Frost And Flame

21

This room is a thousand times better. Two months ago, I'd have turned it down in a heartbeat. One month ago, I'd take it if it kept me away from Silver and his goons. Now? It's like a miracle.

An actual twin sized bed with no restraints. Not one but two pillows. Two! A tiny bookshelf with three books. They're not very interesting, but it's way better than being alone with my thoughts while overanalyzing a nod. There's also a lightning McQueen blanket. Probably from the dollar tree. At least it's my color. My 2nd color, at least. I'd say that neon lime greenish color comes first. There's even a toilet in the corner. It's one of those ones with no water until you flush, so I can't drown myself or something, probably.

All that because this creep wants me to go along as his voluntary heater. It's the same outcome either way, so I definitely prefer this. That said, I have absolutely no loyalty to this guy. If the opportunity presents itself, I'm dipping. I'm gone. Poof. Nada.

I half expected him to drag me around in a leash or something from his sick and sadistic nature. I'm not complaining, though. I could almost get used to this. Although I won't. Because that's gatekeeping 101. Don't be thankful for subpar living conditions. But am I borderline grateful that I'm here now.

I'm also grateful that I'm not responsible for that elementals death. It's selfish to prefer them alive and in pain rather than the alternative at rest.

My arm is starting to feel better, so either it wasn't as bad as I thought, or there's more than vitamins in what Silver has been giving me.

Speaking of Silver, he isn't going easy on me by any means. Apparently his definition of cooperation is to stay relatively still while he completely drains me of all the heat I have, and as soon as I'm out, he injects me with 'vitamins' and starts all over again.

I'm not saying he's drugging me, but I can hardly remember any details of it all and I taste something akin to burnt popcorn in the back of my mouth, which I've never had from any vitamins in the past.

So yeah, I think he's probably drugging me. That's always a lot of fun.

Currently, I'm sitting on my bed, staring at the wall. Wrapped in my cars blanket. I really want to sleep, but simultaneously, I feel like I need to do something or be somewhere. It's not a particularly great feeling.

I head shifting outside my door, and Stewart comes in with a tray of food. Mashed potatoes and a roll. Personally, I think this meal is in desperate need of some chicken nuggets. Not that anyone listens qhen I say that.

"Hey, Stewart. How's it going." I attempt to make small talk. Gotta keep myself sane somehow, after all.

"For the last time, that's not my name. My name is Stanley." He says, not looking up from the tray as he sets it on the foot of the bed and takes away the old one from breakfast.

"Right. Stanley. Ya know, I could remember that better if I wrote it down. Have any pencils 'n paper?" I ask him, flicking the crust of the roll.

"No. I do not." He says in response, then stiffens a bit and holds his hand to his ear.

"If you'll excuse me." He states. He absolutely wasn't asking me a question.  Also, I swear he doesn't have a radio.

"Listen, I am not staying here. And when those jerks finally get here, I want to be a functioning person. To do that, I need to talk to someone." I snap at him,grabbing at his arm. He looks back, unamused. Suddenly, my hand is holding just his sleeve, and he walks away, phasing through his shirt. HEH?

I hate this place. It's like physics is just a suggestion here. The door hisses shut, and I'm left alone again.

It makes me wonder which is worse. Complete isolation or tortured woth company to join me. If I, of all the people in the world, am getting philosophical, then you know it's bad. This has to be the deepest thought I've had since the time I watched the never ending story and was stuck pondering whether or not I was real or part of some fictional world, watched by others in yet another fictional world, in an endless chain.

That one still hurts my head sometimes.

Speaking of thoughts, I've been wondering for a while now. Why did I even take the job? I had no other way out in that alley. But in that hotel room, I didn't have to come back. If it weren't for those fucking cupcakes then I probably wouldn't have. That goat lady is officially the root of all my problems.

Those two... Slate and Jenny. They seemed trustworthy enough. But I've never had a true reason for trusting them. Will they come? Was it all a stupidity elaborate ploy by Silver? A taste of false hope to keep the literal fire inside of me alive?

It's best not to think of these things. I know this. You know this. That racoon  under your bed knows this. But sometimes it can't be helped.

Hope is like a frog. When you catch it, you hold onto it. Some people hold on because they don't want to let go. Some don't know how. And some are scared to drop it. No matter what approach you take, it can only last so long before señor hoppington is released and then you're holding nothing. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on here.