"Should I button the entire thing, or should I expose more of my chest?" I turned back to Damien, arching an eyebrow.
"Whatever you want, I'm not a fashion expert." Damien was turned away, fidgeting with the buttons and collar of his light gray shirt. His tongue lolled out of mouth in concentration.
"I guess I'll show less; it's not like I'm a muscular person." I sighed self-deprecatingly, buttoning up the rest of my shirt.
Damien had decided on leaving his shirt half-unbuttoned for the sake of 'presentation' in his eyes. He looked towards the clock on the wall and sighed. "We gotta leave in five minutes."
The boy walked over to the pile of small toys sitting on the rug, sticking his hand into the stack and taking out the small soldier toy he had showed me last night. Damien stuffed it into his pocket and turned back to me, smiling.
"You gonna bring yours?"
I shook my head, the edges of my lips twitching into a smile. The thought of Damien's friends seeing me clutching a stuffed animal like a damn child made me want to snap my own neck.
"The bear's condemned to my bed, and my bed only." I replied, approaching the door, wrapping my hand around the doorknob.
"I don't think they'd mind if we show up early."
Damien looked towards me, smiling softly. "One time I came like ...twenty minutes earlier than my friends. That night we had a lot of food to prepare."
"Prepare? Since when could you cook?" I couldn't help but chuckle.
"You mean steal from the kitchen while Harland and his friends aren't there? Yeah, pretty much."
The white-haired child smiled as he clenched his fist that wasn't holding the doll. "Ruth will murder us if we don't show up with entree."
He pointed to his bed, gesturing underneath it. "Go grab it."
At this moment, I couldn't help but wince. "The main dish is ...under your bed? What if it's collecting mold and stuff?"
"Don't worry, it won't. I checked on it after you left this morning." Damien explained.
"Whatevr you say." I smirked, walking over to the bed and kneeling. Nestled underneath the bed was a large pot filled with some sort of liquid. As my hands touched the handles, I winced upon feeling how cold they were.
"How long has this been under here for?" I turned back to Damien, arching an eyebrow.
"The night before you came here, we had already scheduled another dinner. So ...I'd say this pot has been under since you've been here."
"So ...two days?" I winced, grabbing the pot and lifting it into the air. The contents inside had been covered with a towel, which had grown damp and heavy from evaporation.
"Yeah, come on bug-boy. I'm pretty sure there's some dirt and bugs in there for you, it's not like our rooms are squeaky clean."
Me and Damien walked side by side down the hallway, our feet both protected from the cold by our slippers. Though, the air around us was somewhat frigid, causing us to shiver.
"Sounds like someone left a window open," Damien quipped pointing to an open window at the end of the hallway.
"That's our exit."
Hearing his words, I instantly shriveled. We were supposed to go out the window to meet up with his friends? Damien seemed to sense my revulsion at the idea, and he couldn't help but laugh.
"They call this 'suicide window' for a window; it's every few days when the attendants discover a new corpse or crazy person lying in the snow."
I shakily approached the window, peering down into the snow. I pushed my smudged glasses up the bridge of my nose, allowing me a better look at the ground. Buried within the snow were numerous pairs of footprints, each of different shapes and sizes.
"Are those your friends' footprints? Why hasn't anyone seen them?" The footprints stretched to a small building across from the medical facility, about the size of a small house.
"I know for sure," Damien climbed onto the windowsill, looking down into the snow. His feet curled around the edges of the window, his fists tightening on the edges of the window. Without saying anything further, Damien tumbled forward, landing in the snow with a soft plop. He remained still for a short moment before looking back at me.
"Y'coming?" He beckoned me with his small hands.
Looking down from the height of the window, I couldn't help but feel a little queasy. My knees habitually tried to collapse from under me, threatening me to spill the food everywhere. The liquid sloshed inside, some spilling onto the floor.
"Is there any other way I can do this?" My voice trembled as I asked the question, my face turning pale like the snow outside.
"I mean..." Damien pointed directly under the window, huffing.
"There's another way out here, just go through the underground factory and you'll find the door."
He looked at me, prompting his hands onto his hips. "Unless you're too much of a pussy to jump!"
"Wouldn't this spill?" I held the pot out the window with trembling hands.
Damien fell silent for a few seconds before huffing. "Go find your little route if you want to, I can just leave without you."
He turned around, stuffing his hands into his pocket as he began to follow his friend's footprints. As I watched him leave, I felt a surge of nausea churn in my lower gut, threatening to spill out in the form of foul-smelling vomit.
"Y'gonna jump or not, dumpster-boy?" My father's voice sounded in my head.
"Shut up!" I cried, my body climbing onto the windowsill on its own. Before I could comprehend what I had done, I was already heading out the window. For a second I swear I saw the grim reaper flash before my eyes as I landed in the snow with a spalt.
The entire time I held the pot over my head, trying my hardest not to spill any of it. Damien froze in his spot, turning back to me. The boy smirked as he approached me, taking the pot from my hands and chuckling.
"Well done, bug-boy. Shouldn't you have wings like a bee or something to help you fly?"
I couldn't respond to the question, my face buried in the cold. I was trembling violently, my body unable to move from the shock of jumping out the window so suddenly. My fingers and toes felt immensely numb, almost to the extent where I thought they'd fall off if I moved them even a millimeter.
"Mind helping me up?"
I slowly extended my right hand, encouraging Damien to take it. Once I felt Damien's small hand around mine, I shakily raised myself onto my two knees, looking at Damien.
"We're gonna be late, y'big ice-cube."
The boy helped me onto my feet, the pot steadily nestled under his arm. The world around me tilted and flipped, just like my stomach. I unceremoniously leaned up, unleashing a torrent of vomit into the snow beneath me. Damien's hand came to rest on my back, patting assuringly as he helped me walk forward.
The crunching of the snow beneath my slippers acted as an anchor, gradually lowering my senses and nausea to a more manageable level.
"Just make sure not to throw up everywhere during dinner. I'm pretty sure Ruth would throw you out as quickly as she devours her dinner!"
"You seem to l-love making fun of Ruth," I commented, barely able to walk step by step. Every so often I tilted and twisted as I walked, threatening to fall into the snow and melt into nothingness.
"Yeah..." Damien shrugged, smiling softly.
"She may be a bit of a dick to everyone, but she cares deeply about us."
We approached the small building across from the medical facility. The windows of the building were locked shut, veiled behind thick curtains. The wooden exterior was chipped and worn, the frigid winds and snow nipping away at its foundation from the outside. Behind the rusty front door, we could hear voices. For the most part, I could guess they were laughing.
"Just don't do anything stupid." Damien forced a wider smile and opened the door, stepping into the building with his hand around mine.
A rickety kerosene lamp hung over a round table big enough for an entire family. Other than the table, the rest of the building was dark. Lining the walls that were barely visible was a myriad of tools like shovels, rakes, and gardening supplies. Craits, boxes, and bags were stacked in the far corner, smelling like earthy materials.
"I know, it's not the best-looking diner." Ruth leaned back in her chair, a cigar nestled in between her chapped lips. She removed it and puffed some smoke into the air.
"What are you, a damn couple?" She arched an eyebrow, smirking like a demon.
"I-I couldn't walk after falling out the window; I can't believe you guys do that every time you want dinner."
There weren't any chairs around the table, instead, the group sat on the wooden crates in the corner. Every time one of them shifted their positions, they creaked and moaned beneath their weight.
Daisy stood up and grabbed another crate from the corner, positioning it beside Ruth's. "For the newcomer."
I thanked her groggily, sitting down and sinking my head into the table. I opened my mouth, inhaling deeply to regain my lost breath. The moment I did so, my mouth was attacked with a sheen of dust. My head shot up like a bullet as I coughed violently like a man with lung failure.
Daisy's hand instantly shot to my back, slamming her fists in an attempt to dislodge the dust and alleviate me.
"Damn moran," Ruth smirked, popping her cigar back into her mouth.
"Y'got the meal, ghost boy?" She asked through clenched teeth.
Damien nodded, his arms trembling as he heaved the pot onto the table. "Isaac almost spilled it!"
Ruth suddenly removed her cigarette, blowing out the smoke. "Guess I found a new ashtray then."
I flinched as the teenage girl shoved the cigarette into my hair, giving it a final poke to ensure it would remain in its spot.