Contagious

~I will mangle your mind.

'I had attempted to play a sequence of notes upon his absent arm.-- A petite kitchen knife held up as my bow, in an elegant stance.
The quicker the strike, the higher his pitch.
The more drawn my sweep, the lower the cord came as it dripped from his dry lips.

Twitching, I dropped his arm to rest back in his lap.

I've always failed at anything musical.'

"Nichelia."

My head snapped up at the sudden intrusion by his dreary vocals. My eyes met with what was truly a depressing sight.
I was so caught up in my distant memories-- ones of which had been seized from me, only to be thrown back in the form of a trashy composition-- that I hadn't heard him enter.

Blane, Was a burly man. His barrel was restrained in a tight forest uniform. The dense colour clashed with the white wash walls. It was really a pity.

Perhaps there wouldn't be so much screaming here if someone actually put a splash of colour up in this shit pit on occasion.
But who was I to complain?
I had lost my ability to scream months ago.
It's a surprise that my voice will conjure any sort of sound at all.

"Hm?" Was all I managed to croak.

It must have been a week since I'd had any interaction with another human, other then myself. And I must admit, I have grown sick of my own voice, and my hand has gotten tired.

"You have a visitor." His face wore the same stoic expression it always had, but a slight twang in his voice told me that he to was perplexed by the present circumstance.

I blinked. That's all I really could do. The walls had become blinding, and I felt a sudden stab to my gut. Biting my lip, I thought to myself, 'Who would want to visit me… no less be -alive- to make an appearance?'

"…is that even possible?" My eyes were boring into the man before me, but the words weren't addressed to anyone inparticular. Infact, I hadn't realized anything escaped my mouth, and out in the open until I heard Blane clear his throat-- beckoning me to stand.

It seemed like an easy enough request, but before I had even risen-- my legs rebelled and I went tumbling toward the floor.
There was an uneasy silence that followed. My head rested on the blanc white carpet, the only view that obstructed my vision was that of the guard. A twinge in the corner of his mouth told me he had to use everything in this right mind not to laugh.

So, instead… I did it for him.

Letting out a harsh bark of laughter, I pulled myself up by the knees and huddled over for a second. My ribs cramping from the burst of air currently descending from my lungs. It took another second or so, but I had eventually pulled myself to my feet and turned back toward the other occupant of the room.

My eyes wandered him for a moment. Forest green. What if green had enraged me? Would they change the hideous dress code, just because it was upsetting? I toyed with the idea of slaughtering the man before me, for no reason other then a change in view-- before I heard a rustle of cloth and snapped too.

A gun? I wasn't sure what kind of gun rested at his chest, all I knew was if I didn't get out of my little dream world, I would have that disgusting piece of machinery in my face and then it would result in my restraint. Not that I minded the restraining table… But I had always preferred to -do- the detaining.

Taking a step forward, he took one back. This continued until his back was rested against the wall. Playfully, I took another step toward him, knowing that he had no where else to go. I could feel him tighten his grasp on the weapon, as my chest pressed against his.
I could feel his breath curling out like thick tendrils in the cold atmosphere. It danced along my cheeks. I blushed.

Now, Now… you must understand. I had no attraction toward the man before me. None at all. But when you haven't felt the warmth of another soul for as long as I have, everything begins to have the potential of a nice fuck.

I snickered, and rested my hand on the door. "They key?" I whispered, this was the most work my vocal cords had, had to endure in weeks-- I wasn't sure if they could handle it. I prayed this "visitor" wasn't here souly for chitchat.

He scrambled to find the key, checking pocket after pocket before pulling a white card from his belt. 'Finally..' I was careful to keep this thought to myself, and waited as he tediously scanned the meager piece of plastic. The bolts enclosing us in this -box- slide and soon we were exposed to a long hall-- door after door being the only accessories to this sad excuse for a building.

"After you…" I coo'd, throwing a quick gesture toward the door.

"Ladies first…" He spat, his gun making a snap in the direction of the exit.

"Then why haven't you gone?" I smirked, taking a jolt step back as he took a swing at me with his gun. Had he forgotten what they are used for? Or had he never shot one? Seemed I was going to be bludgeoned to death with an object that was made to make it quick and painless. Oh well.

Finally, he exited and started to make his move down the endless hallway. I followed. Some of the rooms had small windows-- mine didn't. But as we passed, I could see other patients smashing their faces against the glass to see who was up next to take the walk to their eternal demise.

I was the one person in the facility who -should- have died years ago, but here I was-- walking out to see a visitor. No lethal injection for me. I celebrated inside.

I had never realized how long this walk was, but just as it was registering to me that I'd never actually gone to -this- particular room before, we came to a still halt.

A mute beep, and the door was open. The white walls came as a shock to me, but what more so was -who- the room accompanied. A boy, I was guessing in his late teens.
I was shuffled out of the hall by a large hand that rested on the small of my back. What a gentle touch Blane had. I never would have guessed.

Smirking, I waltzed in and dropped heavily into the chair before the boy. Why this was even allowed, was my only guess. The boy looked nervous, I couldn't blame him.

His dusty blond hair hung just below his prominate cheek bones. His large green eyes showed a mix of intrigue and fear, although his full lips were turned up in a quiet grin.

"And -who- might -you- be…?" I asked slyly, crossing my arms over my chest, my eyes never leaving the sight before me. And what a sight it was.

"My name is Alan Matfew, and you're Mr. Cario, yes?" His voice was high and squeaky. He was about 16, I was sure of it.

"Mr! Call me Nic." I barked, resting my elbows on the table, eyeing his hand as it snaked around for a courtesy shake. Nervously, he tucked his it back behind his side of the table, his eyes focusing on the thin grain of the surface.

I sighed, wanting to ask if there was a point to all of this, but before I could muster up the words his lips parted and he spoke once more, "Ho-How are you?"

Raising an eyebrow, I studied him. I have never seen this boy before in my life, I was never one to forget a pretty face. So, why was he here? Surely, not just to ask how I am.

Clearing my throat, I pushed my thoughts of the boy aside and stared behind him. Through him.
"I haven't been fucked in three years, How do you think I am?" It came out a lot more bitter then I had intended.

A blush traced the apples of his cheeks and weaved along the bridge of his nose, he avoided my eyes.

I licked my lips. This was going to be fun.