Patient B-2

Chapter Twenty: Avalyn

 It's been one week, and I have to give myself some credit. When I first arrived here, I was ready to give up at the slightest opportunity. I was teetering on the brink of ending it all, but thankfully, this past week has been nothing like I had anticipated. Discovering that Aren is in the same facility has ignited a glimmer of hope within me. Yet, as time passes, that flicker seems to dim, and I find myself descending once more into the depths of despair. Especially now, tormented by the haunting echoes of the cries of the gentle woman who has inexplicably disappeared from her cell.

 Her screams reverberate off the walls, filling the air around me. I cover my ears, pressing my head between my knees, but the cacophony persists. Even when the screams finally subside, I fear they will echo in my mind forever.

 Since my initial day here, I haven't endured anything as grueling. They brought me back to the table a handful of times, mainly for blood draws and poking, leaving me with nothing more than a woozy sensation from the blood loss. The stitches that lined my body have since been taken out, nearly completely healed over. In my books, that's a victory. But I can't shake the ominous feeling that worse trials lie ahead, particularly now, hearing about what they're subjecting Jeannette to.

 Aren sleeps on the other side of the bars, and I can't help but wonder how he manages it. Perhaps the constant echoes of screams have become so ingrained in one's senses that they no longer disrupt sleep. I don't ever want to become that familiar— I refuse to become accustomed to those screams, whether they come from her or him.

 I observe him as he shifts, his movements restless in search of a comfortable spot on the unforgiving concrete floor, something I've learned to be nearly impossible. Eventually, he lets out a deep, weary sigh, his eyes snapping open with such suddenness that I involuntarily flinch.

 "Fuck," I blurt out, startled, quickly averting my gaze.

 He chuckles softly, the shuffle of movement indicating he's likely sitting up. "Were you watching me sleep?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with sleepiness, all rough and groggy. "That's either creepy or endearing."

 My cheeks flush with heat, a crimson hue spreading across my complexion. "Actually, I was just contemplating how anyone manages to sleep through the screams of someone being tortured," I retort, my words laced with irritation despite my intentions.

 I have a habit of doing that.

 I take a deep breath, turning towards him, intending to hurriedly apologize for my unnecessary sass. "I'm sorry, I—"

 "Endearing," he suddenly interjects, his voice a whisper. With his wide eyes locked on me, he shrugs before darting his gaze toward the stairs. "And the screams, well, they're all I can remember."

 Edging closer, his legs fold as he sits, and his arms intertwine through the bars almost as if he's embracing them. Leaning his cheek against them, he lets his eyes flutter shut again. "I was sixteen when my parents gave me up— or, more so father— I doubt my mother had any say. But I was sent to people who tortured me for years as a human, before turning me at twenty. And then they tortured me some more," he whispers softly, his voice growing shakier as he continues. "I got used to the screams. Got used to my own too."

 "I didn't mean for that to sound—" I begin, but he cuts me off once more.

 "I know," he turns to look at me, a slight pout forming on his lips. "I think you're really lovely, Avalyn. You're such a sweet girl, aren't you?"

 I gulp, the sound resonating in the tense air and making me cringe, but his words make me cringe even harder. I swear I feel my nonexistent heart palpitate in my chest, a sensation both surreal and unsettling. I have to remind myself that my heart ceases to beat anymore. "Thanks," I chirp out, unsure of how else to respond, forcing a smile while purposefully avoiding his unsettling gaze.