till again

21

elora whitlock.

"i want to go back, mat, please just- help me go home," i sob harder on his shoulder, as he just stands there allowing me to.

"lora don't cry.." he whispered.

"i can't help it!" i yelled in between my ugly crying.

"benjamins gone..i don't know where he is..you don't know either- nobody knows where he is! he could even be dea-"

"he isn't dead elora." mateos tone shifted to a way more serious tone.

"yeah, that's enough comforting from you. move aside." ashton stepped in immediately upon noticing his colder tone.

he walked over pulling mateo away from me, and having me sit down on the bed whilst he sat right besides me.

"i understand how you're feeling, elora." he murmured gently, having me look up at him with puffy eyes, and a sniffling nose.

i probably look so freaking fugly right now.

"you don't understand.."

"i do. how you're feeling is completely understandable. but, please give yourself a break. you've been crying nonstop for the past 5 days."

what was i supposed to do? i wanted to go back home, but then uncle ben..benjamin said he'd take care of it. but i dont even know if benjamin is alive right now. what am i anymore, not even knowing where the person closest to my heart is?

ashton pulled me closer immediately at the sight of my breathing getting rigid again, and ran his hands soothingly up and down my back.

"i'll get him back to you, i promise."

——

benjamin zyair.

hell hole.

thats where i am.

there is air around me, yet i can't seem to breath. there are walls spaced out, yet i feel as if im being crushed.

there are people around me, yet they aren't her.

nothing fucking matters anymore.

how'd i see her the last time i did? on the bed, crying because of me as i walked out with no remorse. i hate my life.

my hands have been deprived of blood flow, my wrists and ankles are terribly bruised from the cheap handcuffs and the wound from the stab on my chest most probably infected. and what am i doing about it? fucking nothing.

el is out there with these people probably trying to get to her.

and. what. am. i. fucking. doing. about it?

nothing.

if these infections dont kill me, i myself will very soon.

my thoughts were pried away as the door opened and in walked a girl with the usual tray in her hand. now you'd suppose it was some maid with shitty food for me to eat. but, nah.

it was fucking katie wilson like always, with the injections of drugs i know now are meant to be sleeping ones, in her rusted tray like every other day.

everyday, after having me get the shot, ten minutes in and i pass out. i try resisting, i really fucking do, yet it never works.

pulling out the cap from the needle, she held my bicep with her hand still. instinctively, i jerked it away from hers even though they were bound in place.

"oh come on min, don't be so scared of a little shot."

"it's nothing about the shot, rather your face that dreads me more." i spat right back at her.