1
There was no doubt about it; more than two days had already passed in this place. I've only eaten a few pieces of bread and some soup.
"I'm hungry," I muttered, my stomach growling loudly.
Mom always gave me plenty of food. My head hurts. Dad would probably be licking my wound right now. Lisa would have likely healed me by now.
"I want to go home," I whispered.
Nothing….
The empty space is starting to drive me desperate. There's only darkness and a faint sliver of light. It's tiny, and there isn't a proper bathroom. (Don't ask how I've been handling my business); I've only urinated, and it only made the smell worse.
I grabbed the piece of wood left over from the chair and hurled it at the metal door. I want to break it. I want to leave.
"LET ME GO!" I screamed. "PLEASE!"
I beat against the door. I want to leave. My eyes ache, I'm exhausted, but I don't want to sleep….
"Please…."
I fell to my knees while a sigh escaped my dry mouth…. I let myself roll onto the floor, waiting to see if they'd at least give me some water.
2
About three hours passed until something—or someone—opened the door.
"Hello, Dylan," said my "paternal grandfather."
"..."
"Here, this is from the Nium world, isn't it?" he asked, handing me a can.
It was a Coca-Cola (I'm more of a Pepsi person, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless). I popped the tab, drinking it fast.
"You know, I'll tell you something," my grandfather said. "I am your paternal grandfather, and Michael is your cousin."
"....I already knew that," I snapped.
"Your paternal grandmother is named Milari Marten," he continued. "She had a son as a result of a rape, whom her parents took to an orphanage."
The word rape made me sick, and a growing hatred began to stir inside me.
"Oh, don't think it was me," he added quickly. "I married her after that happened."
He made sure to lock the door afterward. Between the soda and the explanation, I completely forgot to try and escape.
"That child was adopted."
"Wow, I thought he was stolen. Oh, right, that was—I don't know—maybe... ME," I spat.
"Hahaha," my grandfather laughed. "You're just like Roberto when he was young."
"...."
"Anyway, that child grew up and had another son. They lived a happy life until the boy turned out to be a descendant of Mordred. Right when he was five years old, you were born, Dylan…"
Following that explanation, my stomach churned as if it were being hit by a hammer. The only person, still alive, would be 19 years old… and last year he was 18. That means…
"Morty," I whispered.
"He is your cousin," my grandfather said.
No, it couldn't be. How? I mean, he's not a Tyler, is he? No, no. He's a Marten, no…
"I hope to have your help. You owe it to me and to Michael," my grandfather said, opening and then closing the door.
If I owe him anything, it's a punch to the face…
3
I'm still on the floor…
So, it turns out my enemy is my cousin (twice over), I've been kidnapped, and I'm still hungry…..
"Dad, Dad," I whispered, trying to call out to him.
"Roberto, stop treating Dylan the way you do."
"Why?"
"Because you're turning him into a daddy's boy."
"Dad, Dad, Dad," I repeated, while the memory of Lucy—a friend of my mom's—complaining about me echoed in my head.
I've been here for a total of a week now. In fact, I've used that "bathroom" seven times already.
They haven't fed me much at all. I'm hungry; I don't have the strength to stand, which I only manage to do so I can stare at that metal door….
A tear escapes my eye…
"Da…d, Lisa…" The tears flow freely now, my voice breaking.
I know I'm being dramatic. I know I haven't gone through anything extremely "hard" compared to others, but still, I hate this. I want to go back to my dad. I want to go back to my mom. I want to go back to Lisa. I want to go back to Elizabeth, Elias, Carla….
Michael… does he even know what's really going on? I don't know, and I don't care.
I want to go home…