Something cold wakes me up what I think is a few hours later. I bolt upright and the rough blanket falls to the floor with an slight hiss and almost silent thud. I look around, seeing only the gray outline of the door, toilet, and bedframe around me.
What did I feel, then?
I rub my arms only to find there are no goosebumps. I then realize that I'm not even cold. Weird, I think to myself. Taking care to move quietly, I pad over to the hole in the wall, on the other side of which Peter is probably asleep. I whisper out for him, and stick my index finger through the hole, but there is no sound, no movement. The room on the other side of the wall is empty.
And then I remember.
I remember how he was taken away, how I screamed for him, tried to cause a riot, was put in solitary, attacked, and woke up with Blue-eyes. That cool, breezy feeling rushes through me again, and I also remember why it woke me up. I was dreaming. His blue iris's flash before my eyes and I stumble backwards at the memory. It's the first bit of color I've held in my memory since I can remember. Even my dreams are usually black as this holding cell. But I was thinking of him last night. I'm sure of it.
But there was something else. There were more dreams.
I grasp my head, shaking it from side to side, but I can't remember. I try pacing the room, even hitting my head against the door, but nothing works. I can't remember anymore. Even the color of his eyes is fading. When finally the icy Azul turns into blackness, I groan and fall back on my bed.
The door suddenly opens and for some stupid reason, I expect to see him standing there. But it's a man with banal features, other than his gloved hands that reach out for me like claws. I start to recoil before I realize that there's no escape. No matter where I am in this place, I'm still in solitary confinement. No matter how black the darkness is, it's inescapable.
So I go with him, uncomplaining. 10 doors down, 10 steps left, 5 steps to the 3rd door. Flanked on either side by strong-looking, masked guards who don't look at me or acknowledge my existence, other than the hands that grasp both of my arms and lead me down the hall. They usher me into the room and I find myself lying face-up on the cool metal table, as per usual. Everything about the room is the same as it always was, and I realize that I am, too. I've lost the fight that inhabited me only days ago. I look around, aimlessly, for a few moments and feel disappointed when I don't find what I'm looking for. I feel even worse when I realize I'm looking for Blue-eyes. He isn't here. He disappeared with my strength.
I say nothing as they slide the needle in my vein.