“This Ryan of yours, is he something new for you?”
“Yeah.” I admit softly.
“He’s something different. Something more, and I can tell from your eyes that he’s something you want. You’re a hard as nails survivor and a closet softy. So was Vin. He still is, he’s just locked up the softy in the closet tight and he’ll never let him out again.”
“It’s probably for the best, right?”
She shrugs. “That’s not my place to say. Everyone has to decide for themselves how they want to handle this life. You need to choose whether or not you want to survive or you want to live.”
I stare at my hands thinking of brown eyes, stolen kisses, scribbled messages and how, despite my present situation, it was all worth it.
“Living is harder, isn’t it?” I ask, looking up at her. “It’s more dangerous.”
“Much more.” she agrees. Then she smiles at me. “Which is why I know you can do it.”
That night I wake up to the blurry sight of a dark face coming at me. A hand grips my head, clamping down on my mouth. It’s my worst nightmare come true; a crawler catching me sleeping.
I don’t have time to think. I go on autopilot and my system is programmed for violence. I punch the face as hard as I can. There’s a groan as I make contact and the hand falls away from my mouth. I sit up quickly, rear back and punch again, this time catching the thing in the side of the head behind the ear. It screams, something that should strike me as odd, but I ignore it. I’m still half asleep and scared out of my mind so it could stand up, plead for mercy forwards, backwards and in Latin and I’d still beat its face in.
I grab the pillow off my bed as I launch myself at the figure. I grab its dark hair and yank its head back hard until it falls backwards onto the ground. Then I pounce. I’m straddling its chest, just about to bring the pillow down over its mouth to protect me from its teeth while I drive me knee down on its throat until it snaps, when it speaks.
“Please don’t! Please stop!”
I hesitate. My chest is heaving and every muscle in my body is screaming to finish the job but I rein it in. I take in my surroundings. I remind myself where I am. Who I’m with. And when I look down I realize with horror that I’m about to kill a living human being.
I scurry backwards away from her until I’m pinned up against my bed’s frame.
“What the hell?” I gasp.
The girl sits up slowly, swaying side to side. She’s holding her hand to the side of her face where I punched her in the cheek. I can’t see her very well in the dark but I know that’s going to bruise because my right hand is aching. It’s nothing compared to what she must be feeling. Or what she’ll be feeling tomorrow.
“What’s going on?” someone calls from the other side of the room.
“Nothing.” my assailant calls lightly, shaking her head as though to clear it. I got her good behind the ear. Her equilibrium will be jacked for a while. “The new girl had a bad dream. I came over to check on her. She’s fine.”
“Go back to sleep.” someone else grumbles nearby.
“We are.” she replies. As she stands up, she has to grab onto a nearby bed to keep her balance. She offers me her hand. “Right, Joss?”
I shake my head and stand up on my own, watching her closely. She’s drenched in shadows and I can’t make out her face. All I know is her height, build and that she’ll have a hell of a black eye tomorrow.
“This isn’t over.” I whisper fiercely. “I’m gonna find you.”
She nods faintly and whispers, “I hope you do.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning I’m on shiner watch. I’m looking at every woman I pass trying to find long dark hair, a petite build and a face with my knuckles written all over it. At breakfast I sit with Vin as I always do but I notice we’re not alone. Two other men about his age come to sit with us and a middle aged woman I’ve never seen before sits herself right down beside me. I look her over quickly. Too tall.
“Joss, have you met Sandra?” Vin asks, gesturing with his fork between myself and the Amazonian beside me. I’m surprised by his genial tone and use of my actual name.
“No. Hi.” I reply curtly.
Vin frowns at me but I ignore him. He talks and laughs with his new friends as I slowly eat my pancakes. Throughout the meal I scan the crowd. I don’t see anyone that fits the shadow I wrestled with last night and I’m starting to wonder if she’s even on the same sleep cycle. Maybe she was just coming off shift when she decided to stop by and try to murder me.
As the room clears out I begin to lose hope of finding her today. Vin’s friends eventually leave. I go to stand to leave as well but he stops me by slamming his hand down on my tray, knocking it back to the table loudly.
“What’s your deal?” I exclaim, glaring at him.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You need to get to making friends with these people.”
I shake my head and look away. “You sound just like Nats.”
“She’s a smart woman, you should listen to her. I know social skills aren’t your thing, but at least try.”
“Why do we need to make friends with them?”
“To use them.”
“That’s chipper.”
“Do you want out of here?”
“Yes.”
“Then get off your high horse and help me out.”
I sit back from him, taking in his angry eyes and the harsh line of his mouth. He’s never been mad at me before. It’s intimidating and I hate it that he can do this to me.
“What are we using them for?”
“Eric and Tim, the guys sitting beside me who you ignored, they work in the fields. Do you know where the fields are?”
“Outside the building where we’re not allowed.” I reply quietly.
None of us were selected for outdoor duties permanently. Not yet. We’ve had private counseling sessions with our Team Leaders (mine is Melissa and I’m just grateful it’s not Barbie) to discuss our transition into the community. Despite his charms, Vin wasn’t chosen to go outside either. They don’t trust us near the fence lines unsupervised. I can’t say I blame them. Given the chance I’d risk the freezing waters to get out of here. No question.
“And Sandra works in the laundry. How could the laundry be helpful to us, Joss?”
I thought it was weird that he was using my name before but I find it condescending and annoying now. He’s treating me like a child. I’m thinking I’ve already punched one person in the past 24 hours and I wouldn’t mind doing it again.
“Clothing. Warm clothing and lots of it.”
“Nailed it.” he says, smacking his hand on the table loudly. “Next time I expect you to act a little friendlier and remember that we would like to get out of here before we die.”
He rises to leave but I stand quickly as well, leaning over the table and shoving my finger in his face.
“And next time you try and remember that you’re not my pimp, I’m not one of your girls and if you want my help you’ll watch the way you talk to me. Understood?”
This is a moment in my life when I seriously wonder if I’m going to get slapped. I’m mouthing off to a Stable Boy from The Hive, a guy whose job it is to keep women in line, doing what they’re told and making the very testy, very violent men at the top of his food chain happy. He minds the coffers and the coins all have PMS. It can’t be an easy job. It could easily be one he manages with an iron fist.
His jaw works under the taught skin of his face. It clenches and releases as he chews on what I’ve said. He carefully, dispassionately considers me. His calm is freaking me out. I’d rather he was yelling. I’d almost rather he hit me. Eventually what he does is smile.