I can’t recall a time he’s ever touched me unless it was for a purpose. But right now, the heat of his leg is pressed against mine, and it can’t be overlooked. I glance over at him, and he’s still watching me.
There’s a guilt and frustration in his eyes, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he leans a little closer, and his breath fans my face. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. My heart does a weird little flip, and I stare at him in confusion. I don’t know what he’s doing.
Apparently, neither does he. Because he looks as confused as I am. But his gaze isn’t on me now. It’s over my shoulder. Taking mental notes.
When I turn around, I catch sight of Scarlett and Rory across the bar. Sitting in the exact same position as we are. Rory is putting the moves on her, waiting for her to bite. And it occurs to me Ronan is trying to do the same.
“Are you mimicking him?” I ask.
A flush creeps up over his neck and he leans back in his chair. No answer. But what do I expect?
I could try to dissect his motives for following Rory’s lead, but that was the old me.
The new me isn’t supposed to care anymore.
“I’m going to have Conor take me home,” I tell him.
I don’t wait for his reply, and I don’t look at him again.
Childish? Perhaps. But a girl has to be able to protect herself by any means possible. Even if it means using a silent wall of armor.
And until I’m burning rubber out of this city, I have no intentions on speaking to Ronan Fitzpatrick again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ronan
“Your strength has progressed considerably,” Farrell observes.
I remain silent as I was taught to do. Head bowed, knees resting on a bed of broken glass. The same ritual the trainees perform every day.
The pain does not bother me anymore. After a while, it became second nature, just as Farrell said it would. My training is going well, according to him. He believes I’m stronger than the other lads, but it isn’t true.
I feel too much rage. That’s where my strength comes from. The rage. It builds up inside of me until there’s nowhere for it to go. I release it in small amounts when they let me. When they have me kill the men they send into the pit. It usually works. But I can always feel it building inside of me, and I’m afraid that one day the small amount isn’t going to be enough.
They’ve stopped giving us the pills. A test of our loyalty. They question us. Beat us. Try everything to get us to break. They tell us we can have a pill if we just give them what they want. I can’t stop shaking. Or puking. My skin is covered with sweat, and I’m burning up from the inside.
I want the pill.
But I refuse to break. Farrell moves to the lad beside me. Alex. He’s smaller than me. Thinner. His body is slumped forward and his face is ashen. He wants the pill too. But Alex is smart. Smarter than me. He knows more about the outside world. He makes me question what they are teaching us here. He speaks of things that I try to block out.
It confuses and angers me. Sometimes, I just want him to stop. I tell him not to speak to me. But he does. And now I understand why we aren’t supposed to talk. Because I worry what they will do to him today. How much more he can take. He’s not my mate, but I don’t want him to die. Sometimes, that happens in training. Sometimes, the other lads die.
But it isn’t me. And that’s why bonds are forbidden. They aren’t supposed to matter. We should not be bothered if another lad dies because that means they were too weak to be a soldier. When I look at Alex, I do not see a soldier. I do not see him ever completing training. But I don’t want him to die.
He's the only person who’s spoken to me other than Farrell and Coyne. Sometimes, I think I’m going mad with nothing but the sound of my own thoughts. Down here in the dark, hungry and thirsty and tired all the time.
Alex makes me think that maybe I’m not going mad. But he says that’s what they want. If I’m mad, then nobody will ever fuck with me. That’s what he says. That’s how they keep the compound safe.
He tells me stories. Stories from books that he remembers. And they take me away from this place. I like his stories. But he couldn’t tell them to me for the last week because he’s not well. He’s been two days without water already.
But they just keep interrogating us. Trying to break us.
Asking us the same questions over and over. They say that if we are ever captured, they need to know we won’t break. So they keep at it. The only time it stops is when they turn out the lights and put those screams on the speakers again. And then the rats. So many rats. They crawl over our skin. They crawl on me everywhere.
Today Coyne choked us until we passed out. And then woke up. And then passed out. I haven’t a clue how long it went on for.