three -Brynn-
three
-Brynn-
There’s a dim light in front of me, flickering like it’s about to fade. I focus on it, following it through what seems to be a tunnel. I’m not quite sure, everything seems strange, unfamiliar. An eerie atmosphere, like I’m walking through a fantasy land, or is it straight into hell?
Oh my God, am I fucking dying?
The thought suddenly flashes through my mind, but I still can’t wake up, although I hear voices around me.
Voices that are not part of my dream or whatever the fuck this is.
But then another sensation kicks in, and it feels like my damn bladder is about to explode.
Out of instinct, I try to squeeze my thighs and stop myself before I make a fool of myself, but sharp pain rips through my body.
My leg feels like it’s on fire, and my eyes snap wide open.
This time, I am out of my fantasy, drawing quick breaths like all the air in the room isn’t enough to bring my body to normal and stop the pain.
A woman in her sixties sits on a chair beside me, and I see her getting up the second I open my eyes.
I don’t know what to take in first, my surroundings or her presence.
“Take it easy. Don’t force yourself and put pressure on that leg,” she says, holding a strange tube connected to a thick plastic bag.
“Who…” That’s pretty much the only thing I get to say because my throat feels tight, like I’ve swallowed a razor blade.
“Save your strength. Your body has been through a lot.” She gestures for me to stay still. “I have to give it to you—you came back way quicker than I would’ve expected. Just in time before I had to use this.” She shifts the tube in her hand, holding it up for me to see—and I recognize it instantly.
Fuck if I’m gonna pee through a tube.
Still, this also reminds me of my very pressing matter.
“Bathroom,” I mutter, like English isn’t my first language, and I only know a word or two.
“No rush. Easy with that leg—I’ll help you,” the woman says as I look at her, putting everything together. The IV in my arm, the equipment… she’s a nurse. No one else would be handling a catheter.
Then there’s another thing I realize. The room I’m in seems familiar. It’s no hospital, that’s for sure. I’ve been here before. Recently.
My mind is still a little foggy. Okay, not just a little—more than that, enough that the woman’s face slightly distorts every two seconds. They must’ve given me something heavy from the way my limbs feel.
I do recognize the neon lights, though, and the one-person's bed that I’m lying on. There’s also a large desk, next to me, where different medicines and bandages are laid out. There was something else there before... monitors.
Five monitors were there.
Because I realize exactly where I am. This is where I found 404, down in the tunnel beneath Ares’ house.
I can’t dwell on that, not now, with such a pressing matter concerning my… body. I just gesture for the woman to help me up.
I suspected this would be difficult, but it’s more like someone’s stabbing me the second I try to put my foot down.
I almost fall out of bed, but the woman catches me.
She’s stronger than she looks, propping a shoulder beneath my arm and helping me up.
Good thing the room is so small. It takes only a few steps to get to the door, but then there’s the walk through the lobby until I reach the fucking bathroom.
And the hopping on one leg isn’t helping either.
Somehow, I make it there before I ruin my already perfectly ruined cargo pants.
The effort of getting back to bed almost knocks the wind out of me.
It doesn’t take long before all the painkillers take effect, and I drift back to sleep.
Not before the nurse—Mrs. Holloway, as I come to learn the following day—shows me to a button I can press to call her.
It’s a kind of wireless device used by waitstaff, incredibly efficient in my state.
The next few days blur together. The nurse comes in and out, bringing me food and medicine, and helping me move around the room. Still, she won’t indulge me in any kind of conversation except those regarding my medical condition.
I think it’s day five when she brings me crutches. I’m not sure, though. I have lost track of time, and since I don’t have any windows, all I’ve done lately is sleep.
I’ve asked her about Ares a couple of times. No answer.
I haven’t seen him since I was brought here, I know this is his place. He should’ve come by now. Unless... unless he’s pissed with me, which I can’t blame him for. I’m also pissed off with myself. For not fucking killing him.
I’m okay for the first few days, maybe even a week.
I think I needed the rest, and my body is slowly recovering.
I keep telling myself to be patient, but after memorizing every crack and corner of the ceiling, the small dent in the floor right beneath the table, the sequences the neon lights make every time they change color in disco mode, and the exact number of bites it takes me to finish a meal.
I start to think this is getting ridiculous, I’m going to go insane soon.
I asked Mrs. Holloway to get me Ares. To tell him that I want to talk to him. But none of my attempts have been successful. The woman is like fucking steel. Sticks strictly to her business, which is keeping me alive. That’s it.
I’m beginning to see her less and less since I’m now able to walk, well more like, crawl to the bathroom by myself.
I’ve also been cutting down on meds for the past few days. Maybe that’s exactly why I feel so bored. I don’t even have a fucking TV. Which doesn’t exactly help the thousand scenarios running through my mind.
Even the food is basic, like the same hospital shit every day. All healthy and organic, nothing you’d usually find in my refrigerator. I miss my fucking Pop-Tarts so badly.
It’s day fourteen… or at least that’s what I managed to get out of the-nurse-from-hell who came to bring me dinner and fresh clothes.
It’s today that I decide I need to do something.
I’m done waiting for Ares to be ready to come down here.
I would’ve given him a few more days, but while I was in the shower, I caught myself talking to my shampoo, so this pretty much marks a whole new level of insanity.
I’d really like to stop myself before I catch a fly and keep it as a pet. Or worse, a toenail.
I walk to the end of the hallway, where the wine rack is tightly shut. Luckily for me, I know the way out, even if Ares probably doesn’t suspect it.
It’s a few seconds' walk, but it took me a few minutes to get there using the crutches. My leg feels like it’s burning every time I shift my weight, and by the time I get to the shelf, I’m already considering going back because the distance from the shelf to Ares’ basement door is considerably larger.
I need to take a break next to the rack, I feel like I’ve run a damn marathon.
It’s not my fault I end up right next to a bottle of Eclipse Noire 1912—The Last Forbidden Harvest. It sounds decent enough, especially since I haven’t had anything remotely good to eat in days. It looks like this could be my recovery treat.
I do have a glass in my room, but there’s no way in hell I’m walking back there.
I don’t have a corkscrew either, but I didn’t have one at home.
Always forget to buy one, and Elias wasn’t that much of a wine drinker, so since he handled most of the shopping responsibilities, we didn’t own a corkscrew for like a year.
That forced me to learn a few tricks. The easiest one is slipping the bottle into my house shoe, then wrapping my sweatpants tightly around it.
After that, I tap the bottom of the bottle against the wall—light enough not to break it, but firm enough to build pressure and ease the cork out.
I usually do this with a towel, but I don’t have anything that thick on me.
It works as always, the cork gets out just enough so I can grab it with my teeth and pull it out by twisting it.
Dinner is served, or at least the drinks for dinner are served, while I suddenly realize I’m very thirsty because I take down a third of the bottle, and that’s without taking it away from my lips.
This shit is strong as fuck. I mutter, and judging by the slight dizziness that hits me instantly, it might hit me harder than I expected.
That doesn’t mean I don’t take a few moments to enjoy it—the numbness, the way my senses surrender for a second.
Even if I’ve been on painkillers for the past few weeks, this is different.
This numbs my mind, the memories, maybe even the pain.
Though no matter how hard I try to numb Ares out of my mind, it doesn’t seem to be working. He just won’t leave.
I grab the bottle since I feel it’ll help me get through the passage easier, then start searching for the mechanism to open the rack. It works like a charm, the shelf moving as I pull the wooden lever.
Welcome Home. I murmur to myself as I realize I’m one step closer to Ares, without any real idea of what I should do from now on.
Because my plan isn’t running. I need to face him, to confront him sooner or later.
There is no real escape from this place—from this house or his life.
Yet that doesn’t change the fact that I feel captive. Like the walls are closing in on me.
I move further down the long tunnel, passing room after room, even if my leg can barely keep up with my mind or my plans. The pain is vivid inside my body, even more when I sometimes forget about the crutches and try to rush, letting my foot down.
I just need to find a resolution. Closure to the pain or maybe even for my life.
I’m almost halfway to the exit when I stop in front of a door that’s way too familiar to me.