The Blackest Days
571 Words
It had been three days since the monster left them alone, and Sloan was weak.
August was fairing better than the tiny blonde. He’d only just gotten here. But he watched as she suffered— she slept often, her limbs uncoordinated and weak.
She had nightmares, too.
The first night they’d fallen asleep in the same room, August woke up to the sound of her crying out, her thin arms flailing as she tried to fight off an invisible perpetrator. His instinct was to wake her up, to comfort her. But he’d just sat there, letting her soothe herself back into sleep.
He wasn’t good with emotions.
But he knew nightmares. He knew them all too well. He knew what it was like to wake up, gasping for air, your bloom rushing in your ears and heart pounding.
He wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
August watched her now, stretching up on unsteady legs to peer out at the stars through the tiny basement window. She did that every night and every morning, watching the sunrise and looking out at the stars.
“Why do you do that?” He asked her.
Sloan looked at him, her piercing pale green eyes examining his face. She was unnerving when she did that— he almost felt like she could see through him.
Her eyes were sad. “I don’t want to forget that life exists outside of this place.”
“We’re going to get out of here.”
She smiled, as if she didn’t believe him, turning her gaze back to the window.
“Everyone always called me spacey, you know,” she murmured. The moonlight lit up her face, and it struck him again how beautiful she was. “Poor little Sloan, with her head in the clouds. I should resent that part of me, since it’s the reason I’m here, but I don’t. Because it’s kept me alive down here, too.”
Something about her seemed familiar in that moment, but August couldn’t place it. He brushed it off.
Suddenly, her face lit up, and she looked at him. “What’s your favorite movie?”
Uncomfortable, August shifted. “Uh, probably The Shawshank Redemption. Why?”
Sloan nodded, as if this made sense to her. “That’s a good one. I don’t have any favorites, you know. There’s just so many good ones I couldn’t possibly pick. Especially when it comes to books.”
“Books,” August stated slowly.
“Yes. Like.. To Kill a Mockingbird. The Great Gatsby. Gone With the Wind. There’s so many good ones and—“
“You’ve lost me, darlin’. I don’t read.”
“Well..” Sloan frowned. “What do you do for fun? As a hobby?”
“MMA fighter. I fight for fun.”
She scrunched her nose up, and it was so cute it made August fight a smile. “That doesn’t sound very fun.”
He chuckled, laying back on his arm on the shitty cot he was on. “It can be. I’ll show you sometime when we get out of here.”
Don’t make promises, August.
Leaving her spot by the window, she folded her legs under her and sat across from him. “Promise?” She asked.
Shit.
Something about her made it impossible to deny her, and before he knew what he was doing, he was saying the words.
“I promise.”
- Writer
