Darkest Before Dawn by Stevie J. Cole Page B

eyes narrow as he reaches out again—cautiously, and swipes a strand of hair from my face. “Fuck.” His head slams back against the wall. “I hate this.”
    He silently stares at the floor for a long minute while I sit here wondering how I can convince this man to let me go. Wondering why in the hell I am attracted to him. Why I want to run my fingers through his thick hair. Why I want to strip down to nothing and have him touch me, have him look at me like I’m something he can’t be without. Why do I want that validation from him?
    A short-lived smile flickers over his lips then disappears. He swallows. I swallow.
    “I have to…” His gaze trails down to my lips and I know that look. He wants to kiss me. And I want him to, so I do what any normal girl does in a situation similar to this, I lean in, close my eyes, and wait.
    “I have to go,” he says. My eyes fly open as he abruptly stands. “I’ll come back though. I promise.” And with that he walks to the door, opens it, and leaves.
    Worthless…
    I sit on the mattress for a few moments, dumbfounded by what just happened. My heart is in my throat, pounding with an uncomfortable force. Closing my eyes, I try to recall the feel of his hands on my cheek again. I crave his touch and I wonder if it’s because, down here, there is no human touch. No, that’s not it, it’s because I want him. I want him to want me. I want him to fuck me. I imagine what it would be like to have his hands on me, to have him rip my clothes from my body and throw me down on a bed. What it would feel like to have him inside of me, and I realize I have lost my mind. I see now how fucked up I really am because the fact that he doesn’t crave me the way I crave him, it makes my chest go all tight. It makes me angry and disappointed all at the same time.
    The longer I sit and stare at the door, waiting for him to come back inside, panic sets in. With him gone, I’m once again forced to see the filthy room, the locked door I can’t get out of. Death. That is what this is: the holding room for death.
    Sweat pricks my entire body. My breathing grows erratic and every last inch of my skin buzzes with the fear of dying in this room. The walls seem to shrink in on me. The silence so strong I can actually hear it. My senses are overwhelmed by the deprivation.
    No sound.
    No touch.
    Nothing to see or do.
    I am nothing. I am in a state of absolute nothingness—no longer in existence outside of these four walls. And it is in this moment of despair I realize we are always alone. Even when surrounded by people, it truthfully is no different than this right here. Our bodies are prisons. Our minds a captive no one aside from us will fully understand. Oh, shit. I am losing my mind!
    I don’t know why I do it, but I jump up from the bed and run across the room to the door. Screaming for Max, I pound over the wood until the skin on the sides of my palms split open. Blood seeps from the wounds, but I continue to beat over the door. Each hard hit leaves a stamp of blood. I want to feel I have some control in this, even though I know I don’t. I just want him to come back. I just want to see his face. I don’t want to be alone, whether that means sitting with the proverbial devil or not. I beat over the door again and again, screaming until my voice goes hoarse, until I am exhausted and fall to my knees, resting my forehead against the door.
    Out of breath, I give into the fact that I am never leaving, and if by any chance of God I do, my sanity’s already gone.

14
Ava
    Day 17
    I don’t know how long it’s been since Max left me alone. To be honest, the entire concept of time is lost on me now. I don’t need time. It doesn’t matter to someone like me.
    I’m lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, watching the water drip from that goddamn pipe. A rustling sound draws my attention to the side of the room. A tiny field mouse scurries over the shopping bag Max left on the floor. It sits up,