The Fearless Kitten | Miraculous Ladybug

Chapter Seven - Insanity is Closer than We Believe

A big, calloused hand on my ankle snaps me back to reality. He gently squeezes it as he moves my leg aside, the action both foreign and comforting. A way my parents communicate support, yet feels so far off right now. My foot drags across the cement floor, leaving a trail of blood. Trying to avoid that warm, chunky liquid is impossible.

Damien kneels at my feet, cleaning the blood off of me in complete silence. The other boy, I think José, is mopping with his head down, eyes not meeting mine. I'm fine with that, I don't think I can handle any interaction right now.

That man died, and it was my fault. Had I not provoked him or the others, he would still be here. Was he a piece of shit? Absolutely. But we're not meant to be the judge, jury and executioner. None of us have the right to determine who lives or dies.

That's three men now, dead because of me. Two were a direct result of my actions, the third because I egged him on. The weirdest part is that even though I can acknowledge my role in their deaths, I can't seem to give much of a shit.

The numbness has set in, and my brain has shut down. When I picture the warmth leaving Benjamin's body, the blood and brains that have splattered everywhere, all I can think of is what an inconvenience this mess is. Even if I was involved, that blood isn't on my hands. My conscious is clear.

I have to believe that.

José grabs the mop bucket and leaves quietly, probably going to drain it for the second time. Damien's movements never falter, but something is there. A small slip of paper in my sock, completely undetected by the camera. I watch him gather his bucket and dirty cloths, leaving to go swap them out as well. I don't dare reach for the note, not yet at least.

When they come back, I stand up to meet their eyes. Damien looks at me expressionless, like a trained soldier who gives away none of his most precious inner thoughts. José, however, is an open book. The young man is clearly shaken up, his eyes darting all over the place, but never quite reaching my own. As though he's afraid any kind of interaction with me will lead to his own death.

I watch them finish cleaning, and leave. My makeshift bed is still splattered in blood, but I'm not sure if anyone is coming back to clean the sheet for me.

So I sit in the corner, and close my eyes. It's all I can really do. It's not long before someone steps into the room to keep guard, my only moments alone slipped out of my grasp before I could even appreciate it. Back to being the caged animal, but this time I have something on my side.

They all fear me now.

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I don't know how many days have passed, but I've lost count. Certainly over a week, but I think less than two. Every day is the same thing, I lay around exhausted even though I have barely moved at all. Besides some light pacing around my caged in area, I don't get any other movement.

Once a day I'm brought water and something light to eat. It's the only thing I get to eat until the next day, so I try to make it last. The room has also begun to stink, reeking of my piss and shit bucket that they only empty once a day.

Thankfully, since I'm hardly eating, I'm hardly using the washroom too. I suppose that's the only bonus.

At first I was starting to get embarrassed that everyone was seeing me like this, especially Damien. The sweat I'm plastered in during the hot days crystallize into icicles during the cool nights. I feel forever torn between melting from heat and freezing to death. There's no comfortable middle ground. My hair is greasy and wildly tangled, and my mouth tastes like something crawled inside of it and died.

I can only assume I look and smell about as awful as I feel.

So when my tired eyes open to Mr. Hudson beaming down at me, I don't even care. I'm beyond the point of trying to get something out of this.