Puppet Boy

3.

THE ROOM was so dark that Tyler began to feel disoriented. He had to count on the sound of his breath to reassure himself that he was still alive. He wasn't sure how many hours had passed, then again, 20 minutes felt like two days in that damn cell.

The string that was attached to his hand tickled his forearm, consistently reminding him of the situation.

He assumed the girl in the room was probably asleep by her lack of conversation, or she was too terrified to speak.

He leaned his head against the hard wall that his back was pressed against and sighed. He unsuccessfully tried to pull his wrists apart to break the thick rope that confined them.

Each time he moved, even just a little bit, he felt a sharp pain in his rib cage. He inhaled sharply through his teeth, unable to even check for any cracked bones with his wrists tied back. He was positive that at least one of his ribs were broken - the pain was far too agonizing for them to still be intact.

He tried to stop himself from bending the upper part of his torso, as he knew how easy it would be for one of his broken ribs to puncture his lungs. A low groan escaped his lips while he began to think about how difficult it will be to prevent that from happening - this psychotic man seemed to enjoy throwing him around. 

He felt warm tears fall down his clammy cheeks unexpectedly. His conscience still desperately grasped onto a single shred of hope that, as each minute passed, slowly disintegrated into nothing.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked in a soft, worried tone.

He jumped at the sound of her voice, having forgotten somebody else was in there with him. "Uh, yeah," he said, his voice breathy. "I think so."

"He... he looked like he hurt you," she said, her breath shaking.

Tyler shook his head, though he knew that she couldn't see him in the thick darkness.

"I'll be fine," he lied, just before his entire body ached. It also didn't help that his throat was dry, his stomach was so empty it was practically devouring itself, and the room was unbearably freezing.

"I just want to get out of here," she mumbled, barely above a whisper.

"We will get out of here, I promise," he spoke, searching around the room for some way to escape.

There was nothing but an engulfing, heavy blackness that nearly sent his mind into hysterics.

She didn't respond for a while, but he couldn't allow his thoughts to take over his sanity any longer. He had to speak, even if it was only to himself. "My name is Tyler," he said.

She didn't answer him.

He sat there for a minute, his eyes closed. "Do... um, do you have a name?"

"We're going to die, and all you can think about is my name?"

He exhaled in surprise. "I'm in the same position as you. There's no reason for you to get mad at me-"

She cut him off, "I'm not mad. You think there's a way for us to get out of here, but there isn't. We're as good as dead - everything we've ever worked for is pointless! There's no way out," she stressed loudly, a hysterical rockiness to her tone. He was startled; that was the first time he heard her speak so loudly, so clearly.