confined space » hollowheart

» day two «

The second day, everyone was more on edge than ever before. They were all huddled in small, different groups, whispering to themselves. Jacob soon learned the reason why.

Enoch.

Unbeknownst to Jacob, Enoch suffers from episodes of depression, in which he locks himself in his room, refuses to eat, talk or leave.

And that sounded familiar. It sounded like himself before he left for the island. But, it also sounded like a case of manic depression. Which, if the case, would explain a lot about Enoch's behavior. He also realized that this was exactly what Millard was warning him about. However, Jacob understood, he understood better than anyone here, probably.

So, with a probably suicidal determination, Jacob ignored the warnings from the others; and Emma's arm holding pleas to just "leave him alone", and stormed into Enoch's room.

Stormed wasn't the proper term.

Rather, Jacob carefully walked in, closing the door behind him quietly, while calling out a soft "Enoch?"

The room smelt exactly like the basement and was covered in layers of dust like it too. It was clear that the room hadn't been cleaned in who knows how long; Jacob wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. The others had claimed that something died in his room, and from what Jake could see, that 'thing' was a lump on the bed in the room's center. It was a mess of sheets and blankets, in the shape of a person.
That lump was moving.

It's breathing.

That lump isn't dead.

That's Enoch.

Taking a tentative step forward, Jake called out again. "Enoch? Hey..." He was responded with the pile shifting; Enoch shifted away from Jacob. "Come on, I promised I'd be back, and well, I'm here." His voice was comforting, and yet shaky. After the necromancer's blow up yesterday-today, Jake was weary, afraid that this outburst was due to him.

Was that a selfish thought?

He walked over to the bed, before sitting down. The pile of blankets' movement accommodated for this new weight. And Jacob heard an almost whisper response.

"Eighty-four three hundred big-face."

Jacob was more than confused.

"What?"

"Means go'way and fuck o'ff."

Jacob rolled his eyes, chuckling. It'd take more than some Irish slang insults in order for him to be detoured. He reached a hand out a shoved Enoch slightly.

A bad idea.

Enoch sat up suddenly and pulled his hand from under the covers in order to punch Jake square in the face.

Jacob groaned and stumbled backward, off the bed. When he pulled his hand away from his throbbing nose, dots of blood painted his fingertips, while Enoch just laid back down, covering his head.

"Okay, I suppose I deserved that." His face hurt, and Enoch was the cause of it, even if Jake did indeed deserve it.

That, well, it stung; worse than his face currently.

"Enoch, whatever I did I'm sorry." The lump pulled back the blanket slightly, just enough that Enoch's accusing eyes could watch Jacob, while the rest of him was still hidden away. And if Jake was being honest, Enoch looked adorable, his hair messy, dark circles around his already deep set eyes, making him look more tired than irritated.

"Piss off Jacob." Jacob sighed, which came out like 'kshh' due to his bleeding nose. Enoch raised a brow, holding back an amused smile. "You've got blood on your shirt, and face."