Ā The word repeated again; Hope.Ā
Ā Leslie heard it a good number of times in films, television shows, read it in stories. Protagonists seemed capable to survive any wild situation if they.. Simply believed hard enough that they could. It was never very thrilling, Leslie thought. The plots were usually very clear characters would survive, and achieve their goals mostly unscathed. They repeated phrases that revolved around enduring hope so many times it rather lost itās meaning, it just became a tangle of letters, with an always attention holding pronouncedĀ āpā.
Ā It applied differently in real life. It did for Leslie, anyhow. He had little other things in his possession. His own mind and body became tools of some sort of useā Something he didnāt completely understand yet. What they were doing to him, that is.. What they intend to do to him.Ā
Ā Leslieās fingers knotted together, and he glanced concernedly to the detective who stood by, the aura about him heavy and worn. He wasnāt sure enough of the detectiveās identity to try and encourage himā Leslie wasnāt sure if he had a family, or people to live for at all. If the man was quite completely alone, were Leslie in his place, he wouldnāt have much hope in him either.
Ā Eyes went downwards again, to his own pale bare feet which stood out starkly, contrasting the darkness the hospitalāThis nightmare, was dyed in.Ā They were filthy, bruised and cold. But they still worked fine, Leslie could dash about with impressive and unpredictable speed thanks to them.
Ā This was a nightmare. Even with his naive hoping, perhaps it was impossible he would ever see the light of real daylight again.Ā Ā
Ā His family was goneā Thatās why they kept telling him, whenever Leslie may bring it up. He couldnāt believe them, his doctors, but thatās what they always would tell him.Ā
Ā If it was true, if he would ever get out of this hospitalā Of any hospital, if he had no family waiting for him.. If he became truly alone, what then?Ā
It would be easy, like falling asleep. If he let go, he wouldnāt need to feel scared anymore, he wouldnāt need to run anymore or endure any more hurt.Ā It was temptingā Promising, even.
Ā But his thoughts couldnāt settle on it. It was too frightening still, and he couldnāt let go of his stubborn hope. If he couldnāt live for his family, he could live for himself, something heās been deprived of for as long as his blurry memory would re-call.Ā
Ā This was a nightmare, but it promised him the chance of freedom. He would die chasing it, if thatās what it came down to.
Ā What did it come down to for Sebastian?
Leslieās mouth opened wordlessly, then closed again, in preparation of the task of verbal speech, with his own words rather than borrowed ones.
āAre, are you..ā A short pause, a discomfort with the second-person point of view in regards to pronouns likeĀ āyouā. It was too personal. But he was asking personally, so maybe it was appropriate.
Ā Of being hurt, of being used, of dying? Of losing the chance for freedom? Of being manipulated, pried into, peered into? Of anything, everything? At all?
Exhaustion slowly settles in like this, and Sebastian scrambles back to his feet, just to stand rather than sit, eyes searching their surrounding for a possible nearby thread. The familiar weight of his gun still rests in his hand, at least something to cling to, when all else - like cigarette and glasses of booze - are denied right now, the cold metal framed in wood is at least reassuring enough to grant them a chance of survival.
The boy canāt do much but if they are attacked, and Sebastian can only hope that he can buy him enough time to escape if all else fails, even though he does not yet see a way out of this place. But who knows, Leslie seems to have seen more of this place than he does, and maybe he even knows a way out. The piece of hope he decides to cling to now, when nothing else is left to hold on to.
He repeats the question, tastes the word on his tongue. Itās a question that catches him off guard in way, if only because heās never given it much thought.
There was a time when he was afraid of many things, like not being good enough at his job. Of failing to help people in danger. When he heard about Myraās pregnancy. Heād been scared many times in his life, but right now, it has all dulled down to a numbness, settled inside him, toning down every other feeling except the occasional outburst of anger.
If thereās nothing left to lose, whatās left to be scared of?
He knows he wants to survive this place. Why exactly, he canāt even tell. Trading one hell for another is all it is after all, but at least back homeitās his own, personal hell, not the deranged mind of some weird psycho thatās keeping them hostage.
But heās not exactly scared of dying. Too little is left, and probably only his own stubbornness is whatās keeping him alive at this point; too broken to live, but too stubborn to die.
Itās the thought of his partner though, and what could happen to any innocent bystander, that touches something inside him.
Heās not scared for his own survival, but he would never forgive himself if he would let anything happen to those that do not deserve any of this.
Leslie, Joseph, Kidman ā¦ even though they are not, he feels as though they are his responsibility, and he needs to get them out of here.
Yet, at the boyās question, he shakes his head.
āIām not scared,ā he finally says, after what seems too long of a pause. āWorried about my partner, ās all.ā
He turns his head, finally looking at the young man next to him, and Sebastian tries to figure out his age for the first time since meeting him. Heās grown up, but the features are so ageless, the behavior so indescribable, that he has a hard time to determine anything about Leslie, really.
Yet, a part of him feels as though heās talking to Lily.
āAre you?ā he asks, his voice as soft as he still manages after all.
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