Citrus | ONC 2024 ✔️

5: Say It

Bleak walls greeted my eyes at every turn. Each hallway and set of double doors were more placeless than the last. Beige were the bricks and borders and floors and doors, all various shades of brown. The hallways were windowless too, the lights above aglow as I followed June. For once, I wished I could peer through a window, Even if trademark winter winds weren't as prevalent here, the winds warmer and humidity higher, I wish I could stare out at the dark December sky.

Midnight... the morning after the twenty fourth of December.

It was Christmas.

Stopping, I gripped my somehow still intact backpack, one Mathew must have drug through whatever monstrosity brought us here and other hallways. Morgan's bag rested on Mathew's shoulders, a huge rip at the side. Somehow, the contents remained in.

Christmas?

I blinked, hoping a small tree would fill my vision, that the white string lights would wrap me in a hug. The thought stayed in my head. There were no trees here, nothing red or green in sight. Nothing festive.

"Y'all can wait in here." The voice snapped the sound back into my ears, buzzing and beeping in the background. My brain's fumbling motions didn't cease the brunette's speech. "We will call you both back as soon as possible. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I'll be checkin' in every so often too."

A single click resounded in my ears. There were other noises, but no amount of concentration could lend my ears to the call of other voices, other clicks, other anything. Except, a flash of color, galaxy blue streaking across the room, badge jiggling like makeshift bells. This was Christmas. Hums drifted up softly, nearly silent in the blanket of brown misery, like a carol. Long streams of brown padded chairs were like ornaments upon the entirely brown tree, the room. The people zipping about or sitting stagnant were a short relief, mere decorations.

"Are you even... You're not listening." Mathew shook his head, his back to me, Morgan's pack sliding from his shoulders. "It doesn't matter." His voice held a bite, a familiar sound I couldn't place.

When Mathew turned around, he was grinning like a star.

My jaw ticked. "Just say it."

"It doesn't change anything."

Then why bother before? I clenched my jaw, sealing the words in. Instead, I smiled, stamping the vine slithering at my feet. "I would still like to hear what you were going to say."

The star dimmed, and Mathew froze before my eyes. He blinked rapidly, as if awakening himself. "It... I was saying something about—You don't remember anything before we crashed?"

"No." I dropped my bag upon the approaching entanglement of cords, green. What does amnesia mean to you? "You can say what you want. It's okay."

I smiled, again. The attempt felt more convincing.

"I called Cole. He's worried and might fly down." Mathew closed his eyes, a beam stuck in his face, though his voice was strained. "He's always been such a worry wart. Rightfully so, usually. When it came to you guys, especially, no matter who or what..."

"Your phone survived?" I hesitated, clarifying as if he needed it, the extra push, "In the crash?"

"I used a phone here—behind one of the desks." Mathew faced me, brown eyes gleaming and hands trembling. That last part, a quality I wasn't supposed to note or the quick placement of the said hands in pockets. "Your phone was in your bag? It might have been fine."

The bright side. At least the phone was okay. At least I still had my backpack and Morgan had his. At least I could still remember my name. All were the effect of shoddy condolences and even lesser hopes, ones I didn't want to listen to. That was the present situation, not the future of possible incoming memories or when I was allowed to see Morgan.