Page 29

H.E.R.

I 'm good.

I know it isn't that simple. I know right and wrong isn't black and white. But I've never hurt anyone. Well, that's a lie. I hit a kid with my sister's crutch once, and he ended up in the hospital with seven stitches. But the kid was bullying her, and it didn't sit well with me.

My sister says I have a terrible temper. But then she said I have a good heart. That made me smile, especially when she would say I'm good.

She was the only one who said I was good, and I made sure to never disappoint her. To always prove her right.

I'm good. I'm good. I'm good.

Sometimes, I get bad thoughts. Evil thoughts. Violent images of blood, destruction and death. In the darkness, it consumes me. Terrifies me.

I don't want to disappoint my sister.

But then I remember—they're just thoughts. My thoughts. They can't hurt anyone but me. That's good, right?

"How do you like your new home?" A deep, familiar voice chuckles. A voice that follows me into my nightmares. A voice responsible for the evil in my head. A voice I can't escape.

It's the same voice that whispered in my ear as he dragged me from my home, from my sister. He wanted something from me, though I don't know what. But I know it's evil. It has to be, because everything he does hurts.

It hurts so bad.

But Ricci Gonzalas doesn't care when he hurts me. When he throws me into the training room to either fight or die. When he straps me down, cuts me open and makes me bleed until I pass out. He said he’s changing me. Making me stronger. Making me perfect.

But I don’t want it. I didn't ask for it. I’m tired. Please, I just want my sister; she always makes everything better.

Large hands slam against my chest, and my back hits something rough, hard, unbreakable. I can't see anything in this all-encompassing darkness, but it no longer smells as rancid as my old cell. That cell always smelt of vomit and shit. But this place smelt new.

My new home.

I've only been here 7 days. I was in my old cell for 429 days.

If I had the strength to speak, perhaps I would tell Ricci I like it. It wouldn't be a lie. It’s certainly better than my last cell. It’s not because of the smell, or the fact I was no longer sitting in my own piss.

It’s because of that sound I would hear when the silence is thick, and the darkness is heavy. When I would think I'm alone, and the dark thoughts would become too much. Too evil.

A breath. Slow and shallow and hurt. It wasn't mine, but I know it's real.

It has to be real.

I have a neighbour. One who doesn't speak, doesn't move, doesn't breathe — at least, he tries to.

I know in the way his breath hitches when he moves, afraid he had been too loud.

That he caught the eye of the monsters in the dark.

Or when his breath stops when they're footsteps echo in the distance.

He's scared… just like me.

How long has he been here? I know the men take him, too, but he doesn't fight them. He doesn't whimper, or cry. He is always so quiet. Like he isnt here anymore. Like the darkness which surrounds us has taken him, pulled him into its depth and left behind nothing but a shadow.

Shadow. Yes, that name suits my neighbour.

My knees buckle, and I slip onto my butt. Ricci's ruthless training finally caught up to me. I can feel my eyes swelling up. My body burns. Everything just… hurts.

Keys clank together as the steel doors groan, its hinges protesting with a deep, rusty creak before it crashes shut with a jarring bang that rattles through my bones, and I wince as a heavy industrial lock snaps shut.

But Ricci's still here. Watching my pathetic state with a cruel grin ripped across his face. I don't need to see it; I feel his eyes, and I've been here long enough to know he and his men like to witness my pain, but not as much as they like to inflict it.

I want to scream. I should be allowed to scream. It's been bubbling inside me for 436 days. But something tells me they want that, that my screams would make them happy. I don't feel like being that nice—surely that doesn't make me evil?

"We'll have fun tomorrow." He pauses as my breathing turns heavy. Every organ in my body feels like it's compressing whenever I desperately attempt to steal a breath. "At least I will, Baby Flame."

I used to flinch when he called me that. He always says it like a joke—like he’s already won. Like it was only a matter of time before I accepted my fate.

But I was born with fire in my veins. And if there's one thought I’ll carve into reality before this ends, it’s that I’ll kill Ricci Gonzalas myself, before he ever snuffs it out.

I lift my head, already regretting the action, when a sharp, unbearable pain zips down my spine. But I grit my teeth, force my eyes—eye—to open and glare at the man who's leant against my cell, staring through the bars at me.

His grin slowly falls when he sees the flames in my eyes, and it only makes me braver when I seethe, "I'll survive you, and even if I don't..." I press my head against the hard concrete of my cell, and I smile. "You'll never break me."