eight.
NATHAN DIDN'T BOTHER arguing with Adelaide or telling her he could clean the wounds on his own. Because in all honesty, and throwing aside egoistical bullshit, he was tired and he'd appreciate her help.
He pulled the bottom of his pants up until they gathered at his knees, then turned, kneeling by the bed with his arms resting along the mattress. In this position his calves were exposed for Adelaide, who settled behind him.
"Last time a sandbag and now some weird shit sliced my legs," Nathan said, picking at a loose thread. "Next thing you know I'm dead."
Adelaide gasped humorously audibly. "Gosh, don't say that!" It sounded like she was ready to swat him, so Nathan unawarely tensed for a second, but nothing happened. "You're gonna live, alright? And we're gonna get out of this and nothing bad's gonna happen."
"Do you really think when we finish the acts he's gonna let us go? He'll probably kill us." The thought made Nathan's heart sink but he liked killing himself beforehand. Preparation. Golden days when he didn't have to worry about death.
No answer from Adelaide. Nathan heard the squeeze of the plastic, the squirt of liquid onto tissue. "I'm . . . uh, I'm gonna start, yeah?" she said, as if waiting for Nathan's permission. "It's gonna hurt a little."
Nathan's shoulders lifted and dropped in time with a heavy sigh. "I know." Just then, a disgruntling burn festered along the wound. Then another sting. Nathan hissed to himself but kept his eyes attached to the mattress, aimlessly tracing the choppy stitches holding it together with his fingertip. "Adelaide?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you see anything behind the iron chords? An audience or something? I have bad eyesight so I couldn't really tell if there's someone there."
"Bad eyesight," Adelaide mumbled to herself. "I sorta could tell. You squint a lot." The prioritized afterthought must've vanished, because she suddenly realized she'd ignored the actual question. "It's super dark out there, I couldn't see anybody either. I don't think there is."
"I feel like someone's watching us. I heard weird noises," Nathan said, turning so that he could face Adelaide but she gently tapped his ankle.
"I'm not done yet. Give me a second. You were saying . . . ?"
"It's fine." Nathan turned again, pressing his elbows into the mattress, palm cradling his cheek. "The Director caught me peeking out, and I told him I heard something and guess what he told me?"
Nathan felt Adelaide stop patting the wound with disinfectant (hopefully she was done now, though he wouldn't nag about it). The burning ceased. He continued, "That that something could hear me too."
Again, Adelaide was wordless. Not in a way Nathan could discern, but in a way that conveyed zero emotion. He heard her screwing the disinfectant's cap shut. Frowning, he pushed, "Hello? What do you think?"
"I honestly don't know," Adelaide finally said. "Like, why would somebody watch and say nothing? Shouldn't they notice something's wrong with the actors?"
"Obviously they're not gonna be normal people watching." Nathan twisted back half-way through and gave Adelaide a look that said: can I? Are you done? When she nodded, he completed the turn, aligning his spine with the edge of the bed so that he was facing her again. "Probably more captives."
"I don't know," Adelaide repeated, words lost amongst a hopeless sigh. "But that's so creepy."
"Yeah." Reaching for the underside of his knee, Nathan touched one haphazardly plastered wound then pulled his pants down until he covered his shins again. "Thanks for helping me," he said.
Adelaide's auburn brows furrowed. "Nathan? You look seriously tired." She'd been sitting with her legs tucked beneath her, but now she shifted, throwing her weight on her knees as she leant forwards. It seemed like she was about to touch his forehead. "Actually, you look dehydrated."
"I'm fine." Nathan slumped down, this time minding Adelaide so that he wouldn't jam his feet into her, and leant the back of his head against the edge of the bed.
"Nathan."
Nathan had just closed his eyes but now he opened them again. "Can you stop calling me Nathan? People only use Nathan and Nathanial when I'm in trouble or some shit."
"You're trying to change the subject. And what am I supposed to call you then?"
Nathan maintained a deceitfully serious expression. "Cleopatra."
This had to be Adelaide's most intense what the hell? look. "I . . . I seriously don't understand you sometimes."
"I'm kidding." Nathan laughed, but his throat ached with the effort. "I mean, if it's not Nathan or Nathanial, what do you think it's gonna be? Obviously Nate. Everyone calls me that."
"Oh, Nate. Makes sense." Shaking her head, chin angled downwards, Adelaide laughed quietly and shamefully. "Sorry, I'm slow."
"You're not slow." Nathan shifted until he was leaning his entire side against the bedside, one hand rubbing the side of his face where the Director had slammed into the chords. "We've only done two acts and I'm already done with this bullshit."
"Exactly what I was thinking."
Nathan moved his hand up to his hair, tugged at a strand as if to distract himself from the throb tormenting his skull, then let his arm slump back down. He frowned.
"I told you Dolion's married," Nathan suddenly said, looking at Adelaide, who tilted her head in response. "He's cheating. Last time he took the ring off when Luna told him to invite her, and this time he said he feels like he's doing something wrong too. And Luna—"
"Nathan." Adelaide's eyes suddenly picked up the bruising spot along Nathan's temple. "Uh . . . Nate, stop talking. Give yourself a rest. You're tired and dehydrated. When's the last time you even drank water?"
"It's been a day and a half." Nathan sighed shakily; the balm was in the room, encased in glass, but the Director had been clear. "If I drink from your cup, he'll get angry. And I bet you can tell he loves hurting me."
"And if you don't drink, you'll die." Adelaide's voice echoed with the concern Nathan could imagine coming out of his big sister. "Sorta the same result, right?"
Nathan frowned at the conclusion, eyes downcast. She was right. Death loomed from each side, clinging to him like a shadow. So really it was just about when and how it'd end.
A short scraping sound caught Nathan's attention and jarred him out of his thoughts. Swiveling to the noise's direction, he found Adelaide carefully holding the cup of water, inching closer until she knelt in front of him again.
Just a sip, Adelaide mouthed, a habit Nathan assumed she'd picked up from him.
Enticing, Nathan couldn't deny. Now that she mentioned it, he bothered to acknowledge the problem: throat dry like asphalt scorched by the sun. The water in Adelaide's hand suddenly seemed like heaven in a globe. "But I don't think that's a good idea—"
"Please," Adelaide said, leaning closer. "Just do it quick. Dehydration isn't a joke. You've been through enough."
In other words: I don't want you to die. Nathan looked Adelaide in the eyes and for once she didn't avert hers. Like she was telling him she'd step over the fear if it meant it'd save his health.
Nathan appreciated it—not the risk in this, but the subtle assurance. The care. He quickly leant in, took a sip with the cup in Adelaide's hands then pulled back.
"God, I forgot how good it feels," Nathan mumbled, wiping where his lips touched the glass so that the Director wouldn't notice. "Thanks."
Adelaide smiled. "No worries."
Nathan relaxed again, leaning back. Sitting straight required far too much energy at this point and he'd rather save it for when he'd need it. Like Act Three, or if he'd have to have a petty chit-chat with the Director.
His eyes burnt with exhaustion when he closed them, thoughts going adrift but he tried to stop them. Tried to stop comparing Adelaide to his big sister because it tore his heart. To stop imagining his mom's terror. His dad's disappointment. Max's confusion. Chains grating.
Chains grating?
Snapping his head up, Nathan glanced at the door, then instinctively back at the glass he'd drunk from. Seconds later, the door inched inwards, and a foot preceded the Director's entrance.
The Director held a tray of more bread and another glass of water. "For my heroine," he clarified when his gaze fell upon Nathan. "Where's the old tray?"
Nathan knew Adelaide had to be panicking as well. Beside her, their apparent disobedience lay as glass but the traces were gone. The Director couldn't know Nathan had drunk unless he'd take a look at his tongue.
The Director stared at the old glass of water as well. Bending painstakingly slow, he placed the tray in his hands on the floor. Then he stared at Nathan. Then at Adelaide. Dark eyes glimmered with accusation or doubt. Hopefully neither, but probably both.
Nathan prayed Adelaide would stay calm. If anything happened, he could get around with some lying skills. But if Adelaide messed up, he knew he'd die today.
After clearing his throat, the Director walked towards the old glass of water and picked it up, observing it like a scientist for a full dreadful minute. Then he shared the verdict:
"Question. Did you drink from this, my villain?"
Nathan's heart dropped. What kind of bullshit was this? He couldn't even have one sip of water and get away with it. Nerves saw-edged but expression skillfully calm, he shifted, giving the cup a quick look.
"Before you speak. I want honesty, my villain. Honesty. Or is that too hard for a liar like you?"
Nathan took a second to decide between truth then lies or lies then more lies. Nothing he wasn't used to. With the energy he'd saved earlier, he conjured a fooling pretense stitched with a dash of truth.
Nathan subtly gestured Adelaide to stay silent. He sighed. "I did."
"You drank," the Director said, raising a bushy brown brow, "even though I told you not to."
Nathan knew Adelaide must've been thinking he was dragging them both to their graves. "I'm not proud but yeah—"
The skin beneath the Director's eye twitched, and suddenly he flung the glass of water across the room, making Nathan jolt a centimeter aside. Broken shards carpeted the flooring. Nathan's toes instinctively curled.
It wasn't a second before the Director was charging forward, hand gripping Nathan's throat and forcefully pulling him to his feet. "Why would you do that?" he asked. Droplets of spit spluttered out from in between his gritted teeth. "I told you the water is for my heroine."
"Give me a chance and I'll explain," Nathan choked out around the Director's grip, chin tilted up. The terribly suffocating proximity defined each wrinkle riddling the Director's skin, every greying hair on his beard.
The Director squeezed Nathan's throat for a split-second, eliciting a wretched cough, then cocked a brow. "One chance."
"O-Okay, thanks. I promise what happened is relevant," Nathan said, voice low against the constriction but determined. "I'm the villain. You said that, my Director. So I'm a selfish asshole. I was tired and thirsty, so I thought I'd drink from your heroine's water. She didn't stop me because she's too sweet. You said that too."
The Director's expression remained stuck in a nightmare-inducing demonic scowl. But then a figment of hope ignited; his fingers slackened around Nathan's throat, but didn't slip off. Apprehension. It worked.
"If I don't drink," Nathan continued, cautiously regarding the Director's reaction, "I won't be able to perform as well as I did the first time. I want to keep you impressed with my acting skills, my Director. But I can't do that if I'm dehydrated."
The Director smiled. Smiled. And for a second it wasn't even sinister. Hell, almost proud.
"Clever boy," the Director muttered, hand thrusting Nathan back. "Villains are never dumb, are they? It's their intelligence that makes them villains in the first place."
This hit Nathan harder than it should've. Every sore spot—the Director seemed to catch him there. Nathan couldn't tell anymore what the hell was going on: whether it was personal feud or a psycho's imagination forced onto him.
"You look innocent." The Director sized Nathan's face from the top of his head and down to his mouth. "You can fool anyone. Any girl. Good people are naive, and villains never present themselves as villains. That's the problem."
Second time the Director indirectly insulted Nathan this way and it had Nathan's blood boiling, had him itching to shout: I've only had one girlfriend in my entire life you asshole! but he bit back the words.
The Director gave Adelaide a wistful look, then caught Nathan's jaw with a thumb and index, staring at him whilst addressing Adelaide, "What do you think, my heroine? Should we forgive him this time?"
Nathan's head throbbed with the strain of catching Adelaide through the corner of his eye: a blurry sight but he could tell she was terrified by her shaky breaths.
"F-Forgive him," Adelaide finally said. Nathan looked at the ceiling and sighed, ready to drop to the floor with relief if it hadn't been for the Director's hand forcing him still. "For me, please."
The Director didn't respond for a second, tightening his grip on Nathan's jaw, cornering him further against the wall behind him. "For my heroine, I'll let it pass," he spat. "But next time you do anything like that, I won't ask her if she wants to forgive you. I'll ask her where she wants me to shoot you—your shoulder? Or your arm? Anywhere that'll keep you alive to suffer."
Nathan's lungs crippled but the air didn't seem to enter. For a second he felt lightheaded. Squeezed between a wall and a psycho. Space smaller than the room. Smaller than the bathroom. Air filled with the Director's exhales and, and—
God, everything felt too impossibly tight. Oxygen. Not enough of it. And personal space: fucking none of that.
The Director let go of Nathan's jaw and the sudden force crashed Nathan's head into the wall. Eyes screwed shut, he mumbled ow but relished in the release of tension. Pain over lack of space, at least right now.
It took Nathan a minute to get his shit back together, during which the Director left the room. As soon as he landed back on reality, breathless with his hand propped against his waist, he looked at Adelaide.
She seemed shocked. Distant. "Did you hear that? Villains wouldn't present themselves as villains," she suddenly repeated, frowning, fingers absently fiddling with her necklace. "How in the world . . ."
__________
a/n: thank you for reading/voting/commenting, it means a lot!