eleven.

THE DIRECTOR DRAGGED Nathan across the stage, towards their room. In the process at least three more nails cut into Nathan's skin and three more forcefully repressed (because: you're alive, Nate, be thankful and shut up) cries tore his throat.

To the Director's other side, keys jiggled. Nathan frowned, hypothesis already forming, but the Director thrust him into the bathroom faster than he could protest. The door slammed shut behind and the strong resonance rang in Nathan's ears like church bells.

The click of a lock. Nathan's heart skipped a beat. He snapped his head in the door's direction. Watched it for a second. The conclusion settled.

"No," he mumbled, lips parted a sliver. "No no no." Pushing himself to his feet, almost faltering with the haste, he rushed to the door and gripped the knob, helplessly tugging at it. "Please open the door, I can't tolerate closed spaces—"

"Shut up, my villain. My heroine told you to stay away but you didn't. Learn your lesson now."

Nathan would explain how Luna wasn't that far off fault's spectrum in the situation if his palms weren't already sweating. He let out a shaky breath. "I'll stay inside the bathroom but at least unlock the door. Please."

The Director didn't speak another word. Nathan splayed his fingers against the door, ear brushing by the wood until he realized the Director had really gone. Just like that, leaving Nathan stuck in a bathroom. Locked. With no way out.

Nathan sucked in a desperate breath through his mouth and turned away from the door. Stale white wall. No way out. He looked at the floor beneath him, then above him. No way out.

"Nate?" Adelaide's voice served as effective distraction. Turning to the door, Nathan shook his head questioningly even though he couldn't see her. "Uh . . . Don't be scared, yeah? He'll unlock the door for you at one point—"

"How comforting," Nathan muttered almost breathlessly. He closed his eyes. Stupid brain liked visualizing moving walls at the worst time. Impossible. A wall couldn't move. Physics would disagree. But when Nathan hesitantly opened his eyes, the walls had moved in and squeezed him in a space barely the size of him.

Accidentally yelping, Nathan quickly shrunk back against the door. He shook his head. The walls stood in place. His hand grappled for the knob, tried pulling and prodding but in vain.

"Nathan? Gosh, are you alright?"

"No, Adelaide. I'm not fucking alright, I'm claustrophobic." Nathan's breath caught in his throat, heartbeats racing. He'd never outright confessed it like that.

"Oh. Oh my gosh," Adelaide quickly rambled, standing just about squashed against the other side of the door judging by the volume of her voice, "uh, don't panic, yeah? I honestly don't know how to make this better. Imagine . . . lots of space? And, uh—"

"Shut up," Nathan snapped and moved away from the door, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. Knees and hands alike shaking, he gripped the edge of the sink. Breathe. He forced out a long breath but it turned out useless.

Literally nowhere to go. Not enough space. Locked inside a bathroom, outside another locked room. Then a constricted stage with chords locking him as well. Nowhere to go. No space to move.

Pain shot in Nathan's stomach. He grunted and hunched, crossing an arm over his abdomen. The memory came back like an ugly secret. Here no one could help him. Here no one could save him. Adelaide wasn't his mom. She wasn't his dad. She didn't have to care.

Adelaide urgently knocked on the door. "Please don't scare me, Nate. Hang on yeah?"

The question barely registered in Nathan's head as he desperately took off the blazer constricting his shoulders. He threw it aside, one hand against the wall and the other hazardously unbuttoning the top buttons of his dress-shirt.

Still no air. Nathan tilted his chin up, tried swallowing but his mouth and throat and every single thing in his body felt stiff and dry and useless.

"Nathan."

"I can't breathe," Nathan finally said. He heard the crack in his own voice, the helpless cry for help. Pathetic. So fucking pathetic. He'd bang his head into the wall but at this point he couldn't move, couldn't even make out what Adelaide was rambling behind the door.

Maybe she was screaming something but her voice grew distant just like the thumps of her hand on the door. Maybe she'd moved away, or maybe she was still there but Nathan's ears clogged. Maybe everything was the same but claustrophobia was one hell of a bitch.

Nathan blocked out every single external factor as he slid down to the floor and focused on trying out all relaxation techniques he'd ever learnt. When he curled his toes, locking the tension, the cut ached and a spurt of blood dribbled out. So he stopped. Tried pressing his finger into his thumb, his shoulder, neck, foot—all acupressure points but none worked. Useless, like his existence right now.

The lightheadedness suddenly hit him like a cloud engulfing his skull. Close to what he imagined levitating would feel like. Subconsciously, he leant back against the wall. His chest heaved but his lungs didn't work.

The sound of the door unlocking caught Nathan's attention even through the chaos. He looked in its direction and found the Director clogging the threshold, expression puzzled. Adelaide stood behind him. She was trying to peek in. Trying to catch how pathetic Nathan and his claustrophobia were.

"What's going on?" the Director asked, storming inside even though Nathan would kill right now for personal space. He caught Nathan by the upper-arm and pulled him closer, sizing his face with disgust. "Answer me."

"He's claustrophobic," Adelaide answered instead, eyes locked on Nathan. Nathan quickly averted his gaze. He stared at the floor even with the pressure torturing his arm.

"Claustrophobic?" The Director straightened, lips curving into a sinister smile at one end. Nathan looked at him through his lashes. "Nathanial Romero, with all his glory, is claustrophobic? Who would've thought!"

Full name. Nathan's chest ached at the giddy voice. It felt like standing in front of a crowd, watching them pull out his insecurities one by one and shred them in front of everyone. Humiliated or angry—Nathan didn't even know what to feel.

Pulling at Nathan's arm, the Director leant forward again and asked, "Is it genetic, my villain? Or did something happen in your childhood?"

"Genetic," Nathan answered with his face tilted away when the Director squeezed his arm further. By the desert-heat blazing across his face and neck, Nathan could tell he was blushing deep crimson.

The Director sneered and shoved Nathan back. "Genetic," he repeated apprehensively, turning towards Adelaide. "We learn something new about Dolion everyday, don't we?"

"Let me help him," Adelaide said, pushing in. The Director moved aside so she could barge into the bathroom and crouch by Nathan's side, hand on her mouth. "I'm- I'm so sorry—"

"Naive. You'll always be so naive." The Director shook his head as he walked out of the bathroom. "When will you learn that all he's gonna do is hurt you, my heroine? When?"

Nathan and Adelaide remained tense and silent until the Director left, shutting the door to the room behind him. Slow breath. That was all Nathan could hear as Adelaide caught his hand. "Come," she said.

Nathan listened to her. He pulled himself off the floor, and when he was upright on his feet, he gestured Adelaide to leave him. Only to save himself an ounce of dignity. He followed her out of the bathroom and into their room.

Still, no one spoke. Nathan slumped against the wall in his spot. Adelaide sat beside him, not quite discreetly side-eyeing him. Or maybe she didn't mean for it to be discreet, because she finally said: "First time?"

Nathan fiddled with his fingers. "No." Voice low and ashamed. "But it doesn't happen a lot." He'd thought he'd gotten over it, partially at least. Alas. "Why did he open up for me so fast?"

"I told him you were having a panic attack," Adelaide explained, "I said I'm his 'sweet' heroine and I don't like seeing anyone suffer. I don't think that's why he opened for you, though. I think it's because he wanted to see you . . ."

"Humiliated." Nathan's eyes scoured every crack in the stale flooring, every dust particle swirling by his feet. "That's why."

Clearing her throat, Adelaide's hand hovered hesitantly close to Nathan's knee. Indecisive. Nathan wondered if she knew he noticed these things. "But it shouldn't be humiliating," she said. "It's completely fine. You shouldn't be ashamed—"

Not this conversation. Nathan stared at his hand, at the blood soaking part of it. "Female kangaroos have three vaginas."

"I . . . could've lived without this knowledge." Adelaide didn't say anything else and Nathan appreciated it. Midst the silence that fell, she made her decision and put a hand on Nathan's knee. "We can talk about it later, when you calm down."

The gentleness in Adelaide's voice made Nathan's throat constrict. "Adelaide?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I have two minutes to cry?"

Adelaide let out a chuckle that didn't sound quite amused. "You can have as long as you want." As she pulled herself up, she lightly brushed Nathan's fringe aside. "I'll change into something more . . . comfortable than a dress in the meantime. When you finish, we need to clean your cuts, yeah?"

Nathan watched her stand in front of him and sigh heavily. Her smile felt precarious. Forced. A second and it'd falter, but Adelaide moved to the bathroom before that happened.

Only two minutes, Nathan reminded himself. And he cried.

•••

The assigned two minutes were therapeutic for Nathan, but they'd ended. Now, in front of him, Adelaide was cleaning the wound on his hand.

Hair the color of fire and shape of springs fell down her shoulders as she focused on the cut. Suddenly, she arched one brow then looked at Nathan. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." Sometimes Nathan wondered why he let himself depend on her with these things. Maybe because he missed what it felt like to be cared for. He'd dwell on that if there weren't more important things occupying his head. "He called me Nathanial Romero."

Sighing, Adelaide let Nathan's hand down and sat back cross-legged. "So he knows us. Before he kidnapped us."

"I thought about this the second he kidnapped me. Before you came." Nathan clenched and unclenched his fingers until Adelaide swatted his wrist and mouthed: stop. "It makes sense. Obviously he didn't just take me the second I landed by coincidence. He's been stalking me. Probably you too."

"But you lived in America, didn't you? I live in France. If anything, he was stalking one of us only online."

"Yeah." Nathan would ask, why me? but he had an answer for that. Partially at least. On his social media an idiot could tell he was into theatre. That was one hypothesis though, only relevant if the Director picked him according to skill. "Adelaide? Were you into theatre? Did you like to act or anything?"

"No. I think you can tell I can't even act to save my life. It's sorta your speciality."

Nathan hummed to himself. "Based on what do you think he kidnapped us?"

"Based on appearance maybe? Like, if we match his characters? Because you have a dimple like Dolion and I . . . look naive? Like Luna?"

"You don't look naive. You look like a nice person," Nathan corrected. His mind drifted back to the script. "But Luna really is naive. She fell for Dolion for what? Pretty words? If anything all the bullshit Dolion said is symbolism. Throw the moon off its throne. Who the hell talks like that?"

Adelaide gave Nathan a weird side-look. Part frown and part scowl? Not quite discernible. "A psychopath wrote the entire thing, what do you expect?" Sighing, she looked away. "Besides, you were crying just ten minutes ago, now you're all better? Give yourself a rest and stop thinking about this stuff. It won't help."

"Okay," Nathan said, voice low and skeptical. If she thought he didn't notice her discomfort, she was wrong but he'd let her. He looked around until he noticed the tray. An idea of hundreds in his head surfaced. "Eat."

Adelaide narrowed her eyes unsurely. ". . . Why?"

Nathan shrugged a shoulder as if it was the most obvious thing ever. "Because one of us has to stay strong," he said, straightening his posture. "He's literally giving you the privilege—take advantage of it."

Adelaide's brows slowly slanted into a sad frown. "But . . . What about you, Nate?"

"You saw how violent he got with me on stage. Hell, I'm sure he can get worse. I'm not gonna try eating or any of that bullshit again. Because in return he'll beat me up and that's gonna make me weak faster. Makes sense?"

"Makes sense," Adelaide assured, scooting closer as if she knew something was brewing in Nathan's head. "I feel like you have a plan?"

"It's not really a plan." Nathan leant in as well, speaking in whispers, "You know we're not the only ones who are scared. He's scared too."

"Him? Scared?"

"Yeah. He's scared of time." The entire thing sounded better in Nathan's head. For a second he dreaded having to explain it, mostly because he was tired. Still, he forced himself. "That's why he's always in a hurry. That's why he keeps saying we don't have time to lose."

"You mean he's scared of police coming."

"Obviously. But we can't control that. It's just chance," Nathan said. "We have to go along with everything until they come. But the problem's that we might reach the point where we have to fight for our lives before the police make it."

Adelaide's expression twisted with dread. "Nate." With a trembling hand, she brushed a strand of painfully knotted hair off her face. "Please, please stop—"

"But that's why I'm telling you, eat. By the end of this entire thing, I'm gonna be too weak. If you're still kinda strong enough, you might be able to save us."

Nathan left out: or at least, save yourself. The thought made his chest tighten, disappointing his dad. Coming and leaving without even seeing him. And—

Forget about it, Nathan thought. Well, he couldn't. But he could pretend.

Beside him, Adelaide seemed like she was still battling the idea of death. Nathan decided to stop talking now. He had another theory in his head, connected to everything he'd said, but he'd rather keep it to himself until she'd calm down.

__________

a/n: hello! hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm so sorry everything's boring rn. If it makes you feel better this is a relatively short story, so it will end sooner than you think.

also, thoughts on nate's anxiety/claustrophobia? I researched claustrophobia and anxiety so hard before writing his character so i hope i wrote it well. Feel free to give me any type of feedback!

Tysm for reading/voting/commenting <3