closer

fly

I opened my eyes. I didn't remember much, but that was because my head was hit. I looked over and saw another man. His face was cast downwards, and his head was also wounded, or at least he had blood clotted in his hair and dried to his forehead. He had long, dark hair that was greasy from lack of treatment, but only just. It curled around his shadowed face and his eyes were shut in a steady grimace, wrinkled at the edges. He was curled in on himself and looked very defensive. His arms were wrapped loosely around his knees and his curled fingers and forearms had bruising, and cuts. Defensive wounds. He was shackled at the wrists, and there was major bruising and irritation around and under the edge, and the skin looked almost yellow and purple around it.

I looked at my own arms and wrists. I remember protesting, I remember screaming my lungs out, but I don't remember anything else. Why am I here? Did I do something bad? Did I hurt someone? I looked back over to the man and looked at his shoulders. I saw a pentagram and some other various tattoos. I sat for a while, tears slowly streaking down my face in an outburst of overwhelming emotions. I don't even know how long it was before I noticed him looked at me crying silently. He seemed curious, and on edge at the same time. I looked at his eyes and saw them glowing an iridescent red. It was the only beautiful thing in this grimy, dirty, filthy cell. I looked back downwards and pulled my knees up like the other man.

I held back a wince at the pain the motion caused and looked at the floor I was sitting on. Blood. My breathing quickened a little, and I hid my face in my arms. The other man cursed and tried to move over. He was yanked back by the slack picking up, and he reached out. I looked up and scooted forwards feeling the cold slick blood moving underneath me. I came into reach of his hand and realised that he was here for something too. I realised he probably did something bad to end up here. As did I. He understood then, didn't he. He touched my cheek, and then pulled me into a hug. Why? He seems almost desperate. 

I continued to cry, but at least I was crying with him. His blood crusted hand came up, and his fingers threaded into my not so pretty hair. This is wrong. On so many levels. He's a demon, and I'm an angel, but we both did something wrong. I don't know where I am, and he might not know either. We are both dirty, and wrong, and hurt. I clung onto his tattered shirt more, and let myself cry. I deserve that, at least. To be able to cry, to be able to cry in front of this stranger who offers me solace. Yes. I deserve this at least. He ran his other hand gently down my back, and I twitched in pain. My back was hurt. My skin was probably threaded from being hit. And I was probably bleeding out on this person. 

He cried onto my shoulder as well. He nuzzled my neck and said soothing, calm quiet things, and I slowly stopped crying, but I never let go. I never moved in fear he would dissipate into shadows cast by a nasty nightmare. "Why are you here? I don't remember what I did... is this a prison type cell?" My voice sounded desperate, even to my own ears. He looked downwards. "I do not remember." he scowled down at the floor. And I frowned. I remembered. I was screaming a name. I was trying to escape, to get to him. They beat him. They beat him in front of me, and then they beat me. But I do not remember a face. I do not remember a name, I only know pain, these heavy metal chains, and this man holding me.

I shivered and he tightened his grip around me. "I know." I sucked in a ragged breath and slouched forwards onto his chest and shoulders.  "They chained us in here because of something we can't even remember?" he shook his head. "I don't know... er, what's your name?" I grimaced. "Ha. It's Vance. Vance Lesley. What's yours?" he sighed. "Alec. Alec Forley." I nodded. I feel so filthy. My shirt and ripped pants are clotted with blood, I'm barefoot, and I'm sitting on dirty floors. I looked up at him and got a decent look at his face. He had a scar on his face that went from his ear to his jaw. His cheekbones were sharp and accented his almost hollow face. When did he last eat?