Day 2 (3/3),

When I wake up, I open my eyes, trying to adjust to the bright light above my face. I feel hazy—raggard—like some old doll a child decided to play with after many, many months of rotting in the toy self.

That's how I felt, like some toy—more so a puppet—plucking its strings to be free and human, yet I feel limp and boneless; the lights above me making me feel like I'm under a spotlight—and maybe I am—because whatever show I'm starring in, it seems to be one of heartache and tragedy, two things that currently at 17, that's all I really seem to know.

I turn my head—realizing that I'm covered in blankets and laying on soft feathers—to catch Not-so-Sebastian peering down at me, his hands resting on his lap and his eyes still a magical blue, burning and shining endlessly.

We stay like that— just staring at each other silently—aborsing feelings of unknown canny and tension—before Sebastian finally breaks eye contact first, holding his hands tightly.

"What happened?" He asked me.

I quietly continue to stare at his eyes, counting each small crystal that shimmers every time he tilts his head more to the big head light before finally, I shrug, feeling another gust of burning around my ankle.

"I just got tired; I think. I'm not sure." I said, but the I pause. "Did you see the blue hands?"

Sebastian gives me a look, which I take as my answer.

"Right, of course," I sigh, "Blue hands are totally normal for us. Gosh, should have known," I snicker, but quickly clearing my throat, catching the unamused expression on Not-so-Sebastian's face. "I-uh- h-hope the school didn't call my parents or something."

"I snuck you in while the nurse is out." Not-so-Sebastian said, finding the lines on his palms suddenly so interesting.

"Oh I-thank you." I said, slowly sitting up a little bit. Nervousness and bashfulness sweep with my emotions, and suddenly my cheeks are turning red, and my fingers feel like they've been laced with sweat, and I'm feeling warmer then I've ever felt in a pair of sweats. "Is she still out?" I asked.

"Yeah," Not-so-Sebastian nods, "she's still gone."

My eyes focus on his hands, but a grave feeling plummets into my stomach. I look up from his hands to his handsome face, his expression controlled and flat, yet the crease in his eyebrows reflects whatever emotional turmoil he's undergoing internally.

"Sebastian," I said, "why didn't you change back yet?" I asked.

Not-so-Sebastian blinks, appearing confused, like I asked him a really dumb question. "I wanted to make sure you were fine?"

"I-Sebastian-I-How long was I out for?" I asked.

Not-so-Sebastian shrinks. "About a period. The bell rung a few minutes before you woke up."

"I-a whole period?" I asked and Not-so-Sebastian nods. Then, I become more stupor, "you waited with me for a whole period."

Not-so-Sebastian nods again, this time hesitant. "The nurse has been gone for a whole period-you stayed for a whole period?! Dude, why-?"

I think I cut myself off because it felt like a stupid question at this point, and in my mind—looking at Not-so-Sebastian's worried expression—I don't know whether the boy I faced—this time dead—is far too kind or cares about me way too much.

"Sebastian," I softly call his name, causing Not-so-Sebastian to flinch, refusing to look at me, "why are you-why are so nice to me?"

Sebastian doesn't answer, but only gets up, shoving his hands in his pockets, his expression flat and tone less, but somehow, this to me says so munch.

"I'll go find the nurse and go back to class." Not-so-Sebastian turns to me, like he wishes I could read his mind. "I'll see you later. Call me if you need me, Andrew."

Not-so-Sebastian offers me one last look, this time a look of yearning, and then he's gone.

I didn't even try to stop him. I think it was because I could only focus on Sebastian's quivering hands, his sad eyes, his loneliness seeping in waves, currents difficult to drown in, unless I decide to fall in the sea, and I think I'm already a step closer to drowning in that sea.

"How cute," I hear, "too bad he's gone." I hear.

I take a minute to breath, perturbation in my heart, worriment in my soul. I force my eyes to travel to the ceiling, where Masked Face smiles down at me, legs and arms sprawled out to hold themselves up on the ceiling.

I stare, flabbergasted, until suddenly fear—a fearfulness that I've barely felt until recently—almost causes me to choke when my eyes widen just as big as my mouth does to yell. "Seb-!"

Masked Face jumps and forces their hand on my mouth, shutting me up. One hand is on my mouth, the other gripping their spiked whip in a tough grasp. The white sheets rustle with my struggling; the pale pink walls and curtains hiding me and Masked Face stare at us, uselessly, lifelessly, like how I'm about to be.

"I was going to finally bring you to do your job," Masked Face grips my face, lifting and slamming my head in the bed. I raise my hands, praying for something to happen, but Masked Face moves a foot and slams it down on one of my hands, causing me to let out a scream from my covered mouth. "But you made my baby upset, which makes me upset, so now I'm going to make sure you suffer some more, you fuck."

"Seb-." Masked Face shoves my head deeper into the bed, forcing the weak metal under the mattress to creak. My mouth quivers, and my hands fight to move and do something, but everything is useless, useless, useless.

"Poor baby, you call him like he'll come back to you," Masked Face laughs, so, so mockingly, "but you're all alone in this buddy. You have no allies, trust me."

I don't realize I'm shaking, fighting to break free from something that feels utterly worthless until Masked Face takes one of the spikes on her whip and brings it to my neck.

"He told me to stop killing you," Masked Face comes closer, spike ready to plunge into my throat, "but maybe one more time won't hurt, right?"

I pull my face from their gloved hand, gasping for air.

"Sebastian!" I cry. "Sebastian-."