Final Truth

Chapter 9: Mind Surgery

Julia's point of view:

"Wake up," a bitter and irritated voice rouses me the next morning.

I open my eyes and see Peter standing above me, a cruel look on his face.

"Come on you lazy, good for nothing; it's already 4:30 in the morning. You should be grateful I let you sleep this late. Now...
GET UP! He yells, jerking me up off the ground by my still injured wrist, likely ruining what Steven did to fix it.

I bite my tongue to not cry out, trying not to show weakness.

I cannot be weak today, for today I will have to take another test. I can't fail.

"I'm sorry, Julia," I hear Felicity whisper to me from her cell, her apology hinting at whatever horror I will experience today.

"Keep your mouth shut!" Peter yells at her, taking a whip from his pocket and swiping it across the bars of her cell, the noise ear-splitting and scary enough to make Felicity draw back in fear.

"Let's go," Peter says to me, taking me out of my cell and leading me down the hall to where the laboratory is.

I look at his features, his newly golden eyes alien on him and more frightening than Henley's. His brown eyes reflected kindness, but these gold ones reflect madness.

I skid my feet to a stop, forcing a halt on both of us.

"What are you doing?" Peter asks angrily.

"How could you forget who you are? How could you forget me? Our friends? Our home?" I demand, my voice shaking.

"I know who I am, now let's go!" He orders me, his golden eyes practically radiating terror.

I swallow the fear.

"No Peter, you don't! You look me in my eyes right now and tell me you don't! Look at my memories of us, for I have so many! You look at those right now with your stupid invasive power and tell me you don't know who you are," I demand, my voice quivering with authority.

"Your memories are fake," Peter answers simply, refusing to break.

"Damn you Peter, I can't make up a memory! You look at me right now and tell me that you remember who I am!" I plead with him, feeling my soul starting to crack under the emotional baggage I've been keeping inside.

My friends and family are likely dead. Peter's all I have left, and I can't let him get away from me as well. It's all too painful.

"Your baggage is your own fault," he says, reading my mind. "You're pathetic and sad, and you deserve everything that's coming to you."

With one last huff of defiant defeat, I let him take me into the laboratory, his words stinging terribly.

"You're late," Henley says to Peter, not even bothering to look up from the clipboard in her hands.

"I apologize, Ms. Collins," he says, sounding robotic with his forced apologies.

He releases me, and I clutch my injured wrist as I make my way over to the glass case.

"Good morning, Julia. I trust that having yesterday off was beneficial, because today you will need strength to get through this test. Even though you will fail, this will still be a heavy burden. However, that's what makes this fun for me at least," Henley gloats, her smile looking so out of place on her face.

Everything about Henley is wrong; she has not one black hair out of place, not one stray line of makeup, all her nails filed down perfectly, and not one trace of humanity. Flaws are what make people beautiful, but immaculate perfection is what makes monsters.