"Luca," He huffs out a breath, my name flowing with it. I don't dare move. I can hear the deafening scrape of metal against wood, each step he takes, the rasp of the pole groans louder.

"Luca," He repeats, his voice sounding bored, "I don't want to do this anymore. Please, I'm sorry, can't we stop playing?"

I clamp a sooty palm to my mouth, stopping myself from screaming at him - and subsequently giving myself away. My heart thuds beneath the grey tank I'm wearing, a knot of worry tightens in my stomach with each thud of his heavy boots.

"You don't beleive me, do you?" A pang of hurt coils through his words, "Why dont you beleive me? Your own best friend?!" He's in the room now, I can see the black mop on his head through a little crack in the wadrobe. I watch his wide eyes flicker around the room desperatly, a smile lingering on his face. He's insane. Its a game to him. All of it. As much as I want to jump out of this dusty wadrobe, I remind myself that Lucien is the one with the metal pole, the metal pole dripping with ruby blood. The blood of our friends. The friends that he's murdered. And in his head, I am next.