I lay in bed, the smooth sheets only covering me from my waist down. The heat was stifling tonight, and I could feel a cold sweat forming on the skin of my legs under the thin material. The silver light of the full moon filtered through the slats on the window, illuminating the room in stripes of gleaming light. It gently caressed the furniture within the large bedroom, yet reflected off of my skin, intensifying the pale tone of my chest.
I could hear the soft clink of glass echo from the other rooms, accompanied by the soft hum of the air conditioning, the low, muted voices from the television and the occasional disagreeing grunt. I had retired to bed some two hours before, claiming fatigue and craving sleep. However, that was not entirely truthful. It wasn't the whole truth at least, it never was.
Dark thoughts crowded my mind, fighting each other over and over; it seemed as if they were competing for my attention, to see which one I would dwell on the most this time. Though tonight, everything had come flooding back, taking its root in my being and souring my mood, stealing my attention.
Tonight was different. Tonight was the anniversary.
Vivid images flashed behind my eyes, glimpses into my past which made me cringe harder with each one that appeared. Blotches of deep crimson, wide, terrified eyes, burning buildings… Darkness, endless darkness and hatred. My skin crawled with every memory, the blood that pumped through my veins ran cold, and then hot. Numerous scars that spotted my torso itched, and suddenly I was there again.
The sunken faces of those I'd been held with stared back at me, and I was no longer in the room. The cement courtyard was filled with hopeless faces that stared back at me, pity in their eyes. Ghostly remnants of the vicious blows that were dealt to my body on that podium in the courtyard slammed through my frame and I could feel myself shaking. A uniformed guard stood by my side, and I saw his large baton – crusty with dried blood – rise into the air. I struggled against the bonds that held me down, but to no avail. I yelled out for help, for someone to emerge from the crowd and free me. But no-one came. I shuddered violently with every whack of the club, the pain rolling through my body. I let out cries of pain but no-one seemed to care. They were frightened.
"Avery!" a distant voice called for me as my attacker stood in front of me. "Avery, it's okay! None of it is real!"
The guard lifted my heavy head with the freshly bloodied club he held, pushing up on my chin so I stared at him.
"Avery, calm, everything is going to be okay." The voice was soothing, melodic almost.
The baton was raised high once more, and I fought to stop my head lolling downwards.
A warm touch graced my cheek. "Avery, you're safe at home now, none of it is real." The comforting touch broke the memory, the courtyard fizzling out to the bedroom again. A fair faced man with sandy hair looked back at me, his grey eyes full of concern and relief. His hand still held my face like a mother would. We sat there like that for a time, trying to steady my breathing and calm myself down.
Each time I relived these scenarios they became more realistic, more draining.
"It was just a memory," the man assured me, pressing his lips into a thin smile. "Where were you this time?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I groaned, removing his hand and pushing aside the sheets. I moved towards the window, pulling the slatted frames open. The sticky warm air rushed inside in greater amounts, bringing to my attention the layer of sweat on my forehead. I stared out at the new countryside, breathing deep.
"You know it helps to talk about it, Avery. Bottling things up won't do you any good. It might even make you more susceptible to flashbacks."
"Bottling it up is all I can do now… What happened should not be spoken of, what I did should not be heard by anyone. If it is voiced, then it is remembered. Everyone just needs to move on and forget." Everyone could do that, in time I supposed. Everyone but me. I raised my right arm into the light, staring at the two thick black lines the ran left to right across the inner wrist, forever branded into my skin as a reminder of what I was and where I came from. Absentmindedly, I brushed my fingers over the marking, earlier memories surfacing.
"It was the courtyard again," I whispered. "Another public beating, one of the many I inflicted upon my arrogant self."
"What you did was heroic and just. People admire you for your actions-"
"They should fear me." I stopped him in his tracks. "They should fear me like they once did, not hold me up on a pedestal like some saviour. What happened was savage and horrific, and all I have to show for it is guilt and a hell of a lot of blood. No, I should be feared, not revered." I balled my hands into tight fists, the skin stretching thin over the bones of my knuckles.
He didn't move when he spoke again, his voice still remaining smooth and calm. "The past is done, and people are coping with the major events in different ways. You need to look to the future, Avery, and see how much hope it holds, how bright it is, because of you."
But at what cost? My sanity?
My past was twisted and horrible.
And not private.
Everything that had unfolded in the last four years came from the overwhelming sense of curiosity, wonder and betrayal that I had felt that one day. That drove me to break the barrier.
The day I escaped from the Settlement.