I’m running out of water.
I don’t even know how many days I’ve been in this cell at this point.
I don’t know what fucking day it is.
I don’t even know if it’s day or night.
I haven’t heard from Logan in what feels like a week, but I can’t be sure. I keep staring at the remaining couple of ounces of water in the gallon jug that Logan left me before he split. I don’t know if Logan beat Bobby Dean or not. I don’t even know if he made it there…all I can do is hope. Hope that I’m not one loss away from losing my job in HOW.
I’m dehydrated and tired, and I have to drink that last bit of water if I’m going to make it through the night. I grab the gallon and chug down the rest of the water before throwing the jug into the corner.
I slam my back up against the wall and slide down to my ass, taking a seat. I run my hand through my greasy hair, lean back in the corner and take in a deep breath.
Without warning, there’s a slam on the cell door.
He presses his face into the square hole at the top of the door.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I ask in a hoarse, dried out voice.
“You ok?” He asks, in his soft voice.
His voice is soothing, but not because it actually is…but because it’s been days since I’ve heard anyone’s voice, period. It’s comforting.
“What the fuck do you think, Logan? Do I look okay?”
I haven’t seen myself in days, so I’m nearly positive that I look like total shit.
“I left you some water,” he says, jamming his arm through the square and pointing at the almost-empty gallon jug.
“It’s been days, you prick and that jug wasn’t full to begin with,” I gripe, staring up at him.
“Well, jeez. Sorry I left you anything at all!” He whines like a high school girl as he pulls himself away from the square window. I hear him sit down outside of the door and press his back up against the cold steel of the door.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
In a rhythm, he bangs his head against the door.
“Knock it off, asshole!” I shout. That’s my head too, and this prick is going to put us in the hospital if he keeps it up.
BANG! … BANG!
The time between head bangs gets longer and longer, but doesn’t quit. I struggle to get to my feet, but I eventually do. I reach out and touch the wall, steadying myself. I’m woozy as fuck, but that prick is going to fuck us up worse than we already are.
I press my head through the square hole in the door and get a tiny peak at him throwing a fit like an infant and incessantly banging his head.
“Did we win?” I ask, trying to capture his attention.
He looks up at me.
And like a five-year-old, he bangs his head against the door one more time.
“Did we win? Are you seriously asking me that right now? Is that all you even fucking care about, Steven?” Back to the high school girl tone, I guess.
“C’mon, Logan,” I plead as I shut my eyes and pray a small prayer of hope. “Just tell me, man. I need to know if we’re still in this fuckin’ thing.”
“In it…out of it…what’s the difference, Steven? Soon enough, we’ll all be buried and gone and none of this will matter anyway,” he preaches like some cardboard sign holding freak on Hollywood Boulevard.
“Steven, what you don’t understand is that…”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I shout, cutting him off. A slimey gob of spit flies from my mouth and splats on his face.
He doesn’t wipe the spit from his face, nor does he get pissed like a normal person would. No, this is Logan Tyler, and instead of being normal he begins to laugh like a fucking maniac.
He springs to his feet and runs away from the door. He’s still wearing the dress and combat boots that he was wearing the last time I saw him.
Jesus, I hope he didn’t wear that at Refueled.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” He clenches his fists and shouts up at the basement ceiling.
Without pause, he spins around. He pants heavily, standing still, and staring at me from across the all cement corridor. The lightbulb above his head begins to flicker, and then suddenly he makes a mad dash in my direction and slams up against the cell door.
We’re face to face.
“We won!” He exclaims before he leans in and plants a big kiss on my forehead.
“We fuckin won, Steven. I did it. I’m the answer to all of our prayers! Can’t you see?!” He shouts out as he begins to spin around in circles.
“I’m the one! I’m our fucking Neo, Steven! I’m him!” He rants like the psycho he is.
This has got to be some of the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen, but a win is a motherfucking win in my book. We’re two-and-two now, which makes this thing a lot more winnable for me.
“We’ve got a stipulation to pick, Logan. You need to let me out of here, so I can let everyone know what our plan is.”
“No need, Steven. I already announced it.”
He laughs crazily.
What the fuck has this psycho gotten us into?
He continues to laugh. He’s playing games with me at this point.
I reach through the hole in the door and grab him by the back of the dress, stopping him mid spin. I yank him into the door and secure him with my arm across his neck and chest. I pull him in as tight as I can, so he can’t get loose.
“And?” I ask one more time, whispering into his ear.
He turns his head and looks up at me. He kisses me on the cheek…that’s the second fuckin’ time this sick fuck has kissed me…and says, “And, nothing.”
“Nothing?” I ask.
“Yeah, nothing. It’s a standard, normal, mano-e-mano match.”
I’m almost 100% sure that this is not the route that Lee Best wanted this to go.
“And when I win again this week, the stipulation will remain!” He laughs.
“When you win?” I ask, seeking clarification.
“That’s right,” he says. “When I win.”
I feel my core temperature drop and suddenly I’m too weak to hold onto him and he pulls away, out of my grip. He spins around and stares at me and once again he begins to laugh like a fuckin’ maniac.
“You sleep tight, Steven. I’ll see you soon!”