Hello Monday

Part 17; 7:55 am

"Pee," I tell Monday.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Pee," I repeat, realizing only after a while that saying it randomly does sound strange.

"Princess, I'm not sure if you're aware, but going to the bathroom should be the last thing on your mind now." He stares at me with a worried look, probably afraid that I might just pee myself sometime soon.

Finally realizing that I may sound like I have a pee-fetish, I speak my thoughts, "No. I mean ammonia. We have ammonia gas in the gas taps. That should be a good enough distraction."

Monday furrows his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, what?" he repeats. "Please dumb it down a little."

I let out a breath, not used to having to explain myself. "I mean, ammonia makes your eyes sting, throat itchy, things like that. It should buy us enough time to get Dr. Sanders, get out of this room, go to the payphone, call the police!" I say animatedly, overjoyed to have come up with a promising plan.

"Sounds like a plan," Monday nods in agreement.

Cue: moment of silence that happens every time we seldomly agree with each other.

And every time, I am the one to break the awkward silence. I tell him my idea, articulating it slowly to make sure that he will make no mistakes. There is no room for mistakes.

"Okay, so I will go out, go to a few workbenches, turn on the gas taps—"

"The yellow ones," I add.

"—right, the yellow ones. It should take a while for the gas to affect the eyes, nose, lips, throat and whatever—"

"Ten minutes, give or take," I interrupt.

"—right, ten minutes. So I have to make sure all the windows are closed."

"They should be closed."

"Right, should be. I'll come right back in here, then we will go out together after ten."

"Yes," I confirm.

"Alright, cool."

"Cool."

Cue: another moment of silence because it is another one of the rare moments we agree with each other.

You know what comes next: I talk, "Also, I know you can't take Dr. Sanders in here, but can you please tell her the plan? She will know what to do." Monday gives me a stiff nod.

This may not be a life or death situation, but it sure determines if we'll go blind or not. Goggles are out of the picture because they are in the main room—specifically in a cabinet that is conveniently placed on the opposite of the clean room. Rather than risking our only shot at surviving this attack by running to get goggles, Monday and I have decided that it would just be best for us to close our eyes and run out as quickly as possible.

Of course, not forgetting to drag Dr. Sanders with us.

With a final nod, Monday knocks on the room's door, popping his head out to show whoever is on the other side that he is not me trying to escape. After exchanging a few words, he steps out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

When the door closes behind him, I am instantly on my feet, positioning my ear near the gap between the door and its frame. I strain to listen to what he is going to say, what conversation he will make now that he's decided to be a 'freelancer'.

"Needed... Close... Give up... Tight... Let me..." is all I hear. I do not comprehend what he is saying. I cannot piece together the words to make one whole picture, so I sit back down. The only thing I can do now is have faith in him.