Locked in Hell. (1,564 views)

Arthur just shook his head, feeling his eyebrow twitch.

“You’re selfish because you don’t care to even consider what’s going on to others! All you care about is you, you, you! You’re such a Princess." He opened his eyes, still glaring at the door. “Go ahead and think whatever you want, I don’t care. I’ll get where I get in life, not like I’ll have to put up with you after we’re out of this damn unit!”

She wouldn’t know what became of him, at least. Not that he was going to become a nothing like she was so insisting—he knew he’d just… never progress, probably. He would be fine where he was. Maybe only progress to working full time. That was about it.

“Oh, judge me all you want, but do me a favor and just lose your fucking voice! Unlike you, I’m trying to get some fucking sleep here.”

Again, he closed his eyes, and tried to take deep breaths to calm down his blood pressure, which tended to rise when he lost his tempter.

“So just admit you’re fucking selfish and drop the subject! God, it’s not that fucking hard.” Arthur snapped. “What does it even matter to you if I get far in life, anyway?! I’d rather be dead than have to put up with you!”

He curled up into a ball as best he could, ignoring the burning shots of pain that kept erupting from his shoulders.

“I have been trying to sleep but you’re too damn loud! God, I will keep praying for that shithole you call a mouth to freeze up! Maybe SOMETHING will go right today!”

“Whatever! Glad you finally admit it!” Arthur snapped. When she coughed, however, Arthur’s eyebrow rose. He didn’t however, open his eyes and just sighed, making himself more comfortable—or, as comfortable as he could be, despite the stinging pain on his arm.

“And no thanks. As much as I hate your guts, I’m not going to frame you for murder. But feel free to kill me, if you want. Except you’d probably go to jail. That wouldn’t bother me though, I’d be too busy being dead. And with the way you keep coughing, I highly doubt that you’re not going to lose that shrill and annoying voice of yours.”

Arthur didn’t even comment, he instead zipped his mouth and opted to get himself some sleep. Her voice was certainly annoying, but what was the point in arguing? She was losing her voice anyway, Arthur could tell from her rasping and coughing.

He allowed himself to doze off, which surprisingly happened rather fast. Arthur usually disliked sleeping around anyone, but he figured desperate times called for desperate measures. He was asleep fairly sure Chardonnay didn’t have a marker and that he wouldn’t wake up to rude messages written on his face.

Since he was used to sleeping in rather unfortunate conditions, he stayed asleep, too. Arthur didn’t wake up in the night; he only twitched one or twice due to his arms. He didn’t dream, or at least he wouldn’t think he dreamt when he woke up.

The night passed, and eventually, it was morning. Sunlight trickled in through the window, and now the unit was well lit. The objects that had fallen last night could be seen littering the floor.

Arthur kept sleeping like a log, even when the light started to hit his cheek. It was fairly early in the morning, only 7 on a Sunday. Not many people were out and about, and if they were, they certainly weren't wandering around the storage unit in the gym.

Arthur woke up eventually, feeling pretty decently rested, given the circumstances. What sucked, though, was that all of the bruises from objects hitting him really hurt once he became conscious. He groaned, peeling his eyes open. It was light. On reflex, he turned towards Chardonnay to make sure she didn’t have a smirk or a marker or a knife.

She just looked grumpy, so Arthur turned away, hoping she hadn’t seen and he’d get a few more seconds of silence to look himself over.

Yeah, his arms were both beaten up pretty bad. He was pretty sure he had a bruise forming on his neck, but he couldn’t confirm that no matter how he turned his head.

Nothing was oozing or bleeding, though, so he was good.

Eventually, he tried to stand up, his knees protesting. He persevered, and eventually got himself up, to stretch his stiff limbs from sleeping in such a miserable position. He turned towards Chardonnay, grimacing as though she smelled bad.

“Good morning, Princess. Let me guess: you didn’t sleep?”

Arthur thought she didn’t say anything, at first. He furrowed his brows and looked at her, but when she seemed to get angrier and huffier, he almost laughed. Instead, it came out as a snort.

“You’re shitting me.” He deadpanned. “You’re… you… you lost your fucking voice?! And here I thought God didn’t exist. That’s a riot.”

He shook his head, leaning against the wall. “So, you seriously can’t talk?”

When she didn’t say anything, Arthur turned away from her, and snorted again, lifting his arm connected to his non-injured shoulder to hide his laughter. He wasn’t doing that out of politeness, he just hated to laugh or smile, especially around people he hated.

But damn, this was too hilarious to not laugh at!

His body trembled with laughter, so he didn’t notice when she removed her shoe, examined it, and then lobbed it at him. Because of the angle he was turned towards, the shoe wound up bouncing on his injured shoulder. Idiotically he turned towards his shoulder, wondering what the hell hit him, only to have Chardonnay’s shoe slam into his lip and then fall limply to the floor somewhere near his discarded plaid shirt.

“OUCH!” He yelled, his hand flying up to his lip. God damn it! He should have expected she’d throw something at him—hell, hadn’t she thrown her shoe at him in the woods! He forgot, but he was sure she threw something at him… maybe it had been a rock.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t hurt as bad as this! It was probably due to how close she was, she had better aim, and the fact that his shoulder was now stinging like nobody’s business and his lip was bleeding.

“You fucking bitch! I know I call you princess, but you aren’t Cinderella, keep your fucking shoes on!” He hissed, dabbing at his lower lip with his finger. He pulled away to blood. Curse his reflexes. “The fuck was that for?!”

Arthur, who had woken up feeling well rested and pretty happy with the world, instantly felt his mood plummet to the ground as though it was tied to an anchor at Chadonnay’s smirk and joyous gleam. She was such a bitch…

And here he had thought she’d be easier to manage when she was forced to shut her mouth. No. She was just as bad, if not more violent. There was just no winning when he was lumped with her, was there!

“You fucking… I could kill you.” His eyebrow twitched. “I could grab one of these flag holder things and bludgeon you to death!”

Not like he would, of course, he had to keep a decently clean record and murder would certainly tarnish it. However, that was beginning to look like a risk he was willing to take!

It was only… what, 8 AM at the latest, and he already wanted to go back to bed!

When Chardonnay looked at him, and then her shoe, he followed her gaze. What was she on about? But then he realized she wanted him to get it for her.

His face twitched in annoyance and shock at the pure nerve of this girl. How could she even demand he give it back, when his arm and lip were throbbing painfully due to the injury? He wasn’t some spineless guy who’d take her shit. And he certainly wouldn’t assist her in any way.

“You’re joking, right? I’d be a real idiot if I gave you your projectile back. You want it? You can crawl over and get the damn shoe that you’re probably going to just burn when we get out of here. I’m not getting it.”

Arthur glared at her. Why wouldn’t she understand he wasn’t going to be returning her shoe anytime soon?! She should just forget about the damn thing already. Fine, if she was going to be a bitch about this, he’d be a jerk in return.

He leaned down and picked up her shoe. He made sure she could see it.

“Alright, if it’ll get you to shut up I’ll get it.” He said. He then stretched his good arm back and lobbed the shoe up to the highest shelves. It slid back. It was on a broken shelf, but the slant was so small that it didn’t slide forward. Arthur took a few steps backwards, to see the location of the shoe. When he saw it, he smirked.

“I got it. But you never specifically said to give it to you. So, I put it up there. You can go and get it yourself.”

He went back to leaning against the wall, giving Chardonnay a challenging glare.

Arthur shrugged.

“Well, Princess, as much as I’d love to go out of my way to get that for you, no. I’m not exactly tall enough to reach it.” He glared at the door. “So, unless you want to get it yourself, the shoe can stay there.”

He looked at her finger, and followed it, seeing she was pointing at the shelf.

“Pointing won’t do shit. Except maybe causing your arm to hurt. So I suggest you stop.”

He dabbed at his lip again, which wouldn’t stop bleeding. Lips were supposed to heal fast, damn it. He licked the blood off of his bottom lip.

Arthur rubbed his lips, which only succeeded in producing more blood. Great. He heard her whisper, and he turned his head towards her, raising his eyebrow in annoyance. She was still feeling cocky after making him bleed, huh?

“Yeah, you laugh now. But if I decide to spit at you again, I’ll get blood on you. So watch it. I’m glad you can’t talk. You’re much better when you shut your mouth. Even when you mumble I can’t hear you.”

Time passed in an exaggeratingly slow manner. Sure, having Chardonnay be rendered silent for a few hours was a blessing, but it was so boring, locked in this unit. Especially with no one to yell at. Well, he supposed he could yell at Chardonnay, but that would be more annoying than anything. Besides, he didn’t want to lose his voice, too.

It was more interesting last night, when he actually had someone to banter with. Even though that had nearly given him a heart attack.

Eventually, it was 4 in the afternoon. Arthur groaned.

“Come on,” He growled, speaking for the first time in hours, “I want out of this fucking unit already! You’re a pain in the ass even when you’re silent!”

He knew adaption was key… but he knew they’d eventually get out. He just wanted out now.

Meanwhile, outside of the unit, near the gym, was Amy O’Neal. She was helping coach Fields; he was planning something rather extensive for Monday’s gym classes—a relay. So, he needed the hurdles. Amy had volunteered herself to go and find them, of course. She had the keys to the unit in her hand. She whistled off-key to a popular pop song, approaching the storage unit. Her footsteps and horrible whistling got closer and closer to the door, audible for those inside.