Chapter Text
"Do you know what you're doing is illegal?"
"Yes. But I have to...for a friend."
"Right...your "friend"."
"Claire."
"(Y/N), you fell in love with a criminal."
"He's not...it isn't like that..."
"Calm down, there's no need to get hysterical."
"Let me at least do this. Please."
You never realized how dark your apartment could get until now. Even with the windows open, the city lights could brighten your living room. Nothing but the halo of your computer screen lit your face up, bouncing off your glasses like mirrors. A minature kaleidoscope formed in your eyes; the desktop apps were slowly blurring into blobs of color. In your eyes, a portal appeared on your screen. Shrouded in darkness except for a sickly green light hiding in the background, flickering like a dying firefly. With what you could manage, you could see the stained floors, dirtied with grime, mold, and dried blood. Intrusive cockroaches skittered around their fellow brethren, who died at the hands of humans. Smeared handprints created an abstract mural on the back wall while the harsh outline of bolts surrounded the perimeter. Stripped of proper amenities and a warm welcome, this portal led you to a cage.
Rehabilitation: DAY 1
You scribbled on your notepad. Progress was to be made. It had to. It must. For the past two weeks, you've stranded yourself in the middle of the void, lost and alone with not even the slightest bit of direction. No amount of rehabilitation could erase your guilt; is it too extreme to have nightmares about it? Dealing with the heartbreak of a lover you've never reciprocated, what have you succumbed to? The psychology behind it couldn't even be diagnosed; is there a scientific name for an irrational fear of strawberries? Your mind was floating in a miasma, almost making you incapable of doing your job—the sign for a career change. But before you even think about quitting, that one last chance, one last piece of false hope, had planted the seed for tonight.
"Hello?"
Silence.
"Can you hear me?"
...
The darkness starts to shift. Rusted metal grinds against the floor, making you wince as you turn the volume down a bit. Harsh breathing, as if a throat were held hostage, rasped through your headphones, sending chills down your spine. You could feel the cold breath blowing through your ears. Soon, the hazy light cast a jaundice hue on the figure, the wrong colors for his condition. Long, stringy hair absorbed the lime color, mixing it in with the white. A muzzle covered the bottom of his face, the hand that choked him into his harsh breathing. Two of the tiniest gateways to hell stared back into your eyes.
"Is that you, Miles?"
...
"Yes."
That same raspy voice, just as the one from two weeks ago.
"I'm your new counselor." You pushed up your glasses. The low pyres in his eyes shrank.
"I hadn't had a counselor in years..." He crooned. The chains ringed in your ears once more.
"Well...today, I'm going to be yours." You smiled softly, "I've been permitted to offer you a standard 5-day counseling session. Your predetermined um...capital punishment...has been rescheduled."
"You're stalling my death?" You fixed your darn glasses once more, swallowing a bit of saliva that formed.
"In a sense, yes."
The chains shook with mirth; he huffed a wheezing chuckle like an exhausted exhaust engine. White hair shook and swung into his face, carefully brushing against it, but never touching. Another labored huff ceased his drawl.
"Corporate slave..."
"Huh?" You leaned into the computer, as if he were telling a secret. Miles saw this, and a softer look appeared in his eyes.
"I'm sorry. It must be hard for you to understand."
"It's nothing to be sorry for. If you could just lean closer to the—"
"Not the mic, you idiot!" You flinched. "It's about you corporate fucks..."
"What about us?"
"You've all got something in common: an image—the need to be a good person. Or to believe that you are one."
You leaned in a little closer, piquing the patient's interest.
"If you kill a cockroach..."
*BANG*
"You're considered a hero." He holds up his arms. Bound by chains and leather straps, the strait jacket collected the juice of a smashed cockroach, adding it to the collection of other stains soaking the tattered cloth.
"But...if you kill a butterfly, you're considered a monster." The chains rattled again as the patient fixed his position. "Justice is based on aesthetics. I'm a ploy to you, aren't I?"
You straighten up; the eye contact strained with every second. Perhaps your eyes were swelling underneath the heat of the radio waves. You swallowed yet again.
"I would never treat a patient like a gimmick."
"Is that what you say to yourself in the morning? Running around playing a clergyman?"
"Do you know why you're in here?"
Miles paused, thinking about his answer before speaking. "Of course, my wound had existed before me; I was born to embody it."
You adjusted your glasses yet, scribbling onto your notepad: The Moonlit Murders. A tiny spark ignited a fuse rooted in the bowels of an unmarked terrain
"Do you know what happened during the Moonlit Murders?"
Silence. As if the darkness returned. His gaze broke, glancing downward at the grime he sits on.
"Now now...that's a story for another time, dear." He rasped, focusing those eyes back on you. "I think it's time for you to get some sleep."
"Not until you answer my question." You knitted your brows.
Miles blinked, the first in a long time, before he started
"Grouchy, aren't we? I can see you've been losing some sleep lately. The veins in your eyes are boiling right now. You must be starving, especially with the act you're keeping up."
You rubbed your eyes; the invisible weight started to plummet your body. Has that fuse burned again? How much gunpowder is left? Why are you gripping your pencil like that? The sweat coming from your fingertips sparkles like glitter. A red imprint was left on your hand. You groaned.
"Keep daydreaming, star. You'll never fix me, and reality will hit you like a truck. After all, what's left unsaid will always find a way to scream."
The portal closes.