Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Dimly lit, the shadows crawled, half shrouded in darkness, the other half in light. Bright, white, it attached itself to Justin's eyes. Hands reaching out. Open. Open. Opening, reaching, cutting, snipping. They were cutting him open. He was awake, alive, and they were ripping him apart like he was little more than a rotting tree to rip from the soil. It hurt more than he could explain. Men and woman clothed in white were moving about, their white and brown hands reaching down, pulling up, prying about like snakes.

Light.

"Vitals are failing-"

Dark.

"Everyone, listen we just-"

Light.

"Dr. Han said-"

Dark.

Snippets of their conversation roamed around his mind like a fly, buzzing just to make noise. Noise. Noise. Noise. That's all they were--it was all they had ever been. Justin couldn't stand their words.

"Stop," he groaned. His words were slurred.

Light.

"Looks like-"

Dark.

"Quick, I need-"

Light.

"Don't panic-"

Dark.

Their words were shouted, screamed, and the hands brought the white back. That white light. It shattered and shook and left tremors in Justin's mind as it started to seep inside, slithering into his mind from his eyeballs. He shut them tight, begging for them to remain closed, for the light not to enter, but oh, oh it was, it was and there was nothing he could do to protect himself.

But it wasn't himself he was worried about. His body was worthless at this point. It was a mess. Tangled like legs in bedsheets, trapped, unable to find a release on their own. There was nothing left for him. He had no body. It ached but it was not his ache.

It was hers.

He could see her in the corners of the room. Her face. That beautiful hair of hers, flowing in the breeze. Paint caught in between her cheek and her ear, covering her hands, as she grinned and held up her most recent painting for him to view. It was--it was--it was red handprints, bleeding, dripping, the blood coating her hands, her face, her mouth, her lips. Her lips parted and even her teeth were covered. It submerged her until all she was was blood and bone and gristle, a slab of meat waiting to be thrown through the grinder. The men before him didn't see his angel destroyed by blood. All they saw was him. They wouldn't turn her way.

They wouldn't turn her away if they could see her though. No one could ever turn Monica away. Those blue eyes shined even through the blood. They were wet with tears. Was she crying?

"I need to get to her," Justin said. He wanted to stand up. To go find her. To reach her. But they were holding him down. Their hands on his arm, pressing in, pressing until the bones cracked and he flung himself against them.

He was a man, a skeleton, a frame of a person escaping the body they kept him in.

"I need to get to her."

The words didn't come from his mouth but they came from inside. It was a cry that led him as he pushed through them and ran to her.

"I need to get to her."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight.

"Oo, this is mysterious," Monica said. She giggled and winked at him. "You know, it's kinda naughty if you think about it."

"Wait, what is?" Justin couldn't see the men behind him anymore. The two of them were alone in their own corner of the universe. Holding one another close.

"This. You and I, in the dark storage room...all by ourselves...who knows what we could be doing?" Her breath was hot on his face, and Justin knew what to do. He leaned in and kissed her hard on the lips, then gentle, pulling away to gaze upon her softened expression and diving back in for another taste. Her lips were crack.

Justin was an addict.

He kissed and kissed until he felt her face cave underneath him. He kissed until he heard her jaw snap. Each little moan from her left him craving more. There wasn't enough. He nuzzled himself into her bones and sighed at the heaven he'd found himself within. She tasted so good. So perfect. Like heaven against his body. Vanilla kisses and the slightest scent of perfume was enough to drive his senses into overload.

"Stop! Don't shoot! We have orders-"

"Damn the fucking orders!"

Something hit his back. An annoyance. Justin ignored it. He had what he needed--the world could die for all he cared. Monica was in his arms. She was his. They were together and it was all he'd ever needed.

"I love you," he whispered. His mouth wouldn't move. "I love you." Nothing. Not a movement at all. Hot anger burnt inside him. "I love you!" Why couldn't he say it? Why couldn't she hear him? "I love you!" Monica moaned underneath him. She didn't know. She'd never know. He had to tell her. Finally they were together and he couldn't tell her?

He needed to hear her say it back. To hear her voice. But all she did was moan. Justin watched as she transformed underneath him--from soft and loving to a bloody monster. Bone and skin torn apart, ripped, broken.

She was gone.

They took her from him. Again.

Why? Why? Why why why why why?

Why wouldn't they give him his angel? Why wouldn't they let him hold her? Why were they doing this to him? Why were they hurting her? Causing those tears? Causing the blood? The pain? They were hurting her. Why?

Couldn't they see how perfect she was? Why would anyone want to hurt her?

"Justin, I don't want to leave you."

She called to him from another room, her voice leading him away from the bright lights and shouting people. They were all mistakes. All of them. None of them could understand.

"I don't want to leave you!"

Why did he make her leave? Why would he ever leave her alone?

"Monica!" Once again, his words were lost. His mouth didn't work. He couldn't understand why his mouth didn't work. "I love you! I'm coming!"

"Where are you?"

"I'm right here!"

No matter how much he screamed his voice was dead. The room was devoid of all sound except for her voice. He looked around at the faces before him but none were hers. They were ugly. They were fake. These people didn't exist.

They weren't real.

"Justin, please! Don't leave me!"

Nothing was real...save for her.

Monica was the only thing in the entire world that was real, that was alive, that was human.

"Go. I'll meet back up with you. It's safer for you not to be with me if I get caught right now," he said. He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, but missed and got her lips instead. Flustered, he shook his head and then jerked it to the stairwell. "Hurry. The guards will find me when I get back on that elevator. You need to get to seven. Tell them you got lost. Okay? Trust me, Mon. Please."

Why did he do that? Why? Why why why? Why did he let her go? Why?

"Monica, I'm going to get you!"

But where was she? Where was she at? Seven. That's where he had told her to go. She was at seven. Seven. Seven.

"I need to get to her."

All he had to do was get to seven. Seven couldn't be far. Seven rooms away. How easy was that? He could walk that far. The room he left was one. That meant the next was two.

He just had to keep walking.

It wasn't far to three. Then to four. Then to five.

"I need to get to her."

Six was so easy. It was right there.

He could hear her growing closer to him.

"Justin, come and get me!" Her little giggle called to him. It was sweet and innocent. She was perfect.

She was his.

"I'm coming!" She couldn't hear him. She didn't know. Why were his words broken? What was wrong with his lips? He tried to pry them open but they would not. They were locked in place.

His fingers were broken. They weren't working. They wouldn't lift when he commanded them. They acted on their own. They were moving. His feet were moving. He was going in the wrong direction. Away from Monica. She was behind him, behind that wall, hidden, lost, and goddamn it, why wasn't he turning around? Why couldn't he grab her?

No. I need to get to her.

"I love you, Monica! I love you."

There she was. In front of him. Long flowing blonde hair, waving as she started to run from him. Her feet slapping against the floor. Her hot breath against the floor. Her eyes, crystals that glistened when they looked upon him. Each gasp from her was an audible cry of love as their lips connected, their bodies molding into one as they kissed and he was alive like she once more. When he held her, all he heard was the flutter of her heartbeat. The slight moans from her lips.

"I've always loved you. I'll never let you go again. I promise."

It didn't matter that she couldn't hear him. She had to know by now. She had to.

He held her tight. So tight. Each bone was crushed underneath him and he kept squeezing until he knew nothing more than the soft feeling of her crushed flesh. It was gentle and smooth, like play-doh, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her and stay there forever.

"Dammit, not-"

"Don't shoot, we have orders!"

"Detain!"

They were loud behind him. Wanting to stop him. They were trying to take her away again. Again. Again. All they did was take and take and take and she wasn't theirs--they couldn't love her like he did. Only he knew how to love her. He didn't want her to be theirs.

He wanted her. Just her.

Just Monica.

But when he looked down at her, at the beautiful woman in his arms, he saw little more than dead meat waiting to be thrown away.

They'd done it again. Right in front of him. This time, they would pay.