daniels jaw, forcing him away from me before the others drag me back and pin me to the floor all over again.