No Strings Attached

Chapter 8

No Strings Attached

VIII

"Isaiah! Isaiah!"

Miranda appeared to be convinced that if she shouted up Isaiah would somehow hear them. Thomas was wailing as he cried. The sounds were grating on Pudge's ears. To make it worse, they hadn't landed outside like he had hoped; instead, they found themselves back into a bedroom, as though they had slipped through some weird wormhole when they jumped into the darkness. Above they saw nothing other than a blank ceiling lined with beautiful mahogany molding. There were no windows in this room and only one door to exit from. It was like everything had started all over again.

After what seemed like the tenth or eleventh time Miranda had shouted Isaiah's name, Pudge finally had enough. Truth be told, he wanted to hit her at first, but he kept his fists locked tightly at his side. He let his mouth be his weapon when he yelled, "Shut up! He obviously can't hear you!"

Miranda whipped around to glare at him, her eyes flashing as she grew angry with him. "Why did you leave him back there?!" she demanded.

"So that way only one us has to die this time, alright?! We have to make decisions like that if we want any of us to get out here!" he argued.

"Then next time, make it yourself!"

For whatever reason, that remark hit Pudge hard. He flinched at the words and turned away, refusing to show his face to Miranda. Thomas continued to wail and Carrie remained stuck in her shocked silence. It wasn't as though he wanted to leave Isaiah there – not that he particularly cared for the nerd or anything – but there really wasn't a choice. Even if it was just for a few minutes, if the older boy could hold off that beast, maybe the rest of them could hide. Time was wasting away as they waited for him to return. They needed to get moving.

He turned his attention to Carrie. It was surely much more difficult for her to see Isaiah left behind. On top of what she had gone through over these past few months, it was no wonder she was still hushed. Thomas? How long had he been stuck in this maze, running from a bizarre new threat at every turn? He couldn't fault him for sobbing, no matter how annoying it was. The best he could do was to keep them focused and alive. He was going to protect them.

After a good thirty seconds ticked by of Pudge remaining silent, he turned back to Miranda. Her eyes had since diverted, as she focused more on the deep gash the window's glass had given her shoulder than whatever Pudge was up to. The sight of her hands gently inspecting the injury reminded Pudge of his own wounds and a fresh wave of ache crawled from those puncture points and seemed to spread through his entire body. Frozen for a moment, he had to mentally kick himself and force the pain away.

"Hey we should get mo – augh!"

Something slashed Pudge's arm and a deep burn took its place. It was unbearable. His hand grabbed at the fresh wound near his elbow. Unable to handle that much extra pain he collapsed to his knees. Pulsing pain seemed to rock his entire arm. Tears started to fall from his eyes so he forced them shut. Now wasn't the time to be crying because of a little pain. Gotta man up.

"Pudge, are you alright?!"

Miranda's voice sounded truly worried. It surprised him enough that he opened his eyes to look at her. She was already at his side, the wound on her shoulder forgotten as she focused on this strange new injury that magically appeared on his arm. Concern was clear in her eyes. The sight had Pudge forgetting the pain as he just stared at her. No one had ever looked toward him that way before. Never had someone truly cared about him. It was weird, almost uncomfortable.

Roughly she snatched the hand that was covering his arm and pulled it away. Instantly her movements became slower and gentler. Thick blood was already dripping onto the floor and running down the curves of his arms. Whatever had caused the wound had cut deep. The white of the bone was visible and appeared chipped, but the amount of blood made it impossible to be sure.

As Miranda inspected the wound, Pudge inspected her face. How old was she, anyway? Thirteen? Determined to help, she had bit her lower lip, a cute gesture had it been in any other situation. There was something seemingly angelic about her aura, perhaps the fair skin, golden hair, or light blue eyes full of love. If he could have an older sister, she'd be it. Not that I'd wish that on anyone…

Behind her another kid joined them, falling through the ceiling as though it was just an illusion. Isaiah landed rather uncomfortably on the floor, giving out a small yelp when his back crashed hard enough he bounced. Wind knocked out of him and just another pain added to his list of growing aches, he rolled over, struggling to move, before he finally managed to get to his feet. It took only one quick glance around the room for him to notice the group was reunited.

Without a word to anyone he was at Carrie's side and embracing her. She returned the gesture. This time, they weren't going to leave each other again, this he swore to himself. Carrie was the only family he had; he wasn't going to let anything happen to her again. If she had to face anything, she would never face it alone. He wanted to vocalize this, to reassure her that everything was fine now, but when he opened his mouth he choked on tears he didn't know where there.

His entire body was shaking so intensely that Pudge and Miranda could see it from the other side of the room. Thomas, too, saw how bad his body quaked and noticed the blood threatening to soak through the makeshift bandage. It was the youngest of them all that approached the two of them. Once Thomas was close enough, he hugged Isaiah, too. The oldest boy couldn't help but smile as he felt the strong embrace of that little kid give his body warmth it badly needed. Isaiah wrapped an arm around Thomas and pulled him in closer.

Miranda watched the scene and smiled at the sight of the three huddled together. Pudge saw this and had to say, "Aren't you going to go welcome your boyfriend home?"

She snapped her attention back to Pudge, the expression now replaced with the annoyed one she'd been tossing his way since they'd met. "What's your deal, anyway?" she asked. Despite the venom in her voice, she went back to inspecting his injury. Her fingers tickled the bruised area but Pudge kept that to himself.

"My deal? You're the one hung up on that nerd," he teased. She yanked on his arm and he yelped. "What the hell was that for?!"

"Geez, you sure have a mouth for a ten year old."

"I'm eleven, thanks."

"You're welcome."

"That didn't make any sense!"

The conversation was over to her. It was over a few comments ago, the "you're welcome" more an automatic response rather than a calculated reply. She left him for a moment, the warmth of her hands gone from his arm and he suddenly felt very alone. When she returned, she brought with her a sheet from the bed in that strange room. Meticulously she ripped strips off that sage green microfiber sheets. She explained, "This isn't clean and neither is your wound but until we find a first aid kit or get out of here it'll have to do. Just don't overdo it with this arm, okay? I think it's fractured."

Tenderly she wrapped the bleeding wound, carefully not to let her fingers touch where skin was broken. The cool sheets helped comfort the ache that developed there. As he watched her take care of him despite how he treated her, he knew he had to apologize. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly. All she did was smile, but her eyes stay focused on the task at hand. "I wasn't trying to be mean."

"That's okay. That's what brothers are for," she said with a wink.

"At first, you reminded me of my mom. How she was before. But you're nothing like her," he said. That caused her to stop and look to him. He was blushing and the eye contact had him divert his eyes. "You asked what my deal was. You're nice so I thought I'd tell you. It's stupid, I know."

"That's not stupid," she assured him, her voice soft and quiet, almost like a whisper. For a moment she said nothing else and returned to wrapping his wound. She asked, "So, tell me about your mom."

He tensed and she could feel it. If he wanted to talk, that was him moment. Why would he share those details to a stranger, though? His voice was uneven when he spoke, "She used to be beautiful. And smart. And funny. We'd spend every Sunday at the park after church…" Then his voice trailed off, as though he wasn't sure whether to go on or not. Mustering the courage, he continued, "I don't know why, but she started drinking a lot. I don't think that's all she does. She never leaves her room. My dad left. It just sucks. I just want my mom back."

Suddenly he was being embraced. Miranda had finished just as he had and found herself compelled to hug him. Perhaps it was the way his voice had cracked somewhere in those last two sentences. Pudge wasn't even aware of the tears that were rolling down his face. It was the first time someone had listened, and the first time someone had cared enough to comfort him. He returned the embrace with as much strength as his body would allow.

"She probably doesn't even know I'm missing. She wouldn't even care," his shaking voice whispered.

Verbal reassurance didn't come from Miranda. All she could do was keep her tight hold on him as his body started to shake when he suppressed his tears. Instead, she whispered, "You can cry. I won't judge you."

He cracked. Years of pent up anger toward his mom, confusion toward his life, and all the fear and anxiety that had built up inside of him flowed out all at once. It would have been embarrassing if he wasn't so overcome with a mix of emotions that seemed for foreign to him. He felt safe. No other kid could see him or judge him for his actions at that moment; no one would tell him to get over it, to grow up, to act like a man for once. It was a relief, and one desperately needed in that depressing maze they were trapped in.