Part One-
Footsteps. They're coming. I take a deep breath and get ready for whatever
they want me to do today. I close the shades to my barred window and sit on
my hard mattress bed with one limp pillow and wilted white sheets. I clasp
my hands together so tightly that my small knuckles turn white as the blood
flows away from the pressure. I bow my head so my long hair falls across my
face and stare at the white tiled floor. I think back and remember the deep
crimson that had briefly stained the tiles. I remember how transfixed by
the fact that my blood was spilt on the floor. I wanted it to stay. For the
deep inviting color to stay and bend my world of cold whiteness.
The footfalls echo through the long hall as they draw closer. They'll be here soon. My stomach clenches and I feel the familiar swish of sour bile rising and burning the tender inner skin of my throat. I stand up calmly and walk to my pallid bathroom. It has a small sink, a stand-up shower, and a porcelain toilet. I fall to my knees and vomit what little my insides hold. I recognize it as the little plate of eggs and a roll I had for breakfast. The mere thought of it makes my insides heave again. I imagine Mommy holding my hair back and whispering comforting murmurs in my ear. Telling me it will be alright. That she'll bring me lemon tea and a plate of crackers when it's over. I imagine leaning over and crying into her soft shoulder and her holding me tighter. Her soft sandy-blonde curls brushing against my pale skin and smelling the faint smell of her hairspray. I close my eyes against the real teas that start to fall. I pick myself up, wash my mouth with the cool water, and walk back out and sit on my bed.
They're just at the door now. The slide the keys into the locks with a small scraping sound and walk into the room. I look up at them blankly. "Time to go." One says. His name is Warren. I don't like him. I stand up and brush past them. They both grab my elbows and lead me to the room which I could find in my sleep.
"Get in." Another says.
His name is Parker.
I don't like the way he looks at me. Like I'm meat, something he wants to devour. It scares me. I avert my eyes and walk in with my head down. I hear the soft murmurs of the doctors quiet and I slowly look up. They're all gazing at me as if I've grown horns, but I'm sued to it. It's how it is everyday. I come in, they stare, they leave, someone comes in, asks me questions, and then I go in for some 'tests'. I take a seat on the dull, ash colored chair and wait for Gwendolyn Post to enter the room. She's always inquiring things about me and making notes on that wretched chart she always carries around.
"Good morning." She greets me with a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Hello." I say back, twisting my fingers together.
"How are you?" She asks.
"Fine." I say in a tight, clipped voicE.
"Have you been feeling sick? Nauseous?" She presses on.
I won't tell her about my little conversation with my toilet, "I've been feeling fine."
"Good. Good. Very well then." She pauses, gazing at me with her dull, unfeeling brown eyes, "What about your dreams? Have you had anymore?"
I pause and look up, asking myself if I should tell her. Fine, what will it hurt?
"Yes. I dreamt of dying." I say, my voice dull.
"What do you mean?" She asks, her pencil poised.
There was a bright light, a haze of purple-white power. I could feel-hear- it humming within me. I remember running towards it for pausing for a millisecond to stare at its dangerous beauty. I could have stared at it forever, but I didn't. There was something I had to do, something of utter importance. But, I don't know what it is. All I can remember is throwing myself off of whatever I'm standing on and rushing into the bright light. And the pain, oh, the horrible pain. If I think hard, I can still feel the electric burn on my skin. I can feel this haze stealing my energy, my life, away from me. In my dream, I think what I feel is.relief. But, why?
I shake my head and say, "I don't remember details, I just remember that I died."
"How?" Ms. Post pushes me.
"Did I stutter? I told you don't remember it." I snap, my hazy green eyes flashing.
She looks taken aback for a small second and I think I see fear in my eyes. Fear.of me! I shake my head a small smirk on my face that's wiped off when I turn back toward her.
"Are we done?" I asked tiredly.
"Of course." She says, nodding to herself.
The doctors come back in and lead me to the back room, where they do the 'tests'.
"Good morning." An older man greets me, his voice sounding like he swallowed a frog with its voice box cut out. There are other people who stand with him. A taller man, his name is Wesley, with glasses and thick brown hair. He's the only one I trust here, in this hell. He has soft bluish eyes and a pleasant but friendly smile that he warmly gives me. I nod and smile back to him. A women, along with Ms. Post, stands behind the men. The other woman is colored, her thick hair braided and tucked in clips behind her head. Her name is Olivia. I'm not sure what to think of her. She looks at me with wise eyes, as if she knows me. She regards me carefully, her eyes always watching, her lips pulled back into a thin smile. But, the one I despise, the one who greets me everyday with the frog sounding, "Good Morning," I cannot stand him. He gets sick pleasure from watching me go through the painful, tiring tests. I smile tightly, letting my displeasure showing through my voice,
"Good Morning, Quentin."
*
Quentin Travers. The head of whatever they're doing to me. Yet another thing I don't know. Why and what exactly they're doing to me. I sigh and stay where I'm standing, watching them as they break their small clump and rush around the room, preparing the table, and getting the machinery. I closed my eyes against the wash of old fear that pounded through my senses. Inside my closed lids, I could see every fear and wish I have. My fear to stay here. My wish to be free. My fear of not knowing who-what-I'm meant to be. I look up and wait for someone to notice me.
Wesley looks up with his gentle eyes and his face warms into a look of concern.
"What is it?" He asks in a soft voice.
"I want to know my name." I demanded in a quiet but firm voice.
He looks pained and remorseful as he looks at me. Sometimes, I think that when he looks at me, he's seeing someone from his past. Someone.he cared about. Sometimes, he would call to me, start to call me by name. A name of which I don't know. But, he would always compose himself before he spilled the hypothetical beans.
"You know I cannot tell you." He says softly, his accented voice calming me.
I turn my face away so he won't see my burning tears.
He tries to apologize, but I won't have any of it. I block him out and wait for Quentin and Olivia to call me over to the table. They do, so I get up and walk slowly over to them. They direct me to lay down. I do while they stick an IV into me mercilessly. I barely keep myself from crying out, but I do gasp and squeeze my eyes closed. After a few quiet moments, I feel a burning hot sensation flow through my veins. It gets so unbearably hot and I can feel myself sweating. My flesh breaks out with little heat bumps and I find myself struggling to breathe.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Wesley asks in a hushed whisper.
"Testing her immune system." Quentin hissed, "I injected a heightened dose of influenza into her body. I want to see how se reacts."
"How much of a heightened dose?" Wesley asked in a harsh voice, "Answer me, Quentin!"
"It's an undiluted sample."
"You bloke! It will kill her!" Wesley yells.
The chills start to take over my body. I can feel that my skin is hot though. I start to shake uncontrollably. My teeth are chattering and I bite my tongue in the process. I can feel the coppery liquid seep into and over my taste buds. As sick as it sounds, the taste of my own blood keeps me grounded, from floating into the dark abyss that will surely give me comfort. Wesley and Quentin keep fighting and I can feel myself slipping away. As much as I try, I can't help but float away, into a restless slumber.
*
When I awake, I'm alone and in my room. Beside my bed is a pail of ice and dripping over my face is a cool wash cloth. I sit up slowly and have to the bathroom barely making it in time before hot bile rushes from my mouth. I cough and gag and slump to the cool tile. I hear my door open and I lift my head.
It's him. It's Parker. He tiptoes into my room and walks around before realizing that I'm not in there. He leans against the doorway, leering at me.
"Hey beautiful." He sneers,
"Go away." I say, my voice blank.
"How 'bout not?" He asks, his grin widening as he saunters into the small room.
He kneels beside me and I do nothing. I close my eyes when he starts to travel his hands into my shirt. I cringe and feel tears spring to my eyes.
"Quit it." I whisper.
He only laughs and straddles me, one hand pinning my wrists above me while the other continues to fondle me.
"Quit!" I scream and he stats to scratch me, laughing all the while.
He crushes his lips to mine with a bruising force.
"You know you want this. You tease me, with you smiles and your eyes. I see how you look at me. You teased me then too." He whispers huskily.
"I didn't! I swear!" I cry.
"You did." He rasps, his eyes clouded.
I cry out when he lays his whole body weight on top of me. It feels like he's crushing my lungs. I thrash and he only seems to enjoy it more. I knee him hard and he lifts up and slaps me hard.
"Bitch!"
I glare at him and dig my nails into his face, feeling the hot, thick liquid seep out. He shouts and punches me, breaking open my bruised lips. I cry out, tears of pain seeping out. He quickly undoes his pants and climbs on top of me again. I scream as I feel him. Oh God! I scream louder and push him. Tears blur my vision as I rear my fist back and punch him square in the nose. Strange strength flows through me and I attack him. He finally pushes me away and glares at me. My vision clears and I see what a mess he is. His nose is broken and seeping dark blood everywhere. His eyes red and threatening to swell.
"Stay away from me." I whisper, tears cloaking my voice.
"No problem, freak. But, this isn't over, mark my word girl, I'll get what I want. I always do, you should know that." He sneers.
That makes me even more confused. What should I know? And what he said earlier.
*You teased me then too.*
What is he talking about? When? Where? What.? I tuck my knees to my chest and start to cry softly. I hate this! I hate being alone, being confused. I want my Mommy. I want her to press kisses to my hair and tell me everything will be alright. I want Daddy to hug me to his big chest and tell me he'll always protect me. But, they're only figment of my mind. Blurred images that are on the tip of my edge of my mind, just faint enough to get a glimpse, but never a clear picture. Argh!
Who am I?!
*
I awoke in the middle of the night with someone poking me. I thought it was a dream so I just rolled on my side, stuffed my pillow over my head, and murmured,
"Gomay."
"Pardon me?" A British voice asked.
"Go away." I whined louder.
I heard a chuckle and I lifted my head up to see a grinning Wesley.
I faced him with squinted eyes.
"Wes?" I mumbled.
"Good morning." He said.
"Morning?" I exploded softly, "The suns not even up! Morning my ass."
His grin grows wider while his eyes are sad, "Come on, get up."
"Why?" I ask in a whiny-girly voice.
"You asked me a question yesterday that I could not answer in front of the Council, but I can answer it now." He said.
Instantly, I was up and wrapping my thin sheet around me-it's cold in my room at night. I stepped into the moonlight and Wes gasped.
"What?" I asked.
"What happened?" He asked, gently touching the raw wounds on my face.
I averted my eyes for moment. Should I tell him? What should I tell him? Would he believe me? He would. He's Wes. Your friend, your only friend. He could help you, maybe even get Parker fired. But, what if he didn't believe me?, I wondered.
"Hey." He whispered, gently lifting my chin.
I shook my head, "It's really nothing, Wes. You know me.a total klutz." I stammered, berating myself for acting like a fool.
"Really.?" He asked, his eyes searching.
"No." I said, not wanting to lie to him, he'd find out anyways, "Parker. He came in earlier. He tried to. He tried to.you know. So, he hit me, I hit back. Wes, I broke his nose." I said.
"You did. Did he. Did he force himself upon you?" He asked, her serious eyes probing.
"No. I didn't let him. Wes.how strong am I?" I asked him, remembering how the strength had surged through me like nothing I had ever felt before.
Wes sighs so long and hard that I think it comes from deep within him, from a sorrow buried so deep in his soul that it physically weighs him down.
"There's a lot you don't know. A lot you aren't supposed to know. But, I believe that it's unfair to keep who --what-- you are a secret. You deserve to know who you are and where you come from. You deserve to know everything." He whispers, taking my small hands into his own.
"You'll tell me?" I ask, and hate the way my voice sounds. Like a little girls', full of hope at learning what I yearn to know and sorrow for not already knowing.
"I'll do better than that. I'll show you. But, not now, not tonight. In two days, it will be Saturday and as you know they all leave on the weekends. I'll show you then." He answers.
"Oh!" I squeal, jumping up and wrapping my thin arms around his neck, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Wes!"
"You're welcome, B-" He stops and I pull back and stare at him, he was about to say my name, I know it. I try and figure out what he was about to say by searching through his sapphire eyes. I couldn't read him. I looked down, then looked up with a smile on my lips, "Thank you, Wes. I really mean it."
He smiled warmly and leaned in to kiss my cheek. A slow smile swell across my lips. My first kiss. Though, it wasn't like I had read about it, the zealous, fervent craze of passion with heat and excitement. But, it was nice. It made me feel.wanted? I could feel the touch of a warm blush spread across my face. I love Wes. I don't know what'd I do without him.
"You're my best friend, you know?" I say quietly.
He looks a bit sad at my words, "And you, mine." He says with a small, sad smile, "Go back to sleep now." He says softly and leads me to my hard, stiff bed. He smoothes my hair back and smiles as the pulls of sleep reclaim me, my last thought, before I give in, one of joy at finally knowing my clouded past.
The footfalls echo through the long hall as they draw closer. They'll be here soon. My stomach clenches and I feel the familiar swish of sour bile rising and burning the tender inner skin of my throat. I stand up calmly and walk to my pallid bathroom. It has a small sink, a stand-up shower, and a porcelain toilet. I fall to my knees and vomit what little my insides hold. I recognize it as the little plate of eggs and a roll I had for breakfast. The mere thought of it makes my insides heave again. I imagine Mommy holding my hair back and whispering comforting murmurs in my ear. Telling me it will be alright. That she'll bring me lemon tea and a plate of crackers when it's over. I imagine leaning over and crying into her soft shoulder and her holding me tighter. Her soft sandy-blonde curls brushing against my pale skin and smelling the faint smell of her hairspray. I close my eyes against the real teas that start to fall. I pick myself up, wash my mouth with the cool water, and walk back out and sit on my bed.
They're just at the door now. The slide the keys into the locks with a small scraping sound and walk into the room. I look up at them blankly. "Time to go." One says. His name is Warren. I don't like him. I stand up and brush past them. They both grab my elbows and lead me to the room which I could find in my sleep.
"Get in." Another says.
His name is Parker.
I don't like the way he looks at me. Like I'm meat, something he wants to devour. It scares me. I avert my eyes and walk in with my head down. I hear the soft murmurs of the doctors quiet and I slowly look up. They're all gazing at me as if I've grown horns, but I'm sued to it. It's how it is everyday. I come in, they stare, they leave, someone comes in, asks me questions, and then I go in for some 'tests'. I take a seat on the dull, ash colored chair and wait for Gwendolyn Post to enter the room. She's always inquiring things about me and making notes on that wretched chart she always carries around.
"Good morning." She greets me with a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Hello." I say back, twisting my fingers together.
"How are you?" She asks.
"Fine." I say in a tight, clipped voicE.
"Have you been feeling sick? Nauseous?" She presses on.
I won't tell her about my little conversation with my toilet, "I've been feeling fine."
"Good. Good. Very well then." She pauses, gazing at me with her dull, unfeeling brown eyes, "What about your dreams? Have you had anymore?"
I pause and look up, asking myself if I should tell her. Fine, what will it hurt?
"Yes. I dreamt of dying." I say, my voice dull.
"What do you mean?" She asks, her pencil poised.
There was a bright light, a haze of purple-white power. I could feel-hear- it humming within me. I remember running towards it for pausing for a millisecond to stare at its dangerous beauty. I could have stared at it forever, but I didn't. There was something I had to do, something of utter importance. But, I don't know what it is. All I can remember is throwing myself off of whatever I'm standing on and rushing into the bright light. And the pain, oh, the horrible pain. If I think hard, I can still feel the electric burn on my skin. I can feel this haze stealing my energy, my life, away from me. In my dream, I think what I feel is.relief. But, why?
I shake my head and say, "I don't remember details, I just remember that I died."
"How?" Ms. Post pushes me.
"Did I stutter? I told you don't remember it." I snap, my hazy green eyes flashing.
She looks taken aback for a small second and I think I see fear in my eyes. Fear.of me! I shake my head a small smirk on my face that's wiped off when I turn back toward her.
"Are we done?" I asked tiredly.
"Of course." She says, nodding to herself.
The doctors come back in and lead me to the back room, where they do the 'tests'.
"Good morning." An older man greets me, his voice sounding like he swallowed a frog with its voice box cut out. There are other people who stand with him. A taller man, his name is Wesley, with glasses and thick brown hair. He's the only one I trust here, in this hell. He has soft bluish eyes and a pleasant but friendly smile that he warmly gives me. I nod and smile back to him. A women, along with Ms. Post, stands behind the men. The other woman is colored, her thick hair braided and tucked in clips behind her head. Her name is Olivia. I'm not sure what to think of her. She looks at me with wise eyes, as if she knows me. She regards me carefully, her eyes always watching, her lips pulled back into a thin smile. But, the one I despise, the one who greets me everyday with the frog sounding, "Good Morning," I cannot stand him. He gets sick pleasure from watching me go through the painful, tiring tests. I smile tightly, letting my displeasure showing through my voice,
"Good Morning, Quentin."
*
Quentin Travers. The head of whatever they're doing to me. Yet another thing I don't know. Why and what exactly they're doing to me. I sigh and stay where I'm standing, watching them as they break their small clump and rush around the room, preparing the table, and getting the machinery. I closed my eyes against the wash of old fear that pounded through my senses. Inside my closed lids, I could see every fear and wish I have. My fear to stay here. My wish to be free. My fear of not knowing who-what-I'm meant to be. I look up and wait for someone to notice me.
Wesley looks up with his gentle eyes and his face warms into a look of concern.
"What is it?" He asks in a soft voice.
"I want to know my name." I demanded in a quiet but firm voice.
He looks pained and remorseful as he looks at me. Sometimes, I think that when he looks at me, he's seeing someone from his past. Someone.he cared about. Sometimes, he would call to me, start to call me by name. A name of which I don't know. But, he would always compose himself before he spilled the hypothetical beans.
"You know I cannot tell you." He says softly, his accented voice calming me.
I turn my face away so he won't see my burning tears.
He tries to apologize, but I won't have any of it. I block him out and wait for Quentin and Olivia to call me over to the table. They do, so I get up and walk slowly over to them. They direct me to lay down. I do while they stick an IV into me mercilessly. I barely keep myself from crying out, but I do gasp and squeeze my eyes closed. After a few quiet moments, I feel a burning hot sensation flow through my veins. It gets so unbearably hot and I can feel myself sweating. My flesh breaks out with little heat bumps and I find myself struggling to breathe.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Wesley asks in a hushed whisper.
"Testing her immune system." Quentin hissed, "I injected a heightened dose of influenza into her body. I want to see how se reacts."
"How much of a heightened dose?" Wesley asked in a harsh voice, "Answer me, Quentin!"
"It's an undiluted sample."
"You bloke! It will kill her!" Wesley yells.
The chills start to take over my body. I can feel that my skin is hot though. I start to shake uncontrollably. My teeth are chattering and I bite my tongue in the process. I can feel the coppery liquid seep into and over my taste buds. As sick as it sounds, the taste of my own blood keeps me grounded, from floating into the dark abyss that will surely give me comfort. Wesley and Quentin keep fighting and I can feel myself slipping away. As much as I try, I can't help but float away, into a restless slumber.
*
When I awake, I'm alone and in my room. Beside my bed is a pail of ice and dripping over my face is a cool wash cloth. I sit up slowly and have to the bathroom barely making it in time before hot bile rushes from my mouth. I cough and gag and slump to the cool tile. I hear my door open and I lift my head.
It's him. It's Parker. He tiptoes into my room and walks around before realizing that I'm not in there. He leans against the doorway, leering at me.
"Hey beautiful." He sneers,
"Go away." I say, my voice blank.
"How 'bout not?" He asks, his grin widening as he saunters into the small room.
He kneels beside me and I do nothing. I close my eyes when he starts to travel his hands into my shirt. I cringe and feel tears spring to my eyes.
"Quit it." I whisper.
He only laughs and straddles me, one hand pinning my wrists above me while the other continues to fondle me.
"Quit!" I scream and he stats to scratch me, laughing all the while.
He crushes his lips to mine with a bruising force.
"You know you want this. You tease me, with you smiles and your eyes. I see how you look at me. You teased me then too." He whispers huskily.
"I didn't! I swear!" I cry.
"You did." He rasps, his eyes clouded.
I cry out when he lays his whole body weight on top of me. It feels like he's crushing my lungs. I thrash and he only seems to enjoy it more. I knee him hard and he lifts up and slaps me hard.
"Bitch!"
I glare at him and dig my nails into his face, feeling the hot, thick liquid seep out. He shouts and punches me, breaking open my bruised lips. I cry out, tears of pain seeping out. He quickly undoes his pants and climbs on top of me again. I scream as I feel him. Oh God! I scream louder and push him. Tears blur my vision as I rear my fist back and punch him square in the nose. Strange strength flows through me and I attack him. He finally pushes me away and glares at me. My vision clears and I see what a mess he is. His nose is broken and seeping dark blood everywhere. His eyes red and threatening to swell.
"Stay away from me." I whisper, tears cloaking my voice.
"No problem, freak. But, this isn't over, mark my word girl, I'll get what I want. I always do, you should know that." He sneers.
That makes me even more confused. What should I know? And what he said earlier.
*You teased me then too.*
What is he talking about? When? Where? What.? I tuck my knees to my chest and start to cry softly. I hate this! I hate being alone, being confused. I want my Mommy. I want her to press kisses to my hair and tell me everything will be alright. I want Daddy to hug me to his big chest and tell me he'll always protect me. But, they're only figment of my mind. Blurred images that are on the tip of my edge of my mind, just faint enough to get a glimpse, but never a clear picture. Argh!
Who am I?!
*
I awoke in the middle of the night with someone poking me. I thought it was a dream so I just rolled on my side, stuffed my pillow over my head, and murmured,
"Gomay."
"Pardon me?" A British voice asked.
"Go away." I whined louder.
I heard a chuckle and I lifted my head up to see a grinning Wesley.
I faced him with squinted eyes.
"Wes?" I mumbled.
"Good morning." He said.
"Morning?" I exploded softly, "The suns not even up! Morning my ass."
His grin grows wider while his eyes are sad, "Come on, get up."
"Why?" I ask in a whiny-girly voice.
"You asked me a question yesterday that I could not answer in front of the Council, but I can answer it now." He said.
Instantly, I was up and wrapping my thin sheet around me-it's cold in my room at night. I stepped into the moonlight and Wes gasped.
"What?" I asked.
"What happened?" He asked, gently touching the raw wounds on my face.
I averted my eyes for moment. Should I tell him? What should I tell him? Would he believe me? He would. He's Wes. Your friend, your only friend. He could help you, maybe even get Parker fired. But, what if he didn't believe me?, I wondered.
"Hey." He whispered, gently lifting my chin.
I shook my head, "It's really nothing, Wes. You know me.a total klutz." I stammered, berating myself for acting like a fool.
"Really.?" He asked, his eyes searching.
"No." I said, not wanting to lie to him, he'd find out anyways, "Parker. He came in earlier. He tried to. He tried to.you know. So, he hit me, I hit back. Wes, I broke his nose." I said.
"You did. Did he. Did he force himself upon you?" He asked, her serious eyes probing.
"No. I didn't let him. Wes.how strong am I?" I asked him, remembering how the strength had surged through me like nothing I had ever felt before.
Wes sighs so long and hard that I think it comes from deep within him, from a sorrow buried so deep in his soul that it physically weighs him down.
"There's a lot you don't know. A lot you aren't supposed to know. But, I believe that it's unfair to keep who --what-- you are a secret. You deserve to know who you are and where you come from. You deserve to know everything." He whispers, taking my small hands into his own.
"You'll tell me?" I ask, and hate the way my voice sounds. Like a little girls', full of hope at learning what I yearn to know and sorrow for not already knowing.
"I'll do better than that. I'll show you. But, not now, not tonight. In two days, it will be Saturday and as you know they all leave on the weekends. I'll show you then." He answers.
"Oh!" I squeal, jumping up and wrapping my thin arms around his neck, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Wes!"
"You're welcome, B-" He stops and I pull back and stare at him, he was about to say my name, I know it. I try and figure out what he was about to say by searching through his sapphire eyes. I couldn't read him. I looked down, then looked up with a smile on my lips, "Thank you, Wes. I really mean it."
He smiled warmly and leaned in to kiss my cheek. A slow smile swell across my lips. My first kiss. Though, it wasn't like I had read about it, the zealous, fervent craze of passion with heat and excitement. But, it was nice. It made me feel.wanted? I could feel the touch of a warm blush spread across my face. I love Wes. I don't know what'd I do without him.
"You're my best friend, you know?" I say quietly.
He looks a bit sad at my words, "And you, mine." He says with a small, sad smile, "Go back to sleep now." He says softly and leads me to my hard, stiff bed. He smoothes my hair back and smiles as the pulls of sleep reclaim me, my last thought, before I give in, one of joy at finally knowing my clouded past.