Hello Darlings, welcome back!
Pretty big anxiety and trauma warning on this one.
Thank you to Mel and Gemma!
CHAPTER SIX
Bella
"That which does not kill us makes us stronger."
― Friedrich Nietzsche
I had never known true darkness.
Phoenix was bright; the sun was always shining, and at night, light pollution kept the sky aglow. Even on those rare nights when it wasn't an issue, the desert sky sparkled and shone like gemstones.
True darkness was never something I experienced until my first night at the Academy.
The callousness of my peers, the way they devalued each other was true darkness. The people who grabbed me out of my bed and beat me as they dragged me into the night, that was true darkness.
When I woke again, I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or shut because this was true darkness.
My breathing was loud in my ears, deafening as I tried to feel out where I was. My back was pressed into hardwood, and my pinkies both grazed wood walls. I lifted one hand up and nearly sobbed when I realized there was barely enough room to even raise my arm up before my fist was connecting with more wood.
The scent of pine was suffocating me, as realization dawned on me.
I was locked in a wood box, a body-shaped wood box.
My mind refused to name it, refused to give in to that thought.
Think, Bella.
It was impossible to clear my mind. I'd never been claustrophobic before, but I'd also never been locked in a space like this before either.
No light came through the cracks of the wood above me, and through the overpowering pine scent, I could smell dirt and rocks and mud.
Shit, shit, shit.
A sob escaped me before I could stop it, and I reached both hands up, clapping them over my mouth to stop any other sobs.
My heart was thundering in my ears, my head dizzy from the fear of the oxygen running out.
Oh god, how much oxygen did I have left?
I was going to die here, buried in the woods in New Hampshire. My mom would never know what happened to me, no one would. I'd be written off as a runaway, or maybe a headcase, and I'd end up forgotten, just another statistic.
My hands were shaking as I tried, again and again, to pull myself together and out of my hysteria. This could not be how I ended.
I wouldn't accept it.
I didn't know how to get myself out of this situation other than by sheer force, so taking a series of deep breaths to calm myself, I removed my hands from my mouth and reached up to place them against the lid.
The wood was rough, and splinters bit at my palms as I pressed.
The weight was substantial, too substantial to move with a soft push.
My hands curled into fists, and I banged them against the wood.
Immediately, dirt rushed in through the cracks, falling into my eyes and mouth, and I coughed, spitting it out.
Shit. How was I supposed to break out when the act would suffocate me?
Think, Bella. Think! You are fucking smart. THINK!
My hands skated down my body, searching for anything useful. I made several passes, unfocused and frantic still. I forced myself to slow down, then tried again, this time paying attention to what I was feeling.
I was still in the school uniform I'd fallen asleep in, and my fingers paused as they brushed the small plastic buttons on my top.
It wasn't a good solution, but maybe it was something.
Slowly, I worked on unhooking the buttons from the bottom up.
When the top was open, I worked on getting it free of my arms. There wasn't enough room to maneuver though, and in the end, I yanked, my desperation making me scream as the fabric tore around my arms. I struggled to sit up, and managed just enough to get the shirt out from under me. When it was free, I let myself cry for another minute.
I took my shirt, ripping the sleeves off completely before flipping the rest of the shirt upside down in the dark, and began fastening it over my head, starting around my throat, so that it covered my face. When it was secure, I took my ripped sleeves and worked them down my arms until I could wrap my knuckles in the fabric.
Then I began to hit the wood above me.
My fists pounded, and every time dirt fell through and landed on my covered face, I winced, but I kept fighting.
This would not be how Bella Swan ended.
My knees and feet kicked at the boards where they could, and soon, a dull ache was spreading through my limbs.
Still, I continued to pound and claw.
When I grew fatigued, I let my arms drop, dusting the dirt off my face covering so I could pull my shirt down enough to take unencumbered breaths.
I would be running out of oxygen soon. I had to get out of here.
I counted to twenty, then replaced the headcover before I continued to beat at the surface above me.
Minutes later, there was a cracking sound as the wood gave way under my relentless pressure.
Desperate, my fist punched through the thin wood boards, instinctively trying to shovel dirt out of my face at the same time. My head was still covered by my shirt, but even through that, breathing was difficult.
My right hand came up, pushing the opening wider and causing more dirt to fall down on me.
I tried to bend my arms, to create a shelter around my head, but all it managed to do was create an air pocket that limited my oxygen even more.
Time was ticking, and I couldn't slow down.
Using my feet to push against the wood boards under me, I started to claw my way through dirt, trying to push my fist through the lightly compacted soil. Thankfully, whoever had buried me had been lazy about covering me up, and soon, the dirt became loose and easier to navigate through.
It was a slow, torturous slog through the dirt, and twice, I felt like I would pass out if I didn't get this shirt off my head soon.
But then my fist broke through to the air, and I felt hope draw me forward. I clawed my way up, shoving dirt away from me as my head finally broke the surface too.
I sobbed, still mostly buried apart from one arm and my face. It was painfully difficult, but there was hope because I was fucking breathing fresh air again.
I worked my other arm free, and with both hands above ground, I dug my nails into the loose soil and pulled myself out of the dark earth.
The instant I was out, I ripped the shirt off my head and sobbed, my body shaking with my fear and adrenaline. I curled up on my side, bawling as my body tried to process the nightmare I'd just undergone.
What kind of place was this? What sort of school harbored murderous students? Was this sort of behavior condoned?
I had to get out of here. I had to leave before anyone found out I'd survived this murder attempt.
Because that was what this was. It wasn't a prank or even hazing; this was attempted murder.
I should have never left Phoenix.
I started to formulate a plan—I'd hitchhike back to Phoenix if I had to—when my mind started to clear.
What was left for me in Arizona?
Sure, people generally speaking didn't try to kill me, but being stuck in a town where I eventually became my mom? That was in its own way a slow, torturous death.
I found myself stuck between my survival and my ambition.
My eyes fell to the dirt, looking over the pile of earth that had just threatened to kill me. I survived.
I would continue to survive.
I'd make sure I survived.
But I wasn't going to get another chance like this. This school, with its psychopathic students and vague authority figures… This school was more than elite. I knew it, even if I still didn't know what the fuck was going on around here.
I was on the cusp of something bigger than me, maybe even bigger than the Ivy League.
This place was a place of power, and there was nothing in life I wanted more.
Nothing else mattered.
Taking a deep breath that cleared my lungs of more debris, I stooped down to pick up the tattered remains of my shirt. It was cold out, but the shirt was beyond salvageable. Wrapping my arms around my body, I started to make my way out of the woods, praying I was walking in the direction of the school.
It was hours later, but by the time I finally made it out of the forest, I felt resolute in my decision. No psychopathic teenager was going to stop me from achieving.
I was going to stay, and I was going to conquer.
Consequences be damned.
…
Somehow I made it back to my room.
My body was running on autopilot, carrying me barefoot across campus as I tried to remember where to go. I could tell the sun would be up soon, but that was fine. I didn't plan on sleeping again anytime soon.
The door to my room was unlocked, and I wondered if whoever grabbed me had broken the lock, or if they'd been let in.
Both were chilling thoughts that made my body shake with fear, so rather than thinking about it too long, I pushed inside and shut the door behind me.
My roommate was curled up peacefully on her bed, and for a long moment, I stared at her, wondering if she'd had a part in this. I didn't think so, since she'd clearly been a social reject, but there was no way to be certain.
After a long minute, I pulled myself away from the door and headed to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and flinched. I was covered head to toe in dirt, my face streaked with tear tracks. I reached into the shower stall, flipping on the water as hot as it would go. I climbed in fully dressed before the water was heated all the way, letting it beat against my back. I felt tears burning in my eyes, and I squeezed them shut, taking a deep breath.
Slowly, I stripped, pulling my bra off as well as my uniform skirt. I pulled off my underwear and kicked the muddy pile to the corner of the stall as I stood shaking under the now scalding water.
The heat drove the ghosts from my lungs, and with each patch of skin revealed under the caked mud, I started to feel better and better.
But then I looked down at my hands. Mangled, bloody, packed with splinters and cuts and bruises.
I wept again, letting my hands hang down under the spray as I pressed my face against the cool tile of the shower.
I let myself cry for a few minutes, getting it all out.
When I felt almost ready, I pulled myself away from the wall and got to work cleaning myself, taking what I needed from my roommate's supply. I'd buy her more later if it came to it, right now I just didn't care.
I took my time, and with each pass of the soap over my skin, I imagined fortifying myself, growing a thicker skin, strengthening my resolve.
One year.
That was all I needed to commit. One year amongst these monsters and then the world would be mine.
I could survive one year.
When I was clean, I turned to the pile of muddy clothes. I didn't know where the laundry was here, but I didn't care. I rinsed the clothes as clean as I could make them then wrung them out, hanging them over the shower stall. When I was done, I flipped the water off and reached for one of the plush towels folded neatly over the toilet. I wrapped it around myself before heading back into the bedroom.
My feet skittered to a halt on the hardwood floor.
I didn't have much to my name, but the few things I did have were gone. The wardrobe was open, and inside was completely empty. My backpack, my few belongings, my crappy laptop, my old cell phone, even the shiny new uniforms… it was all gone.
Every trace of me had vanished.
Like I was never there.
I took a deep breath, and then another, my tender hands curling into fists.
If they want a battle, then I will give them a fucking war.