1 I Can't Breathe

I can't breathe.

I've been locked up for so many days.

I have nothing but these cold greasy walls and the numbers in my head to keep me company. 1 window. 4 walls. 144 square feet of space. 26 letters in an alphabet I haven't spoken in all these days of isolation.

So many hours since I have ever seen anyone, or even talked to anyone.

"You're getting a roommate," they said to me.

"We hope you rot to death in this place For good behaviour,"

"Another rogue hybrid just like you. No more isolation,"

They are the minions of Death. The same person who shunned his son out of hell just because he had refused to kill someone he loved. These people were my mates. The same people who now pulled me out of my own home and locked me in a dungeon for something outside of my control. No one cares for the truth. That I didn't know what I was doing.

I have no idea where I am.

I only know that I was transported by someone in a white van when I was returning from Seoul. I know I was handcuffed to my seat. I know I was strapped to my chair. I know my parents never bothered to say anything. Even Fate, who was supposed to be a good person. I know I didn't cry as I was taken away.

I know the sky falls every day.

The sun drops into the ocean and splashes browns and reds and yellows and oranges into the world outside my window. A million leaves from a hundred different branches dip in the wind, fluttering with the false promise of flight.

The gust catches their withered wings only to force them downward, forgotten, left to be trampled by the soldiers stationed just below. Everything seems so different.

They say our world used to be amazing. Even if it was hell, it didn't feel like it. But I have very faint memories of that world. I don't remember much from before. The only existence I know now is the one I was given. An echo of what used to be.

Maybe it's my fault that this is even happening to me.

Maybe I should have joined Faust and lived in Heaven instead of choosing to guard Oshane. But what could I do, my father had tried to murder him. That too in cold blood.

Twice.

I press my palm to the small pane of glass and feel the cold clasp my hand in a familiar embrace. We are both alone, both existing as the absence of something else.

My powers have been zapped. I don't even know what to do anymore, I can't even voice my thoughts. I wish I had a pen or paper or something. I could write everything down. Maybe when I am ever free again, I may be able to tell my story to everyone.

Having a cellmate might be okay. Talking to a real person might make things easier. I practice using my voice, shaping my lips around the familiar words unfamiliar to my mouth. I practice all day. I tried open my lips, pushing out air hoping they would turn into the sounds I was familiar with. I did so every day in hopes of hearing them once more

I'm surprised I remember how to speak.

I sit upon the cloth-covered springs I'm forced to sleep on. I wait. I rock back and forth and wait. I wait too long and fall asleep.

My eyes open to a handsome face.

I stifle my scream my urgency to run the crippling horror gripping my limbs.

"You're a b-b-b-b—"

"And you're a girl." He cocks an eyebrow. He leans away from my face. He grins but he's not smiling and I want to cry, my eyes desperate, terrified, darting toward the door I'd tried to open so many times I'd lost count. They locked me up with a boy. A boy.

Dear God.

They're trying to kill me.

They've done it on purpose.

To torture me, to torment me, to keep me from sleeping through the night ever again. His arms are tatted up, half sleeves to his elbows. His eyebrow is missing a ring they must've confiscated. Dark blue eyes dark brown hair sharp jawline strong lean frame. Gorgeous Dangerous. Terrifying. Horrible.

It's not like I haven't been around boys before, heck, most of my life has been seducing men and getting their souls.

But I had powers. I was not a weak human.

He laughs and I fall off my bed and scuttle into the corner. He sizes up the meagre pillow on the spare bed they shoved into space this morning, the skimpy mattress and threadbare blanket hardly big enough to support his upper half. He glances at my bed. Glances at his bed.

Shoves them both together with one hand. Uses his foot to push the two metal frames to his side of the room. Stretches out across the two mattresses, grabbing my pillow to fluff up under his neck. I've begun to shake.

I bite my lip and try to bury myself in the dark corner.

He's stolen my bed, my blanket, my pillow.

I have nothing but the floor.

I will have nothing but the floor.

I will never fight back because I'm too petrified, too paralyzed too paranoid.

"So you're—what? Insane? Is that why you're here?"

I'm not insane.

He props himself up enough to see my face. He laughs again. "I'm not going to hurt you."

I want to believe him, I don't believe him.

"What's your name?" he asks.

None of your business.

I hear his exhalation of breath. Frustration, a human weakness. I hear him turn over on the bed that used to be half mine. I stay awake all night. My knees curled up to my chin, my arms wrapped tight around my small frame, my long brown hair the only curtain between us.

I will not sleep.

I cannot sleep.

I cannot hear those screams again.