Sitting in my room that first night, all I thought about was Monkey and my mom. When would I see them again? Would I ever see them again was probably a better question.
Abigail with her baby soft strawberry curls and the biggest green eyes you’d ever seen, always bright with excitement. Everything was shiny and new in Abi’s eyes, the perks of being a three-year-old. God, I was even going to miss her sticky fingers and chocolate-smudged mouth.
My mom had the sunniest smile. She always found ways to make things better. From scraped knees to broken hearts, my mom had always been there for me, and now, alone and frightened, I wanted my mom more than anything. I needed her to brush back my hair and wipe aside my tears. I needed to hear that everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn’t.
The facility wasted not a second in their transformation to mold me. I was only allowed a few hours of sleep that first night before I was awakened by the blaring of a horn. It bounced off the walls in my tiny room, and I bolted up from bed with my heart in my throat. The alarm was followed immediately by what sounded like multiple doors unlocking. The clanking echoed down the corridor outside my now open door.
I was already used to a strict regime. It was how the Deen household was run, so falling into the routine the facility had in place was natural for me. Bedtime, mealtime, and training were precisely to the minute, the same time each day, every day.
Yep. Seven. Days. A. Week.
No holidays.
No vacation.
No day of rest.
The other recruits and I moved robotically day after day. And socializing with each other was a big no-no. The facility kept us engaged in fighting, demon education, and weapon training, and then we went to bed bone-tired. Each night it felt like I’d been beaten to a pulp. My body was used to being pushed, but nothing like this. I would close my eyes, and, like Groundhog Day, when I woke up, I’d do it all again.
Some nights I prayed that I wouldn’t wake up.
The facility had made me their bitch.
I was put through grueling paces that left my body bruised, worn, battered, and scarred. Eventually those scars and bruises turned to me into a hardass, and with each day that passed I began to lose more of myself. I began to forget those promises I’d made to myself that first night. I lost sight of those I’d wanted to protect and became so consumed with my training and becoming the best student. The best hunter.
It was a lot easier to lose focus on what I couldn’t see. Memories began to fade, feelings began to dwindle. No pictures to be reminded of the faces I once loved, the faces I vowed to protect. There was no place for feelings or love at the facility. The only thing anyone there cared about was killing. Over time, I could no longer recall the scent of Travis’s skin, the color of his vibrant sea-green eyes, or the touch of his magical hands. The dimples I’d fallen in love with vanished.
Before life decided to blow up in my face, it was Travis’s voice I’d fallen asleep to. Now all I heard was the voice of my father pushing me further and further. Not necessarily a voice I wanted running through my head night and day, barking orders in my ear. Being his daughter gave me no perks. If anything, I was treated harsher, pushed harder, and I became mentally broken faster. It wasn’t long after my recruit that I no longer thought of him as my dad. He was the lead operator at the facility, the meat and bones of it all.
That was a heck of a pill to swallow.
Now I was fully immersed in the thick of the operation. I was too exhausted to even dream, and the rare occasions where I did were anything but pleasant. The things I’d seen, the pleas I’d heard, and the crap I’d done were Etch-A-Sketched into my brain. When I closed my eyes at night, all I saw was pain, all I heard was screaming, and all at my hands.
Yeah, so I pretty much avoided sleep like the black plague.
Throwing my hair in a messy twist, I stood in front of a small mirror as I prepared for my first field lesson.
This should be fun.
The first rule in demon hunting was…kill or die.
Poetic, I know.
As I stared at my reflection, the girl in the mirror looked unfamiliar to me. Dressed in black cargo pants and a tank top, I looked far more confident and badass than I felt. My eyes were hard and sharp like broken green glass. My pink lips were turned down in a frown. There was nothing happy or free spirited about me. I looked like a girl on the brink of adulthood with a giant chip on her shoulder.
My reflection frightened me.
I wasn’t sure what to except on my first real hunt, but it hadn’t been this. Literally, I was booted off the truck and rolled smack dab into the middle of Bumpkinville. Getting to my feet, I dusted off my pants and glared at the taillights of the truck speeding off in the distance, a smoky trail of dirt in its tracks. Figured their so-called lesson would involve me on my own in miles upon miles of cornfields.