avaritia | l.s au

11. hands just as ice

Ryan Adams - Voices

Four days ago Louis was escorted to the new room.

Louis was transferred to his "cell room" as he preferred to call it ( and which it fucking was ), while he was kicking and screaming for the two sturdy men to let him go already goddamnit while he was lifted a good few inches above the ground without any problems whatsoever by them like he was some useless rag doll, trying to yank his arms out of the bruising tight grip the two men had on him, kicking his legs and hopefully he'd hit one of them to loosen the hold so he could get away. Liam and Demian, fucking pricks they were.

Even if Louis actually escaped from their merciless grip they had on him where was he to run off to? He had no idea where he was in the maze of a house as he had cared to get a good look at his surroundings while they'd pulled him through the ancient and gothic house without his consent.

More like mansion.

Harry wasn't to be seen and hadn't probably cared enough to oversee the process of the whole ordeal. Tabitha had followed them on her short legs a bit behind them trying to keep up with beefcake number one and two, a worried look permanent in her dark and soulful eyes as she'd kept in mumbling words under her breath Louis couldn't hear over his own yelling and screaming bloody murder.

It sounded awfully a lot like she was praying.

It's been four days since he's seen Tabitha. Hell, it's been four days since he's seen anyone besides the small beta with sand coloured hair and narrow shoulders, with his eyes always directing down to the floorboards as if he was to scared to look up at Louis for even a second, who silently comes into the even smaller bedroom with a small plate of food every morning, afternoon and evening there'd end up untouched and uneaten in protest, and a tall glass of water Louis would drink. Always locking the door behind in a soft click there seemed ten thousand times deafening in the quietness of the room.

How long could someone survive on only drinking water?

The prison like room was nothing but a one man bed and a nightstand with a golden lamp on it, illuminating the room in a subtle glow whenever it was turned on (which happened once), and en suite bathroom there was a size of a shoebox if not smaller than that. Walls were a dark brown colour there made the room seem tinier than it already was and one small window there couldn't open no matter how much you tried yanking and pushing it, but where Louis spend most of his days sitting in the window frame looking with sorrowful eyes, outside at all the free people walking around without a care in the world. Not even a single picture hung on the walls to give it a bit warmth and feeling, it was just bland, boring and it had a cold and unwelcoming feeling to it. Like it was meant to make you feel absolutely nothing at all.

It's been four days since Louis has spoken to another soul. He wasn't even sure his vocal chords was working anymore after he had screamed his lungs raw, the taste of blood seemed permanent in his mouth, no matter how much water he'd drank trying to wash the horrendous taste away from his tongue.

Four long never ending days.

There wasn't a clock on any of the walls, for all he knew days could be weeks he's been in the room. Each second felt like minutes, minutes like hours and hours like days, everything just started to blend together by day two. Maybe he should start carving small lines into the wall to mark how many days he's been locked up and been held captivated against his will. The only way Louis kept a count of how many days he's been in there was whenever the sun came up from behind the trees there was surrounding the village.

The void in the room made his thoughts seem louder.

Louis was going insane with the deafening silence.