Did You Hear That?

Lucas leads me into another apartment, he didn't want to be close to so many people. An introvert. I feel the same way, so I agree to go with him.

I rest next to Lucas, yawning once more. I haven't gotten much sleep, not since I arrived here. Not when something impedes with my sleep. 

Lucas says he'll take care of me, saying that he still doesn't trust Liam just yet. And who know's if he'd show up again at some point.

Not that I have a problem with being guarded and such, but I wish that he would maybe just lighten up just a smidge. 

Liam won't hurt me. I can't tell why I feel that way, but I trust that he won't. Something tells me he can't. Maybe after knowing what I can do to him.

I look over my wrists, the pink is still there, but no indentations. It doesn't hurt anymore, but it feels like it's still there, like a stain. I wonder where he got it, or if he could have made it himself. It wasn't as harsh and rough as your common rope. It was handmade. Or it could have been tightly knotted together to make it hurt when you struggle.

Outside, it's darker, the moon's behind shuffled clouds. In the past few hours, the moon had moved up higher than when I last viewed it. 

In fact, it doesn't feel like hours, more like... A variation of minutes and hours. But at the same time, there's the sensation that it's been longer than what it seems.

It must be because of the moon. If it's never daylight, then time can move all over the place. But there shouldn't be any need to. It's irritating and bugs me how the moon just wanders from one side of the sky to the other. Maybe if it can just stay where it is, I'll feel some sort of relief.

It's the only source of light that we really have. Besides the very faint stars, but they can't outshine the moon.

"Do you know why it's always night?"

Lucas has an inching smile, "Why? Well," he begins, "I may have been here for four years, but that doesn't mean that I know about everything here." He's right, it's not like he created this world himself. If he did, I would ask for some daylight. "I guess this place just doesn't want sunny days. To have us loathe in misery and sadness."

I nod my head, perfect sense.

For some reason, I feel... strange. Like I'm not in any sort of usual emotion that I should be in. It's too complex to explain.

I aim to close my eyes, but they refuse to rest. Maybe it's because I'm sitting up. I try moving around in every known position as possible, but nothing helps. Nothing is comfortable enough for me to rest on. It's the cold and solid floors and walls probably. Maybe I'll have to create some heat to feel more comfortable.

That doesn't work either. I'm almost so desperate to take my cardigan and ball it up, but I'd become cold though. No options were going to work. I'll still be cold. Also, there are my legs. I try to curl them up and into my skirt, but it doesn't provide enough insulation.

Then it strikes my mind, I give a quick look at Lucas. It doesn't seem like he's going anywhere anytime soon. But I feel like I'd get in the way if anything came up. A sudden time to run.

Trying to act natural, I slowly rest my head next to his lap. Not that I'm really trying, but I hope that he would maybe put me on his lap. Maybe some sort of pity will fill his heart.  It's the closest thing to a pillow, and the only warmth that I'll get that external. 

The strange warmth should come around and just cloak me. The sad thing about it is that it's random, so I'm not going to get it anytime soon. Unless wishing and begging for it works.

I almost curled into a ball, my knees only so far away from my chest. Just seconds before asking him directly, he tells me, "Put your head up." I do as he instructed. He pushes himself underneath my head, and when I drop back down, my head rests on solid, warm flesh. "You didn't have to try to get me to do this. All you had to do was ask." 

Stupid. Do I only act like this for him? I bet that it's because he called me a little sister. My mind wired itself to act innocent and dumb. I don't feel guilt, like I have been for a while now. It's pity on myself, for my conscious. I'm soon going to worry over such small things. Stupid things.

As I close my eyes, feeling much more relaxed, Lucas started pulling his hand through my hair. "You're like a cat," he states. I freeze. I'm about to get up and object to his words, but I keep myself down. "I sure never had a cat in my life, but you somehow feel like one." 

I turn over on my side to look at him, his abdomen expanding and contracting right in front of me. "What exactly do you mean by that?" 

He chuckles, "I mean that your pretty quiet. You don't object to much," Not really, "You seem relaxed most of your time, your hair is soft, like, very soft. You really are just a cat in a human body."

 My hair is soft? I'm relaxed? My head is a mess, just a bunch of clutter. If I talked to myself, I wouldn't be thought of as a cat. Maybe something more like a emotionally unstable maniac.

It's strange for him to notice it. But he's pet me on the head plenty times, so he's probably already figured it out.

"Should I be offended?" I prompt.

"No, unless you have some hatred against cats. But you seem like a cat person to me." 

Cat person. That I don't know about. 

But cat person?

I sigh, I know that it wasn't an offense, but it sounds like it could have been one in a various amount of ways. I'm trying to take it lightly, but it want's to be viewed as a major issue.

"Shut up," I say to myself, just below a whisper. 

"What?" 

"Nothing, just, talking to myself." 

I flutter my eyes shut , feeling unfazed for each time his hand strolls through my hair. We rest quietly, hearing nothing but those crickets that were hidden in the grass chirping. 

My neck follows the line of his thigh smoothly, and it's not a bony leg, which makes things better. Solid and tepid.

Something interrupts me. Interrupts the transition from me still being awake to going to sleep.

 The sound--crying. 

It's a faint noise, but it's there. Like a sound coming from the back of my head.

However, it isn't just any sort of crying. Not from someone like Leslie, Cammy or Liam. Nor from Lucas; surely that's obvious. Not from an adult or anyone who's a teenager.

My ears sharpen their senses, and it was crying that came from a child. I tune in, waiting for another wail. But it becomes silent once more.

This is like the first scream all over again. I wonder who that was in the first place. Hopefully, when I meet the others again, I'll ask.

As I grasp the fact that it had to come from a child, knowing that the pitch was much too high, my eyes split back open and my head shoots up.

 I forget that I'm still resting on Lucas, and that his face is practically in front of mine. My forehead bangs into his chin. A bony chin.

Falling back down, my hands put pressure in the middle of my forehead.

"Damn! Is it mean to say that you have a thick skull?" He moans, a hand wraps around his chin.

"No... You have solid chin." My eyes blink a few times, easing the pain.

I slide off of him. Through the windows, I'm expecting to see if the cryer was somewhere in the direction that I'm facing.

"Did you hear that?" I ask him.

He shakes his head, "Nothing. Why?"

I gulp. He didn't notice. How could you not notice, it's a child crying? No one neglects the sound of a kid, especially when they're crying. Someone crying in general is hard to ignore.

Another wave of crying reaches my ears. My ears tune in, and I feel like I know exactly where they are. 

I can't say they're behind us, but they're on the other side of the building, far off. Each cry almost echoes off the walls, wavering behind the other.