No Strings Attached

Chapter 10

No Strings Attached

X

Pudge swallowed the eggs whole in his half-asleep state before rolling off the bar stool and plopping down against the wall for a nap. Thomas joined him, even daring to snuggle up to Pudge. Too tired to realize what was happening, Pudge slung an arm around Thomas and the two were snoring within seconds. Carrie and Miranda were next, both excusing themselves from their meals at the same time. Isaiah watched as they positioned themselves near the young boys, and they too were fast asleep. Alone, Isaiah opted to clean up the mess they had made. It was habit more than anything. It reminded him of simple chores that used to annoy him, but cleaning dishes forever would be better than running in fear forever.

Minutes turned into hours and Isaiah still hadn't gone to sleep. He dimmed the lights and thought of joining the others before he opted not to. Instead he put himself in the opposite corner of the room, where the island blocked his view of the other kids. It didn't feel right to be close to Pudge. The knowledge that the nasty injury on the kid's arm was accidentally caused by him hadn't sat well with him. It actually made him a little sick to his stomach. How was he to know that was going to happen, though?

He sighed, the only noise he dared to make in the dark. The gun had been tucked in his waistband. Cold metal was irritating his skin there. Once removed, he felt his body rush to warm the spot up. He couldn't get over the sheer weight of the object. The way his body had shuttered and almost shut down over firing that one shot still frightened him a bit. It was way different than firing a gun in a shooting range with a comforting father's hand on his shoulder.

He checked his watch and let out another sigh. His dad's birthday was just a day away. What would he do in this situation? Keep watch on the younger kids, keep them fed, keep them happy, and keep them safe? It was hard enough just keeping himself safe, as the nasty wound on his arm reflected. Why hadn't any of those kids offered to help him when they saw his injury? Had they even noticed? Probably not. Nobody ever noticed. Nobody except his dad.

Isaiah had to hit himself in the head and the gun in his grip made a strange "clack" when it was jostled. It was strange how years later he still looked up to his father, even though he tried to convince himself there was no reason to. Yeah, his father had worked extra hard to raise him, going out of his way to attend baseball games and teacher conferences even though he was a single parent. Love through wisdom and adventure had been given to Isaiah by his father, no questions asked. So why did he leave him?

Now here came the tears; the same tears Isaiah had fought every year around this time. The memory, no matter how distant, still stung his heart. There were no warning signs, no threats, no lonely sighs in the night from his dad. So why did he kill himself? What triggered him? Isaiah remembered walking inside their modest home that hot summer afternoon, drenched in sweat from Little League and full of so much anger that his dad wasn't at the game that day because he never missed a game. That's when he saw his father strung up from the supporting beam across the living room, his beloved leather belt wrapped tightly around his neck.

That's what his dad would do in this situation. He'd get himself out. Trapped in a maze of dead ends and horrors, unseen to others but too real to him, his dad got himself out. The heavy gun in Isaiah's hands nearly slipped as the sweat started to emit from every pour in his body, his palm so clammy they were drenched. It felt heavier than it had ever felt before as he raised it to his head, closed his eyes and…

"Couldn't sleep, huh?"

It was Miranda. Isaiah's hand fell to his lap and the gun never got the chance to fire. Why was he so quick to retreat? Ashamed that he was about to kill himself when the others still needed him, he almost started to cry again. Before Miranda got close enough to see his face, Isaiah wiped the tears away and replaced his confused, sorrowful expression with a peppy one.

Both of them turned their attention to a noise; Pudge left out the only door there, sleep walking away. Without a word between them, they both decided not to take after him. Sleep was still heavy on Miranda's mind and Isaiah was mentally exhausted as well.

Miranda sat next to Isaiah, the wall used as a support for her back. She asked, "How's your arm? I never got the chance to ask. It's been so hectic."

He smiled. The soothing tone of her voice was exactly what he needed to hear. "It's okay. I mean, it's deep but I'll be alright. The quicker we get out, the better," he said. Quietly, she nodded. Together they sat in the silence, content with just company in that moment. He remembered a conversation the two had shared earlier, about her birthday being the same as his dad's. So, he said, "Your birthday is soon. Thirteen, huh?"

She giggled at him, as there was something strange about his tone that sounded more playful than serious. "Yup. Thirteen. I was going to spend the weekend at my dad's but maybe next weekend if we're not home by then." It was said in such a way that she betrayed no emotions, like she was merely stating a simple fact that all in life have to deal with. She refused to allow the idea that they would never make it home cross her mind.

Isaiah felt assured by that attitude. He asked, "Are your parents separated?"

"Yeah. It's no big deal, though. I get to see him often and they're both good people. It happens. It's better for them to be apart than together, you know?" she said.

A warm smile crossed his lips and he said, "You're really mature in how you handle that. Not just that, everything. Not bad for a twelve year old."

"Thirteen," she said, a playful grin on her face.

"Almost," he corrected, allowing his smile to mimic her grin. There she was again, shifting uncomfortably as he stared intently at her. Every time they had a moment together like this, he did something to bother her but he couldn't figure out what it was. It wasn't intentional. It also seemed odd to just ask about it, so he opted to merely look away and see if he could sense her calm down.

She did, and even released a quiet sigh that he barely heard. "It's weird, we've been here for only a day but it feels like weeks. I feel like I've known you for a long time now," she confessed.

A glance over at her and he could see that she hadn't braved facing him. Sitting crossed legged, eyes downcast at the floor, and she once again bit her lower lip. It was too cute. That was it. He had to do something, even if it made it twice as awkward as it was. Roughly he snatched her chin and forced her face toward him. Surprised, she opened her mouth to question him but he silenced her with his own lips. His heart was racing so fast he could hear it beating in his ears. This wasn't his first kiss, not even one of his first dozen kisses, but it was making his body react in ways he wasn't used to yet.

It was her first kiss; it wasn't what she expected and it definitely wasn't the romantic setting she had imagined. Key lime pie and a sweet pasta sauce were still lingering on his lips and she could taste them clearly. Frozen, she allowed him the opportunity to continue the kiss even though she didn't have the mind to respond. It didn't appear to bother him. An eternity seemed to pass before she moved, and it was only because his hand landed on her thigh in his attempt to practically crawl on top of her.

Isaiah wasn't even aware his hand rested there until she yanked herself away and the hand clenched down, the soft flesh held in place by his grip. It was a primal move done instinctively when he felt her body try to move away from him. She was flushed and shyly said, "Isaiah, stop."

In a flash his hand was gone and he scooted away from her and turned his back. He called out, "Sorry. I don't know what happened. That was weird. I'm sorry."

His voice was rushed and he was clearly more embarrassed than he had counted on. She couldn't see his face, but she knew he was probably redder than she was. The shaking of his voice and his unsteady breathing were all that she heard for a few seconds, until a small, forgiving giggle came out of her lips. "It's okay. You just… freaked me out."

"I'm sorry."

He had hunched himself over as though he was preparing for a fist to knock him in the back of the head. It never came, but neither did a soft embrace or comforting hand. Instead, all he could hear was Pudge's voice ask, "What are youtwo doing over here?" His body shifted closer to the wall and he refused to turn around. The last thing he wanted was that young brat yakking his mouth about the whole situation.

"Where did you go?" Miranda asked, her voice back to normal, as though the incident between her and Isaiah hadn't even happened.

"To pee. I didn't want to go in the sink. Turns out there's a bathroom not far. Though, really, I wonder how much of this is some weird, sick set up by that puppet," he said.

Isaiah didn't turn back completely but he did look over his shoulder when he asked, "You saw the puppet, too?"

Pudge raised a brow. It wasn't over the comment but rather had Isaiah had positioned himself. He decided not to say anything and instead answered the question. "Yeah. That thing is behind this. I think, anyway. He made me and Carrie go to this weird room where he records everything that happens in here," he said.

Isaiah nearly flopped on the ground when he twisted at the sound of his cousin's name. "Did anything happen to her?" he inquired.

Pudge flinched and his expression changed in a blink from irritated to upset. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling vulnerable to Isaiah's eyes. The dark orbs of his broke away and stared at the ground as Isaiah silently demanded answers. "That's not my place to say, dude," was his answer.

Faster than Pudge could register, Isaiah was on his feet and snatched the younger boy by the collar of his shirt. Despite his lanky frame, Isaiah had enough power to lift Pudge off the ground. With no choice but to meet the harsh, intense glare of Isaiah, Pudge was motionless. "It is your place to say, and you're going to tell me what happened," Isaiah insisted.

Pudge threw his hands up in defeat. "Calm down, nerd! Ask her if you want to know that bad!" Pudge shouted, perhaps louder than he had intended. Isaiah growled. His fist was raised, pulled back and ready to smack Pudge in the face when Pudge started to wiggle. "Alright! Chill out! A lot of things happened to her! Messed up things! And to Tommy, too! And every other kid that didn't make it out of here! Hundreds of them!"

"What kind of things?" Isaiah once more demanded.

This time, before Pudge could say a word, Miranda stepped in. Somehow she was able to pry Isaiah's hands off of Pudge and she stepped in between them. Her back was to Pudge and she had to stare down a very riled up Isaiah. "What's the matter with you right now?" she questioned. He didn't answer. "Instead of fighting each other we need to stick together! Whatever happened to Carrie and Tommy can be handled and discussed after we're out of here, alright?"

The lack of response was frustrating her, but she'd separated enough fights between her brothers that she expected it. Suddenly, Isaiah stomped away, pushing past the two of them and proclaiming, "I'm going to the bathroom. By the way, you don't kiss very good."

Miranda blushed; Pudge tried not to laugh because he desperately wanted to appear angry still, but he couldn't stifle it. Even after she sent her nastiest glare his way, Pudge nearly teared up from the laughter attacking his gut. It was her turn to storm off, this time to Carrie and Thomas where she hoped to get some more sleep.