“Will you ever let go?”
I gritted my teeth to keep from spewing the hateful words I felt from my gut and the black hole some called a heart. “No. Keeping my hatred reminds me of what you’ve done. That’s something I never want to forget.”
*
She’s crying again. She was always crying.
If she didn’t stop, they would punish her, and when they grew tired of punishing her, they would make me kill her. That was the way it had been for the last two years. I was in charge of killing the prospects as they called us. It was my ‘reward’ for doing such a great job.
I hated my reward.
I hated killing.
But I could never let them see what it did to me. The hardest part of doing everything they told me was pretending to like it. Every day was colder than the last. At least that’s the way I felt inside.
I swung my legs over my dirty, hard cot, and when my feet hit the concrete, I used my toes to grip the cold ground for balance. It was late, and I was barely fed because the trainers decided to leave a little less for us to eat that night. Even though I was treated better than many of the other underperforming prospects, sometimes I still starved like the rest.
I made my way over to her cot. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see her cradling her arm to her chest.
I knew something bad happened to her. She’d only been here less than a week and had more beatings than I’ve had for the last eight years.
“You need to stop crying… now,” I ordered harshly when she continued to vocally shed her pain.
She flinched at the sound of my voice and scrambled up from her prone position to face me. Her cries only increased in volume as I approached, so I stopped and watched her watch me. She stared at me with fear apparent in her eyes, and even though I felt the same, I couldn’t share her feelings.
“P—please don’t hurt me.”
“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have waited and put the pillow over your head in your sleep.” Her eyes widened at my threat. “I will still hurt you though if you don’t stop crying.”
“I’m sorry. It just h—hurts so bad.”
I peered down at the dirty and bruised arm she held that was swollen and red. “What happened to your arm?”
“The big man with the red hair yanked it, and now I think I broke it.”
“Well, you’ve got to stop crying anyway.”
“I can’t. It hurts.”
“They’ll do much worse to you,” I whispered harshly. I knew why I was angry, but I didn’t know why I cared.
“Why are you so mean?” She pouted.
“Because I have to be.”
“Why?”
“If I don’t, I’ll die. I can’t be weak. I’ll never let them see. Never.”
She chewed on her lip as she watched me with a curious expression. “You don’t act right. Not like me.”
I didn’t bother to argue because she was right. I was one of the few whose life began here and even some of the others didn’t survive long. I picked up words and actions from the trainers and workers in the compound. Anything else, like toys and video games, I learned about from kids who brought them here from their homes. It was how I learned not all the parents were giving away their kids. Some of them were stolen.
Like her.
“My mommy says all kids are angels.”
“Your mother is wrong. I’m no angel.”
“Did your mommy and daddy lose you, too?”
“No… they left me here.” Frank always made it a point to remind us that our parents never wanted us so they left us here.
“Were you being bad?”
“You ask too many questions.” I looked over her arm even though I didn’t really know what I was looking for. I’ve seen plenty enough broken limbs to be able to tell that hers wasn’t broken. It was bruised and swollen, but that was it. She finally quieted down enough, and when the silence between us stretched too long, I turned on my heel and started back for my cot, but her next question stopped me.
“What’s your name?” she called out.