It was hard to tell how much time had gone by since they first woke up there. Meals were brought irregularly, and the artificial light in the room was kept at the same level constantly, leaving no opportunity to gauge time at all.
Frankie knew three things for certain: his name, that he hadn't always been here, and that something was very wrong. He couldn't be sure of anything else. He couldn't remember anything outside the room, but he knew it was out there. His name... it had been on the tip of his tongue, tumbling out easily when Henry had asked, even though the disembodied voices that communicated over the speakers never addressed either of them by name. Frankie might not have know how he remembered his name, or how he knew it was right, but he did.
As for what was wrong... he didn't know exactly what it was. But he was constantly uncomfortable, like he was reaching for something that wasn't there, or hiding, or kept from him. And he knew it wasn't right. Sometimes he caught himself staring at the way the light hit the edges of the furniture in the room, knowing something was missing, something he needed, but completely at a loss for what that was. He wanted to find a place to hide, somewhere where the light couldn't get him, where it would finally stop eating through him and devouring him alive, but of course the furniture couldn't be moved and there was no place to crawl out of sight of their ever-watchful captors.
Having Henry there was the only thing keeping Frankie sane at that point. The voices had called them "lifemates," but that term felt so forced to Frankie. The way the said it... like they needed to convince their captives. Frankie didn't think it was true, but there was no way out, and Henry was Frankie's only real company. Luckily, so far, he'd been very good company, despite... the whole situation.
Still, Frankie was starting to feel desperate. There was just too much light. In his latest attempt to escape it in whatever way he could manage, he'd taken all the bedding and was making an effort to create a pillow fort. So far no voices had tried to stop him, and it was actually going... okay, though it was hard to actually make a structure with just the pillows from the bed.
haaaay have this thing i did
Frankie knew three things for certain: his name, that he hadn't always been here, and that something was very wrong. He couldn't be sure of anything else. He couldn't remember anything outside the room, but he knew it was out there. His name... it had been on the tip of his tongue, tumbling out easily when Henry had asked, even though the disembodied voices that communicated over the speakers never addressed either of them by name. Frankie might not have know how he remembered his name, or how he knew it was right, but he did.
As for what was wrong... he didn't know exactly what it was. But he was constantly uncomfortable, like he was reaching for something that wasn't there, or hiding, or kept from him. And he knew it wasn't right. Sometimes he caught himself staring at the way the light hit the edges of the furniture in the room, knowing something was missing, something he needed, but completely at a loss for what that was. He wanted to find a place to hide, somewhere where the light couldn't get him, where it would finally stop eating through him and devouring him alive, but of course the furniture couldn't be moved and there was no place to crawl out of sight of their ever-watchful captors.
Having Henry there was the only thing keeping Frankie sane at that point. The voices had called them "lifemates," but that term felt so forced to Frankie. The way the said it... like they needed to convince their captives. Frankie didn't think it was true, but there was no way out, and Henry was Frankie's only real company. Luckily, so far, he'd been very good company, despite... the whole situation.
Still, Frankie was starting to feel desperate. There was just too much light. In his latest attempt to escape it in whatever way he could manage, he'd taken all the bedding and was making an effort to create a pillow fort. So far no voices had tried to stop him, and it was actually going... okay, though it was hard to actually make a structure with just the pillows from the bed.
"Do the cushions come off the couch at all?"