Huguel

4

He continues to sit there for a minute, his breathing coming in ragged pants. After another couple of minutes, he slowly stands up, still keeping an eye on the door and waiting, trembling all over. Another minute passes and he’s finally able to hold his breath no longer and gasps for air. He feels weak from holding it for so long and falls backwards onto the mattress, panting heavily, still clutching onto the edge of the blanket. He shuts his eyes tight as he tries to regain control of his breathing and senses. ‘I have to calm down…if I start freaking out again they’ll know, they’ll kill me… I can’t risk it…,’ he repeats silently, repeatedly repeating this thought as he tries to force himself to relax, to remain as calm as possible. It helps a bit, but he still doesn’t have enough control over his breathing nor his heartbeats to keep track of time, so it takes him several more minutes before he manages to calm himself down.

When his breathing slows down again, Hugo looks at the door, waiting to see if the door opens yet. It does, and soon after a familiar face shows up. He recognizes her immediately. ‘Astrid…she’s here!’ he sighs in relief.

Chapter 8

He’s completely relaxed, lying comfortably on his bed. He’s wearing a large white shirt under a pair of dark blue sweatpants that hang loosely on his hips. He looks comfortable despite having no clue where he is right now, considering all of the events that happened earlier today. He thinks that everything has settled into place – he’s safe, he is loved, his parents are gone, and he is going to get the chance to live out his dream. There are no bad memories associated with this house that he will remember.

As he stares at the ceiling, he wonders if he should talk with the woman. Should he open up to her? Should he even bother? He doubts that she’s going to react favorably, but he’s curious to find out. He figures that she might be the one person other than his parents, his brothers, and his mother (who was his birth mom) who might actually care enough about his situation to try to change his mind.

He decides to call her. As his hand reaches towards his cell phone, he realizes that he doesn’t really know what to say. She might be furious with him, and she may not want him around after he revealed her secret. He contemplates hanging up, but decides against doing so, and quickly types a message.

--

He’s still lying down when his phone buzzes beside him, indicating that he received a message. He hesitates momentarily, before reaching over carefully and picking it up off the ground, pulling the blankets further up his body. Hesitantly, he presses the power button on his phone, unlocking the screen in order to view it better. He squints slightly as he reads the text from Astrid, taking a few moments before responding to it with an equally unsure reply.

--

Hey. You alright? Are you ok?

He doesn’t answer right away, glancing over at the door once before replying with a simple, ‘Yeah.’

After a few moments, there’s another response.

Are you sure? That’s not like you.

For a brief second, he considers lying and pretending nothing happened, but decides against it, knowing that she’s smart enough to figure out that he did something wrong if he did that. He pauses for another moment to decide how much he should share about the incident. It wasn’t like he was planning on mentioning it. He was planning on keeping quiet until the very last possible moment, hoping that he could manage to convince her that what she said was wrong. But then he remembered the man standing behind the door. How scared he sounded as he pleaded with the door not to open. And he couldn’t help but feel a small spark of hope in his heart as he imagines him saying that Astrid must have been mistaken about something.

She must be confused, he tries to reason. It doesn’t mean anything, maybe she misunderstood him. She wouldn’t know. Maybe she just thought that she saw someone else.

The image of the man with the brown hair flashes before his eyes as he thinks about the encounter. He tries hard to ignore it. He can’t let himself think about it – he needs to focus on getting back out of here safely. He puts the picture out of his mind.

He clears his throat, typing out a quick message:

Sorry for the late reply. I had to take a short nap. I’m fine now.

The next instant, her response appears on his screen.

That’s good, but I think we need to talk. You know that I love you more than anyone else. And that includes your parents too. I always do. Even though it pains me that I cannot love you as much as I wish. Because I know my place…and I do not fit into your life. Not that I want to. I love you, but…

you don’t deserve me.

Her words seem to be mocking him.

You deserve everything. All the happiness and joy in the world.

He knows that his parents won’t ever understand. They’re too stubborn for their own good. But he wants them to be happy. He really hopes that she understands. He knows how important their relationship is to him, both physically and emotionally. It would hurt him to lose her. But he doesn’t have much choice. What happens tomorrow will determine his fate and whether or not he is allowed to live a happy life. If he survives the next few days, his chances of staying alive become significantly greater. If he doesn’t survive that long, then he dies anyway. He already tried escaping before. But it didn’t work out the way that he wanted it to. Besides, it was impossible to break out of there. There is nothing left for him to escape from except death, so he’d rather choose death over that torture.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face tiredly, wishing that she wouldn’t insist on bringing up the subject. She’s never been known for holding back her emotions – he’d learnt this the hard way during the first few weeks that they spent together. He’s sure that she’s trying to make things better right now, he just wishes that she’d stop. He just wants to enjoy this while he still can. He doesn’t want it to end. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, maybe it’s because of the anxiety, maybe it’s because of the fact that he doesn’t know anything, or maybe it’s because Astrid isn’t there to talk to. Maybe he's just lonely, bored. Whatever it is, he feels sad at the same time he feels angry at the same time. It’s frustrating. So he decides to give her another chance. He’ll talk to her. But not now. Not before he’s fully recovered from his panic attack.

--

Before he can respond to her question, the door creaks open and Astrid steps inside. Her head snaps up and she turns to look at him. For a second she seems surprised, but she smiles almost immediately afterwards, walking closer to the bed.

“Hey…,” he greets, giving her a soft smile and a nod as she stops in front of the bed. “How are you doing?” She gives him a slight smile and nods, returning the greeting. She stays silent for a few seconds before breaking it with another question:

"Do you remember anything?" He shakes his head slowly. He hasn't exactly tried very hard to remember, he's been afraid that he'd forget all of this once she starts talking and telling him about the conversation that she had with the strange man who came in earlier. "Ok…" she whispers after a few moments of silence, sounding disappointed but understanding. "We'll try again later," she suggests.

They spend the rest of the time chatting. He tells her everything about what he remembers about the day that followed yesterday: from their conversation with his parents, to how he ended up being brought here, to the weird stuff that started happening afterwards. Once he’s finished, she smiles softly at him and pulls one of the pillows under the blanket closer to her and lays down, patting the spot on the bed beside her to invite him to lie down with her, which he immediately accepts.

They stay silent for a few seconds, staring blankly ahead, before he speaks up. “I can’t wait to go home. We’re all supposed to meet in the living room in half an hour.” The two of them are currently sitting by the fireplace. He’s wearing a turtleneck sweater and jeans as he usually does when he visits his parents; he’s hoping that he’ll see them soon, and that he won’t have to wear any extra clothes. He has no idea how long it’s going to take for the doctors to finally pronounce him dead, but he’s determined not to let himself get caught unprepared this time. This time, he knows what to expect.

He knows that she is also dressed comfortably. She probably planned to visit him today without bringing any of the children because he hadn’t shown up at home today. His family is waiting anxiously, wondering what he’s going to say to them.

He hears the sound of footsteps approach the room, and then suddenly, the lights turn on, illuminating the room brightly. His parents come in with smiles plastered across their faces. They walk over to where he and Astrid are sitting in a chair, each of them placing their hands gently onto his shoulders. They smile down at him lovingly before squeezing his shoulder lightly. He looks up at them. Their expression doesn’t betray how worried they truly are. His mother holds her head a little lower, giving him a questioning gaze. His father gives him a sympathetic glance.

His father gives him a gentle squeeze to the shoulder and mumbles something quietly. His mother continues to hold her head lower and looks up briefly. “What was that?” He asks.

“Your mom says to tell you that she loves you. And that she’s sorry for making you wait so long,” his dad replies quietly.

Snotlout blinks twice and stares at him incredulously. “Wait…she did that? I thought she was mad, she wouldn’t even look at me,” he says.

His mother lets go of his shoulder and stands up, taking a step backwards towards the doorway. “It’s alright, dear. You’re here now. That’s all that matters,” she says softly, before turning around, heading for the door. Snotlout watches as she leaves.

After a minute or so, he hears the door click shut and then the sound of his father’s footsteps approaching him. Before he can react, his father wraps his arms around him tightly.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure of what to do. Eventually, he relaxes slightly, wrapping an arm around his dad’s waist and pulling himself as close to him as possible.