The End - Part 1: Curtisâ POV
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Summary: Curtis is trapped. Thankfully a strange, inches-tall man has just come to their rescue.
TW: Claustrophobia, swearing
My ears are still ringing from that sweet cacophony of sound, throat scratched raw from having just screamed my voice out on stage in the basement of some back alley bar. I can hear them calling out the next groupâs name as I enter one of the rooms backstage, the announcerâs words and subsequent applause muffling as I shut the door behind me with a deep, yet satisfied exhale.
Posters and flyers of performances past coat the walls to such a degree that the original color of the walls is unknown to me. But oh man, I could not care less about the color of these walls. There is one sole thing in my sights, taunting me from across the room, and right now it is all my heart desires.
I donât bother taking off my shoes, the laces and buckles are always a hassle to undo anyway. And I donât bother wiping off the layers of dark, glittery makeup either, though a bit of eyeliner does smudge across my hand as I let out a yawn, shuffling toward a leather couch thatâs long seen better days. Itâs comfortably situated against the back wall beside a small round side table with an antique lamp on it. A warm, fragmented beacon inside the dimly lit space.
Anticipating my sweet collapse into the leathery cushions of the couch, I opt to make a big show of spinning around and falling backwards onto it, allowing my legs to finally buckle beneath my weight whenâ
A sharp jolt of pain shivers throughout my spine as something solid and cold smacks me square in the back of the head. âOW! FUCKâ!â I blurt, instinctively reaching up to grab at the spot of pain in my neck, except my arm no longer wants to move. No, thereâs something pushing against it now. And itâs as I turn my attention to look at what the hell the issue is when I realize I canât move my head either. The surface Iâd just slammed my head into is still above me, as well as behind me. Itâs absolutely everywhere, compressing me on all sides.
My mind returns to me one sensation at a time. First, is the absolute stillness of my entire body. I canât move a damn muscle.
Then, itâs the immense pressure boring down on me from every angleâcramped into the most uncomfortable position Iâve ever been in in my life. Iâm still seated, but itâs as if Iâd missed the couch by a few feet, at least, and had dropped directly to the floor instead. My legs are sprawled in two completely separate positions, twisting up, under, and around various unseen obstacles. Same with my arms; my left is elevated slightly while the other is pressed flat to the floor. Cold, oddly metallic, and I think also a bit dusty. Itâs identical to the pressure against my neck and shoulders.
The last sense to return to me is my vision. I canât fucking see a thing, I realize. Tilting my head even a half an inch forward helps me understand why though, because Iâm instantly confronted with yet another dark metal beam. Smackâright in the way of my fucking eyes. Awesome.
My skull buzzes from an oncoming headache, but the exhaustion I once felt is already long gone, replaced by the adrenaline now coursing through my veins. With no way to exert it, Iâm left breaking out into a cold sweat as my lungs struggle to take in each short, shallowed breath. The air in here is stuffy too, I think.
A whirlwind of thoughts breaks through the static, messy and loud.
Oh god. What the fuck. Am I in a box, or a cage, or is this some kind of grotesque Saw trap?! There sure wasnât one when I walked in here, or I think I wouldâve noticed the giant fucking cage of horrors in the middle of the room.
After another sharp intake, I begin screaming at the top of my lungs. âHELP! HELP ME! PLEASE, IâM STUCK!â
Stuck in what though? Seriously, where the hell even am I? Iâm now starting to wonder if Iâm even in the same room anymore because the air here feels different against my skin. Cooler, heavier, and suffocatingly stagnant. I cry out for as long as I am able.
However, Iâd just done that exact thing for three straight hours, and my lungs and throat give up almost immediately. Coughing only makes me more aware of my surroundings, the rapid expanding and contracting of my chest pinned against the weight of something solid and unmoving.
Whether itâs been ten seconds or ten minutes is beyond me. Iâve abandoned all sense of time, my increasing panic causing me to blend the two together. Even the muffled voices of the bandâs performance outside have since vanished out of earshot. I have never felt so completely and utterly alone.
God, I want desperately to rub at the soreness in my neck. I want to break out of here and sit up and stretch and then fall back onto the couch, where I belong. This headache is already drilling holes through my head. Tears are spilling down my face and traces of sparkly eyeliner are stinging my eyes so badly that I just decide to close them. They arenât doing me much good at the moment, anyway.
Out of nowhere, a voice breaks through the quiet, sounding unusually far away. Though itâs hard to make out, exactly. Not that itâs too quiet or muffled, which is a real enough possibilityâitâs that it sounds like complete gibberish to my ears. Nonetheless, it echoes off the encompassing metal surfaces, somewhere vaguely off to my right.
âSalve? Estne hic aliquis!?â
Unthinking, I turn my head toward the source of the voice. Greeted by yet another pleasant whack to the head, as well as the shoulder, for some reason. Another string of expletives spills out of me at the resulting pain. At least thereâs aspirin in my bag, but where the hell is that?
âSaaalve?â It sings, with the upward intonation of someone calling for a lost pet. Has this guy genuinely not realized Iâm here yet? I canât be that well hidden, right? Shit, maybe there really was a trap smack dab in the center of the room. But who the hell puts a trap inâ
âAudivi aliquem auxilium clamantem...â
With the state Iâm in, it doesnât matter in the slightest that I canât comprehend a word of it. I donât know, maybe Iâd given myself a concussion from hitting my head on the way down. Honestly, that doesnât seem like too far of a stretch. Shit.
âHello?!â I breathlessly restate, wincing at the strain of my own voice knocking through my head. My own breath reflects back at me off the beam sitting less than an inch from my face, blocking my vision, condensation fogging up the metal. That, and my left arm has since gone numb from being pinned upright this whole time.
My cries are met with a light gasp, or what Iâm pretty sure is a gasp, because I certainly donât hear another breath from the guy afterward. Not knowing where theyâre positioned relative to me is terribly disorienting.
âAhâsalve!â Shouts the man once again, his tone considerably more joyous than before. Why did he sound so excited? It made my skin crawl, more so than it was already doing.
I reckon that means âhello.â
âUhhâŠâ I stutter, suddenly hot with embarrassment, an added emotion that I assuredly did not need right now. âH.. Help? Please!?â
Thereâs an uneasy pause before he responds, leaving me to worry whether heâs left me here alone. Relief washes over me when his young, somewhat rough voice pipes up again.
âAudi,â he declares in an assertive tone, flawlessly commanding my attention. âEgo te hinc exire, bene?â
A weak little whimper of a response escapes me, my face only burning hotter because of it. Oh god, please donât leave me here.
From what little Iâm able to gather, Iâd say the stranger sounded equally uncertain. And part of me wonders if thatâs because the language barrier has just become apparent to him as well.
Thereâs a rustling noise to my right, where the manâs voice had vaguely come from. Despite it startling me out of my skin, I suppress the urge to flinch any further, fully aware of the consequences.
It still baffles me why heâs maintaining such a distance away, judging by the hush of his voice. Though, it could be that he simply doesnât want to get boxed in here alongside me. Which, after brief consideration, seems like a safe bet.
The rustling is followed up by a few harsh scrapes of metal on metal. Then something else shifts. My eyes dart around uselessly while my heart picks up its pace with each new mystery noise. After a tense bout of silence, Iâm almost certain I can hear someone huffing for breath, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up.
ââŠAre.. are you there?â Is all I can manage to mutter.
And then something touches my arm.
I shriek, pulling my hand away to clutch my chest, the violent drumming of my heartbeat thudding through my shirt, hard enough to leap out of my body. The man yelps in turn.
Wait. My arm. Did I justâ?
Thereâs another slow drag of metal as a pressure against my shoulder carefully relents. It takes everything in me not to burst into tears with the immense sense of relief that proceeds it, in spite of the ache itâs left behind.
âOh my god, oh my god,â I choke, breathless, a hope of finally getting out of here bringing a wobbly smile to my lips.
Another scrape, way too close, and then the world comes into view. Except there are no posters on the walls, no couch or lamp. Just him, this stranger and I locking eyes for the very first time.
My heart sinks, along with my hopeful smile. Because mere inches away from my face is the entirety of a man gazing back at me. From the curls of his short dark hair, to the light scars along his tan arms and neck, to his distinctly prominent noseâdown to even the dark hues of his baggy top, hidden under what looks to be chain mailâevery little detail on his person is clear as day. So, whyâŠ?
Why does he still look so far away?
Heâs standing on some kind of narrow platform with a railing, suspended to the ceiling Iâm pressed up against and made of the same material as everything else. Neglecting to even breathe, I raise a slow, trembling hand, reaching out for the platform while clinging desperately to the expectation that it wonâtâ
My hand reaches the railingâs edge in no time at all. It really is inches from my face, then. My nausea grows at the sight of my own fingers curling fully around the platform, enveloping it and the railing entirely. The evidently tinier figure stands just off to the side of it, jerking back with the suddenness of the motion. And heâs the one standing on it, which means he must be⊠I gape over my own hand, feeling ten times sicker than I felt before.
The rail creaks out in protest.
âMehercle!â The man swears, gripping the railing with one hand and his heart with the other, at the same time I gasp, âHoly shit!â
My hand falls immediately back to my side, albeit with a sharp aftermath of pain at the swift movement of my shoulder. I canât help but wince, another pathetic grunt slipping through despite my best attempts to ignore the sensation.
Regardless of the already limited gap between us, the man then takes a step forward, leaning over the railing in response to my outcry. Which, if he is as small as I think he is in comparison to meâalso a frankly insane thing to believe, but here I amâthen getting any closer seems like a very bad idea.
And yet he leans over anyway, reaching out a hand of his own. I almost go cross eyed trying to keep my focus on it, and I briefly note that heâs wearing fingerless gloves. Huh. His expression is one of sheer concern, soft dark eyes clearly searching for some kind of injury that might have inspired me to grimace in such a way when Iâd moved.
I catch myself just before saying something along the lines of: What are you? Because, shockingly, there are twice as many questions on my mind that feel way more important to ask. Like for starters, whatâs happened to me, and where the actual fuck am I!
Picking up on my internal panic, the stranger is the first to speak up, although somethingâs changed now that weâre staring directly at each other. He continues his rambling in some tongue I still donât recognize, but heâs also gesturing wildly to get the point across, an attempt to breach the language barrier that probably wouldâve been endearing if not for the circumstances.
âRespiras,â he states, motioning downward with both hands as if pushing down on something before flipping them over palm-up and repeating the same process in reverse, pushing upward.
Heâs breathing. In, and out. Hands motioning up and down. In and out. Respiras kinda sounds like respiration, I think. Like, lungs and shit, right? Shit, Iâm no doctor, thatâs for sure. Maybe thatâs just his way of saying breathe. But then, Iâm no linguist either.
Taking his lead, I reluctantly start following along. Each exhale stirs the dark curls of his hair, making my insides churn. As soon as my nerves begin to settle though, so does the onslaught of adrenaline, leaving only soreness behind as every tense muscle in me goes slack and my wide, panicked gaze gradually softens. This result seems to satisfy him after a minute or two of us just kind of breathing at each other.
Interestingly enough, I happen to catch a faint whiff of alcohol.
âBene!â He commends after a pause, a relieved smile settling over him. Hey, I recognize that word, a part of me rejoices. It means âgood,â doesnât it? God, this is undoubtedly the weirdest rescue operation Iâve ever been involved in. And thatâs coming from someone whose seen the inside of an ambulance several times at many different shows.
With most of my senses having returned, I feel the overwhelming need to say something back, wracking my disheveled brain for something simple enough that it might get across the way his gestures had.
Man, I donât even want to imagine how awful I must look like right now, especially in this strangerâs eyes. Long black streaks of makeup having dried on either side of my face, shaggy strands of hair sticking out in awkward places. And thatâs not even accounting for the size difference. Seriously, how was he being so calm about this?
âTh⊠Thank you,â my weak voice practically crumbles, scratching hideously after a combination of sing-screaming, regular screaming, and just plain crying.
With a hand to my heart, the message appears to have gotten across, watching cautiously as the man smiles appreciatively and nods, placing a hand to his own. A weak laugh escapes me out of how insane I feel in this moment, the act alone sending a rustle through his dark hair.
âAhâ sorry,â I blurt out, but the strange man in front of me just shakes his head with a breathy laugh of his own and raises a hand, palm out, in the gesture for âstop,â instantly shutting me up. Astonishment and wonder flood my senses where fear and panic once resided.
He serenades my nerves with more of his gentle, unfamiliar words. âScio te non posse intelligere,â he sighs, turning up toward me with a look of fierce resolve. âSed te reliquam viam nunc liberabo. Modo, quaeso, tene adhuc...â
I nod once as if I understood any part of that. He then turns to the side and starts walking down the length of the suspended walkway, metal clunking noisily beneath his boots.
Donât you dare question this, I urge myself in an attempt not to spiral further, continuing to breathe deeply as my tiny instructor had taught me to do.
Something shifts once again, this time from under my left leg. Itâs clearer to me now that what heâs doing is pulling the beams out from around me. Jeez, how difficult must that be for him? Is that why heâd been huffing so hard when I first saw him?
Knowing that heâs likely right beside my leg, I try to keep as steady as humanly possible. Oh man, do I try. But my limb had just been forcibly suspended in the air for who knows how long, and as soon as the surface slides out from underneath, thereâs nothing I can do to stop it from buckling under the strain.
âShit!â I choke. âSorry!â
Thereâs a yelp from somewhere near the ground, and I think the worst, sitting ever so slightly forward in order to gauge where the shout had come from. The heaviest exhale ever exits my body when his voice returns, as composed as ever.
âSum beneâ!â He utters with surprise laced in his tone. Though it doesnât sound fearful, somehow. A bit startled at most.
Bene, he had said. Good. Heâs telling me heâs alright, then? I lean back against the cold wall, closing my eyes with immense relief that I didnât just involuntarily murder the man kindly trying to rescue me.
Picking up where he left off, a pressure point is shortly liberated above my right leg, which thankfully wasnât hung high in the air this time. Then itâs my right shoe, and onto the left. Making his rounds, freeing me up inch by inch, each time overwhelming me with emotion and gratitude. Tears threaten to return, but I manage to choke them back. In and out, I remind myself, picturing his movements in my mind. In, and out.
The tiny figure returns to my sights, clambering up the same metal platform as before until we come face to face once again. He looks absolutely exhausted, aside from the undeniably proud grin on his face, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a hand.
âOmnes fieri,â he declares, placing both hands on his hips with finality. Now that heâs safely off the ground, I finally allow myself to take advantage of the newly provided wiggle room. Stretching out as far as Iâm able to, bones cracking and popping in place as I do. Holy fucking shit did that feel good.
My rescuer flinches at the concerning racket, which is reasonable. But he soon relaxes at the sight of my expression, so overcome with relief that my eyes water and I bring a hand up to wipe it away. There were now black smudges across both of them, the other from when I had first entered the room and yawned, in what already feels like a lifetime ago. How long had it truly been? I wondered, on top of a thousand other things.
But the most imposing question sat at the forefront of my mind, much louder than the rest.
I glance toward my companion, searching for an answer of some kind in those dark, peaceful eyes. He must have sensed my focus turn to him because he meets my gaze with an equally thoughtful look, bringing a fist up to his chin in consideration.
After reaching a conclusion, he crosses his small arms over his chest, brushing against the chainmail overshirt with a light clinking noise.
âTu,â he states, pointing accusingly at me. I point a finger back at myself. âTu?â I repeat, causing him to nod with enthusiasm.
âYou mean me? What about me?â
Words abandoned, he aims solely to gesture, and my brows furrow in preparation for round two of our weird little game of charades. He brings his arms together, hands meeting flatly in the middle, before pretending to pry something apart. Itâs even coupled with an explosion sound effect that makes me question just how young this guy really is.
He couldnât possibly be implying what I think heâs implying, could he?
âWh⊠what?â I stammer in disbelief, raising my voice in alarm. âYou want me to do WHAT?!â
The man shields his ears with his hands in response, and I instantly recoil, apologizing over and over in a hushed whisper while clasping my cursed mouth. I watch on in shame as he swiftly recovers from it, shaking out his hands.
Characteristically for him, he laughs it off, seamlessly removing the tension with a dismissive wave of his hand. He then makes a downward motion that I recognize as a polite demand to please be quieter.
I nod, slowly sliding the unclasped hand down my flushed face as he circles the conversation back around with ease.
He simply repeats his previous actions. Pointing at me, then prying apart his hands. Pointing at me, the structure, and then prying his hands apart. The only reason it takes me so long to comprehend what exactly heâs asking me to do is because I donât want to belive it.
I sigh, groaning as the unpleasant idea sinks its teeth into me.
Now itâs my turn. I point at the figure in front of me, his eyes widening. âYou,â I tell him. Miming as I cover the back of my head and neck with my hands, the way people are taught to do in an earthquake drill. Cover, I want to inform him. Please, duck and cover if Iâm going to do this.
He doesnât seem to be getting it. You canât just be standing there when I do it, man! Youâre gonna get hurt! Is what I would have shouted if he knew what it meant. Also, if shouting wasnât an issue, my earlier guilt resurfacing with the freshly made memory.
With a resolve Iâd never before had, I lean in closer to the man waiting behind the railing. He gawks, an anxious smile tugging at him.
âAhââ he mutters, pulling his hands toward his chest in mock defense. âFinisti mimareâŠ?â
He squeaks once before going eerily quiet as I wrap a hand around the walkway, a painfully familiar feeling. My companion no doubt staring up at the palm overhead, now enclosing both him and his section of the platform.
Following his own vague directions, I slam a balled up fist against the wall to my side, the ensuing pain sending a shudder through my arm and deep into my chest. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to shout so as not to repeat my past mistakes.
Regrettably, I carry on. Elbowing the back wall with significantly more force, astounded when the metal shell of the structure actually starts to chip away. Jeez, it must have been seriously rusted for it to fall away this easily. I kick my right leg forward and feel my shoe bust through to the other side. This method is working, by some miracle.
Sunlight breaks through everywhere in thin, jagged patches. Made notable by the fact that I was not outdoors previously, and that last I checked, it had been late in the evening. The sky is gray and overcast, a single drop of rain snaking its way down my right cheek, quickly pursued by another. I inhale the fresh air, further ignoring the ache in my bones as I prepare myself to continue.
Rubble collapses overhead, cascading off the back of my hand as it avoids the fragile person underneath, just as Iâd hoped it would.
Inevitably, the walkway he was standing on topples away with the rest of the structure, something I only register once the last of the dust and rubble subsides, freed completely from the confines of that damn metal box.
My chest heaves with effort, vision blurred and sounds fuzzy as I attempt to take in my new surroundings. Iâm frozen in place, sitting reclined with an arm behind me for support and another out in front of me, hovering over thin air where a pathway once stood.
Oh my god, Iâ I justâ Iâve pried the whole damn structure apart. Admittedly, something about that felt strangely empowering. Cathartic, even. Though it still didnât entirely sit right with me.
My sight locks onto a subtle movement below my overturned hand. I swallow hard, tilting it up toward my face barely enough to see the small, dark haired man clinging consciously to it, both arms wrapped in a death grip around just one of my fingers. Everything in me tenses up, the last of my senses shattering helplessly.
He huffs in what honestly sounds like another laugh, grinning widely up at me with similarly wide eyes that gleam with a mix of both gratitude and urgency.
This is the face of the man who saved me. And heâs no taller than my hand.
âEr⊠eh.. h.. hello?â He calls, snapping me out of my trance to the sound of my own language being spoken. Copying mine the same way I had copied his.
I blink as if Iâd just woken up from a dream, only to find myself still living it. âAh, wha..?â
Hit with the tight cling of his lightweight grip and the urgency playing in his eyes, I take the hint, flushing once more as I lower my hand toward the safety of the ground.
His boots hit the rubble with a thud. Swiveling his head in several directions as he assesses our surroundings.
âPapae!â He exclaims, turning from the wreckage up toward me, the wrecker. I hadnât yet seen him on the ground before, and it was humbling to say the least, the previously crystal clear details of his person made distant now that he wasnât inches from my view.
As slowly as I possibly can, I readjust my position, joints relentlessly crying out in stiff protest, which I only hope doesnât sound like bombs going off to the figure down below me, who had faltered when Iâd raised my voice even slightly.
Iâm now sitting cross legged on a heap of dust and metal, leaning over dramatically in order to better see the man below, who just barely makes it to my knees while standing. I try to massage away the after-aches in both my neck and hands, the latter of which are kept securely in my lap, knuckles bleeding red.
Hold on, is he cheering? This guy is now waving his arms around frantically, kicking at the air whilst making a whole slough of similar explosion sound effects through his teeth. Once again his behavior makes he curious as to his age, not that I have a way to ask it, really.
Despite the ache in my back, the soreness in my joints, the nausea and the headache and the stress and exhaustion piling over me all at onceâI begin to laugh. Really laugh. Purely out of fondness, amused by his terribly infectious excitement. And when I tilt my head back downward, I find him there, already meeting my gaze, beaming up at me from below.
âWhat⊠are you?â I reiterate under a breath, though the inquiry had since taken on a new meaning. His diminutive stature was the main thing, yeah, but the added mystery of how heâd managed to do that interested me more. How effortlessly he could make me smile and laugh in the midst of whatâs literally the most confused and scared I have ever been.
Deciding that was a question he had to respond to, the man presses a gloved hand to his chest.
âEgo sum Romanius,â he announces, each word carefully spaced as though it might help me decipher it. Surprisingly, it kind of did. Or perhaps it was the gesturing that helped spell it out.
My savior, whose name is apparently Romanius, redirects the motion up at me. And I note then how my shadow seems to loom over him, blocking out the light.
âIâm⊠Curtis,â my shaky, tired voice admits. He waves with so much enthusiasm that he almost trips over a section of rubble, finding his footing before brushing himself off.
The sky above is unfamiliar. The air around me is unfamiliar. And yet somehow, inexplicably, this grinning face below already feels like an old friendâs.
âHello, Curtis!â He waves.
I return with a sheepish wave of my own. âUh, salve, Romanius,â I reply, interrupted when he reaches out his hand in offering.
How this man continues to astound me remains a mystery, among countless others.
Painstakingly, I reach out with thumb and forefinger to accept the polite offer. The whole âshakeâ aspect of a handshake is barely applied, but thereâs warmth there all the same. I shudder at the feeling of it, and so does he.
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