Eyeless Jack had finally given me the clear to leave that room. I wasn't in there for long, admittedly, but the same four walls can get dull quickly. Especially without windows. Plus, I know they kept me in there for longer than they would for anyone else that had my injuries - they'd probably be kept for a day, at most - but I was kept for two. 'Make sure your body is healing properly' and crap. I hate being in that room; barely anyone visits and there isn't even a window to look out of, nevermind a TV.

I can't remember actually watching a TV in person. I faintly remember a few shows or films - mainly a face or the outline of a storyline. I know what a TV looks like, I know what a TV does. But, they don't have any in this place - well, I'd heard that in one room there is. It was on the upper floors, supposedly the third. Most of that floor was abandoned - either because of the electricity being cut off or how much of a hassle it would be to move all of the medical equipment up the stairs. And "patients".

So, when I'd heard that there was a TV up there - on the top floor - I was dubious. How would someone carry one of those clunky things up there? Better yet, why would someone put one up there? There's no fucking eletricity, idiots.

I was curious, though - of course about the origins of the TV, but also did it work? I know that there isn't an ariel on the roof, and I know that there isn't a way to power it. However, there's also a faceless creature with tendrals maintaining the remains of an abandoned hotel. I wouldn't put it past the universe to have a magic television. Why else would there be one?

I reckon that it used that room as a bedroom, or something. It'd explain why the third floor was so undesirable, too. Plus, it is a rather selfish thing.

Understatement of the century.

Alas, no one had managed to get into the room yet. I don't think that many were bothered about it - and those that did try left it at the door being locked. It just made no sense and ever since I'd heard about it, it'd had been driving me up the wall. Though, I too was yet to actually test the door and find the almighty screen. I was too busy.

I watched as the eyeless demon stood beside my temporary bed, those two black voids fixed on me - a goopy, tar-like substance occasionally building up at the lower section of his eye sockets; the mysterious liquid dripping down the face of the navy blue, plastic mask that hid his features - drying like mascara tears. As he finally moved his gaze to my stab wound, his auburn hair flopped over the top of the mask. "Well, from what I can tell you seem to be doing better, but if you'd let me do a proper examination I'd be able to give you a more accurate evaluation." Jack stated, a sense of annoyance to his cheerful tone - like the second, underlying voice of the entity was pissed, too.

"Does this mean that I can leave?" I asked, looking up to him, an expecting expression forming. I was eager to leave. I wasn't going to fall for an unnecessary check up. I can tell if I start bleeding again, and a concussion is a concussion.

The cannibal only sighed at my urgency, "Toby, your body heals slower. You know it doesn't react to injuries as quickly-"

"I know. You know I know, so, you're just wasting my time." I argued, my eyebrows knitting together as my eyes narrowed at him. I wonder, if he saw things like I did - would he get jealous of the way I could use my eyes to show expression? Feeling? Because they couldn't. I like to ponder what upsets them more. That, or the fact he never got his doctorate - or, is it that about him knowing that the demon that shares a shell with them is a ticking time bomb - ready to snap whenever it gets too hungry? The fact that someone - that I saw it happen. But then again, no one believes me. I think that the majority of them like it too much, so they turn a blind eye. "I didn't just wake up with a shitty immune system, did I?"

I've learnt how to deal with the side effects of having CIPA: I have to purposefully walk lightly (in fear of ruining my ankles or feet); I have to predict the weather, and unless I can guarantee it'll be burning or freezing, I have to sleep without a blanket whilst also dressing 'appropriately' for the temperature (otherwise I risk seizures from overheating or hypothermia from, well, the cold); if I go running for long periods, I need to check my pulse to make sure I'm not overworking my heart, and then I need to check myself for injuries that might have slipped passed my radar. There's a lot I have to do to make sure I stay alive. One of the few things I do remember is the rule that I could only sleep with one stuffed animal at a time - and even then, as a child, if they would worry that it'd get too warm, they'd take it off of me. I had to grasp that I was different from a younger age. The worst thing about it all is I know the sensation of touch - I know what impact is. I know when I've been hit, by a projectile, fist, branch - but if I don't notice what caused the impact I have to deal with the fear that I have an internal or hidden injury (that I can't immediately check, all the time). But, at the same time, I want to feel these things. I want to feel the warmth of a summer day - I wanna feel the brain freeze after eating ice cream too quickly. I want to be able to feel my body warn me that there's something wrong, or that I'm pushing it too hard. And I'll never be able to even imagine it. Have you ever tried explaining what heat is, without using temperature? Have you ever tried explaining what pain is, without saying it hurts? That it's sharp or that it aches?

So, I do know about my own condition, Jack.

Another thing that I remember, was being told I was lucky that I didn't have to worry about the pain of a paper cut or indigestion, and that I should be grateful that I'd made it past being three years old. I don't remember their face, or their name, but I'm 100% sure that they were a prick.

He probably raised his eyebrows, underneath that stupid, clumsy mask. "I suppose you're right. I'll let you leave, then, Toby." Jack muttured, taking steps away from the bed and beginning to head towards the door - probably to go into a different room and harass them, instead.

I smiled victoriously - though it probably came off as "smug", as I've been told. As soon as the door had closed, I'd carefully sat up and swung my legs out of the bed - more than happily rising to my feet. With a small stumble, I walked over to the coffee coloured set of wooden drawers, placed on the opposite side of the bed to which Cody had sat when he visited. On top of them were some clothes - most likely left by him, probably whilst I was asleep.

On top of the neatly made pile of fabric was a lime sticky note - I gently picked it up, the corners curling. It was old - I could tell by the now rough, gunky texture of the dried glue. Nevertheless, I began to read it.

𝓣𝓸𝓫𝔂,
𝓑𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓯𝓾𝓵. 𝓘'𝓿𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓭𝓪𝔂, 𝓪𝓵𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝔂, 𝓼𝓸 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓲𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓶𝓾𝓬𝓱. 𝓘 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓽 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓪𝓼 𝓼𝓸𝓸𝓷 𝓪𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷, 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱.
- ✗

Despite the thickness of the pen, I could still read the message - especially the X. He'd clearly used a dry wipe marker - the black one he'd use to scribble down more ideas onto his whiteboard, in his lab. I gently placed the note down beside the hoodie and sweatpants.

I began to lift the gown off - making sure I didn't throw my arms in the air too fast or too high, otherwise I could reopen the stab wound. Once off, I tossed it to the side - watching it land on the bed, quickly discarding it and instead holding up the dark blue hoodie. It was faded - almost into a grey - yet the blue was still clearly there. The chords, dangling from the slits in the hood, were uneven at length. At first glance, this would seem out of place with Cody - seeing as he was oh so logical and organised. I've seen him tugging at them when he thinks or when he's bored. Plus, he probably left them in there since, 'I'd rather you chew the hoodie toggles than your cheeks.'

I slipped it on - the sleeves reaching just passed my wrists and the hem reached just below my hips. The fabric was baggy - it wasn't loose, but it was also tighter on me than it was Cody. Different body types. Though, the material was soft - worn, but soft. I wasted no time in slipping on the light grey sweatpants, doing a little shuffle as I pulled the elasticated waistband up to the middle of my stomach (not wanting the ends of the pants to drag along the floor).

I grabbed the crumpled sticky note off of the drawer, stuffing it into my pockets - carefully yet hurriedly. I wanted to leave before it got back and changed it's mind.

I quickly left - my bare feet padding against the bare floorboards being more audible than the door closing. The floor now felt bumpy; uneven. The hallway was filled with bumpy wallpaper and bumpy tiles, that were easy to slip on - especially when it'd been raining. The colours felt more aquatic, here. The floor was a dark, paled blue and the wave-like walls a cream colour. Like foam, or the clouds.

I glanced both ways of what felt like a never ending hallway - one end had an open archway, leading to what used to be a smoking lounge or something recreational - from what I could see, being mostly a see of vibrant greens and reds clashing with the brighter golds and dullened white. The other end lead to large, burgundy double doors - with a circular window in each. 

I began to walk towards the double doors - trying to make every step a similar stride as the previous, so I was less likely to stub my toe on a gap inbetween tiles. Once I'd reached them, I placed my palms against the silver rectangles in the upper-middle insides of the doors - gently pushing as I continued to walk forward.

The room was a mix of colours - all mostly from the greyscale. The walls were plain white, occassionally decorated with the large, ornate windows (framed by a dark brown wood). The floor was a dark grey with swirls and splatters of a lighter grey and the occasional crack of white - designed to look like marble. The cabinets, appliances and surfaces (counters, fridge, cooker and a weak looking kettle) were all black and white, with the occasional hint of worn, dullened gold- though very old fashioned. Away from the cooking area, dark (almost black) wooden tables with cushioned black chairs were scattered around - most empty, but the occasional group gathered around the occasional table.

It reminded me of the stereotypical high school cafeteria - minus the fancy, olden furniture and look.

My eyes finally landed on a trio that I was looking for - the others scattered around would either be provocative or useless. I began to approach, letting go of the doors that seemed to swing open and closed, in retaliation to me slipping my hands in my pockets.

The shorter man, out of the three had dark brown hair - almost black - that was cropped, the fringe neatly swept over one eye in a boxy manner, with sideburns reaching to his jaw. His skin was fair with a few thin scars here and there. His face was oval, almost - holding a tired expression; his lips were pressed together in a thin line, almost in a scowl and his brown eyes looked empty - tainted a slight purple with faint eyebags. His thick brows were furrowed as he was listening to the man talk, beside him. In front of him, on the table, laid a white mask - effeminate features being outlined in black. He wore a red plaid shirt, underneath a khaki bomber jacket.

The man next to him wore a pastel yellow hoodie - despite being inside, he wore the hood up, as well as the black ski mask, with red stitching - though that was rolled up to the bridge of his nose. His face was paler than Tim's, the other man, and had the faint outlines of blonde stubble on his chin and upper lip. His jaw was slightly more defined than Tim's, and it was obvious that he was taller. His hands moved as he spoke with the other two - still holding his woolen, black gloves. That was Brian.

I'm almost certain that they're more than just "friends", but it isn't my business - so I don't pry.

The woman with them looked around me and Cody's age - in other words, significantly younger than Tim and Brian. Her eyes were an icy blue - almost white, piercing through the small holes of her white mask, that was stained with black, in cryptic splashes. Wirey black strands fell from the cover of her dirtied white hood, in front of the mask, only emphasizing the cold glare of her eyes. She sat silently. I don't think I've ever heard her speak.

As I walked over, I waved slightly - which caught the attention of the three. Brian's lips tugged into a toothy smile, waving back at me slightly. "Aye, glad to have you back." He called out - Tim and Kate looking over to me.

"Yeah, how're you holding up, kid?" Tim asked, a faint smile beginning to form onto his face.

"Mhm," I began with a hum, shrugging as I reached for a chair, "I'd suppose alright, not trapped in that shit-hole anymore." I answered, sitting down and placing my legs up on the table. "But then again I'm still here."

My eyes flickered over to the ravenette, who seemed to be glaring at me now. "Still not gonna speak to me, Kate?" I asked, tilting my head to the side slightly - my only answer being an angrier narrow of her eyes.

"I don't think she likes you putting your feet on the table." Brian commented, though he was shit at hiding the amused tone in his voice. I only shrugged in return - going to retort when Tim barged in, instead.

"Yeah, I don't either, Rogers - bare feet, surface we eat from, put them down." Tim sighed - though his tone was still soft and docile. Gentle parent, or too tired for my shit? Either way.

I sighed, dramatically - admittedly, pushing away from the table to slip my legs underneath the counter. "Fine - how have you guys been, since I've been gone?" I asked, cocking my head to the left - watching Tim and Brian's reactions, as Kate had gone back into her own world (scribbling new notes for the forest).

Brian shrugged, "Well with you gone for a lil bit, hillbilly Woods has been told to stand in for you." He replied - clearly dissatisfied with the situation, despite his smile.

A snort escaped me, "I'm insulted. They couldn't have found someone at least a little bit better?" I asked, glancing in between the two.

"Tell me about it - he's a pain in the ass." Tim muttered - regardless of who it was, Tim wasn't keen on being unnecessarily rude. That says a lot about Jeff.

"So you know what that feels like?" Brian, almost immediately, fired back. This, of course, earned a different reaction from me and Tim; I'd snorted whereas Tim had silently glared at the table. At this mixed reception, Brian looked to me instead, "Did you hear about Nina and Jeff?" He asked - almost excitedly.

Of course, this peaked my interest. No one liked Jeff and Nina together - Nina was naïve and they were sweet. Jeff, on the other hand, was rude and belittling. "No? What happened?" I inquired, leaning forward with curiousity.

"Right, so get this. Nina was hanging out with Helen, right? Now, they told him that they needed to go see Jeff because, y'know, prick had told them that they can only hang out with people for so long. Regular toxic bullshit. So, Helen walked them there - wanting to make sure they were alright - and they walked into Jeff just full blown fucking Clockwork."

"What the fuck?!"

"It gets better though," Brian stated with a mischievous look, almost, lifting a finger to keep my attention. "Helen blew up on the fucker and Nina's been staying with him ever since."

I sighed, putting my head in my hands, "I was gone for two days."

Brian snorted, glancing back to Tim - who didn't look too impressed. "What? Gossiping is one of the few normalities I still have, Timothy-" He complained, in a lighthearted manner.

"Right," I began as I stood from my seat, a slight screech of the chair legs against the marble-like flooring. "I'm going to go - see X." I announced, "See you around - and chins up, it's only one more night with Jeff." I finished, beginning to walk towards the double doors again. I ignored the chorus of mutturs from the group - mostly likely either goodbyes or complaints about my brief appearance - despite only popping by to let them know I was okay.