Chapter 3 - Arlow POV

I stir awake and I recall my place in time - in space if you must. Hereunder a dismal house. A house whose whereabouts are unknown to me. A house with a dreary cage with commingled metal bars. A house whose whereabouts are unknown to me.

Why?

Why am I here?

Why is she here?

I rise cautiously and impatiently shake off the melancholy feeling of loneliness. I see the unusual girl is absent. Yet, she has left her drawing book just out of my reach. The precise drawing reveals everything - good and bad. The distinctive textures and brilliant colors; the glowing light and deepening shadows; even the negative space is satisfactorily completed with the compromised bars - drawn in a way to look like art in themselves. Relentless determination and effort flow from it like words from a poet. Needless to say, there is no formula for art though, somehow, the virtuosity within the craft is impeccable. The capricious of her morality is so frustrating - she seems to care, yet she still has me here. I adore this piece of art so much that I began tearing up.

As a small tear falls down my face followed by another and another until this broken person breaks into body wrenching sobs. Weeping is a fickle thing - it can show immense joy or tremendous sorrow. As contrasting anguish may be, it is a part of most people's lives and it is, allegedly, accepted by many.

I hear a whimper but soon realize it is coming from me as footsteps sound on the concrete.

"Hey, chill. You're okay," she reaches out to brush my shoulder and I violently jerk away. A rough patch in the metal bars scrapes my head as I still for a moment, hissing as I touch it. A warm compress is pressed against my head, and, surprisingly, I don't flinch - I don't do anything, I just sit there, calm and relaxed for the first time since I got here.

Water condensates from within the pack and dribbles onto my head. The calm flow of drip, drip, drip protects me from my thoughts. Thought of good and thoughts of bad never can penetrate the deep tranquility of the moment.

A small sigh falls from my lips as the water trickles down my face, my hair, and onto the floor. After a few moments, she opens her mouth and says.

"Does that feel better?" I slightly nod as to not increase the ongoing migraine.

"Good," is, allegedly, her only reply. She gazes at me with a queer look - like she is analyzing my every move, every thought even.

"So unusual," I say.

"...what?" she asks. Ominous silence perceives the dismal room. I don't answer and continue sitting in silence. I hadn't noticed until now, but she had sat on the floor and by the looks of it, we've been here for a long, long time.

"What…" she pauses for an unfortunate second then says "What do you mean," coughing and twitching her head rapidly mid-sentence. I merely stared at her with a disbelieving look.

"Nevermind," I reply and gradually move away from the confusing girl. My head pounded as I crawled - never turning my sore back to her. My unusual way of saying, "I don't trust you." the hint was taken and she made no attempts to reach out .'At least she's courteous I think,' I think. Others would have disregarded my warnings, and at that point, I wouldn't be capable of hindering them much further.

"...thank you?" I whisper - more of a question than anything. What are you supposed to say to that?

"You're welcome," she said with much more confidence than I. 'Well obviously,' I think, 'She is on the outside of the bars - unlike me.' I attempt to catch her eye, but every time she continuously avoids it. Even now, she doesn't stop staring… with those unusual purple eyes of her - though she does look more sane than earlier.

Sitting in silence, for nothing can penetrate - not yet at least. Until…

"I'm sorry," rings out through the room, loud as a gun and sudden as a bullet. I ponder for a moment - term temporarily lost to me. Ransacking my brain for results is shown in my response,

"Excuse me?" two faint words - two quiet words of the grim reaper- or a kidnapped girl who has a fierce temper. Utter a satisfactory phrase and you may survive. Don't and, well, we all know what will happen.

The words of a savage animal waiting to pounce if you move. The clever thing to do would be to freeze or stay quiet - but she isn't always too bright you see? At least she isn't. The others, however… nope! I will not spoil it- not yet at least. Now, back to our story…

"I - I am sorry," the girl stuttered. The silence lasted centuries - if you think differently then you don't know what awkward silence feels like. 'What to say to a comment like that?' I ponder. Never in a million years would I expect her to say that? I contemplate the thought of what she meant by 'I'm sorry.' It can mean many things, you know.'I'm not sorry, but I will say it just to spite you,' runs through my mind.

"Hey, are you okay?" A hand appears in front of my face. Eyes - blurry. Mouth - dry. Palms - sweaty. Vision goes white. The hard, cold floor strikes me before I can comprehend it, and I lose consciousness.