11 Months and 17 Days

Day 61

I forgot the smell of trees and flowers, the feeling of wind against my hair, the sensation of a cold breeze or sunlight hitting my skin. I don't remember what my favorite meat tastes like, if I could still distinguish the different taste of coke and pepsi or the free feeling of marihuana. My body wouldn't be able to lift one of the weights I used to lift, my endurance wouldn't let me jog for more than five minutes.

I feel dead. Like my body is just this plain shell carrying my injured soul. Of course I can't possibly count the days I've been in the darkness. I think it's been days. But it has been really quiet. So quiet, that I sometimes- sometimes talked to myself, desperate for someone to share my thoughts with. My conversations with myself always ended in me crying. Children nowadays would make fun of it, comparing it to themselves, but they couldn't possibly understand what it's like to really- and I mean really being alone.

People are so used to having social skill and social interaction, that they could go mad when they've been on their own for too long. My biggest ambition is to not get mad. To not fall into the same hole Bakugou fell into. I want to keep my sanity, my well being and the moment I will get out of here, my madness will completely vanish.

Bakugou left way too many hours ago. I slept maybe four to five times. Maybe it's been several days. I still have the bowl of water, which I economically consumed during these days. For food, I had the leftovers Bakugou brought down when he wanted to play „family". It was a drag trying to somehow reach it, but I had the feeling Bakugou left it close to the chains on purpose, so I wouldn't die. Though I don't know what's the better choice.

The door squeaks open and the lighting of Bakugou's actual house blends me. I am awake since hours, sitting on the ground and thinking. He peaks inside only with his head, looking down on me. I raise my head tiredly, my eyes hanging. Slowly, he moves his body inside the basement, holding his hands behind his back. Then he walks down the stairs, taking two seconds for each step. His shadow flows along the ground, looking longer and longer the more steps he goes down, with the lighting in the background. Artificial lighting or simply said „light bulbs" are way stronger up where he lives. Up. Where he lives. With a living room, a kitchen, a toilet.. God- a toilet...

Bakugou struggles with hiding what's behind his back, but also opening the fence in front of the stairs. It takes him maybe a minute or two, while I sit on the ground, one knee in front of my face, my arm laying on it. The other leg is in legged in front of my crotch, my other arm supporting my weight behind my back. Leaning against the metal bars has become way to exhausting. My bones keep hitting the metal and it hurts.

He now finally finished and walks up to me. Because of the bright light of the actual house, I can't really see his face. But it seems he's smiling. The fear in my body rages up again. Even though I'm here for such a long time, it's still so hard to not be scared of him. And I don't want to know what's behind his back. It's some weapon, some other sick thing he wants to play with. We haven't talked since I asked about his story, so I can't possibly expect anything. I don't know- what he will do to me now.

„Hi..." He mumbles a little, as if he feels guilty. I don't answer, but look at him with my tired eyes, lids hanging and the constant pout. He scratches the back of his head nervously, while holding the thing he has behind his back. „I came to apologize." Now my brows snap.

„Apologize?" The dry voice echoes creaking. Slowly I begin to see Bakugou's expression. He seems legitimately sorry, though I don't know in how far I can believe him. Swallowing, he steps further to me.

„Christmas is soon, you know... But I couldn't wait. So I brought you something." An unexpected blush crosses his cheeks, while he looks down to the ground, kicking the dusty stones with his foot. Like a little child, he imitates this- this image. Third class, confessing to the prettiest girl in your grade and getting nothing but a laugh from her and her friends.