I Am A Monster

I Am A Monster : Chapter 45

Chapter 45

I wake up to the feeling of someone shaking me roughly by the shoulders, along with the sound of chains clashing madly. My eyes flutter open, and I see Amari sitting over me, her raven-black hair in its usual high pony. There is a new cut on her shoulder and her left foot is sitting cautiously on the floor, as though made of dynamite. Her hands are still in shackles, which explains the chains clashing.

"Bree," she whispers, "Bree, it's okay. We're okay. They're coming for us."

"How do you know?" I croak, trying to sit up. She shuffles backwards, careful not to move her left leg, but she winces nonetheless. "What happened to your leg?" I add, gesturing towards her leg with my hand.

"I think I sprained my ankle," she says, putting one of her strong hands on her ankle and grimacing.

I wince in sympathy. "You okay?"

"I'll manage." It doesn't really answer my question, but I decide not to push her.

I close my eyes, willing away the sudden tears. I've been crying too much lately. Way, way too much. But the pain in my arm is dizzying. The entire right side of my body feels tender and weak, my arm feeling like the iron is still pressing into it. I manage to open my eyes, my teeth grit and my lips compressed into a tight line as I try not to let out the scream that's building in my throat.

"You must be tired," Amari says suddenly.

I frown at her, confused, but she doesn't listen. She looks fragile. Very fragile. It's the only thing that keeps me from protesting as she gently pushes me to the cold, hard stone floor. They must have placed us in the same cell. They must not have realized.

I'm not remotely tired, I think to myself as I lie down on the floor; the next thing I know, I'm dreaming.

* * *

This time, I'm dreaming of the future--at least, I think it is.

My arm is aching, but the ache is dull and it's like my arm is in a different dimension. I ignore the throb, looking ahead, because what I see is paralyzing, shocking, making me so on edge that I feel like grinding my nails in my teeth like the animated characters do in the movies when they're nervous.

I'm in a room the size of a normal-sized living room. But that's not the thing that catches my eye.

Amari is battling fiercely with a blond boy. His skin is tan and he's well-toned, his muscles rippling as he aims punch after punch at Amari, who retaliates with, if possible, even more force. She punches him in the mouth, and he immediately returns the blow to her arm; she dodges out of the way like a cat, alert and suspicious, landing on her feet and snarling fiercely.

She pulls out her blade, but he knocks it out of her hand and it clatters uselessly to the floor. He dives to the floor, his arm shooting out at the blade, but Amari kicks the blade away carelessly and grabs him by the lapels. He aims a clumsy punch at her cheek, and his fist manages to hit its mark; Amari is caught off guard, and her hands slacken on his jacket. He slides to the floor and leaps to his feet, aiming a punch at her gut. She tries to dodge, but with his other hand he grabs her arm and yanks her in front of his fist at the last second. She doubles over, and he gives her a strong uppercut to the jaw. Bruises are already blossoming on his own jawline. One of his eyes is pink and puffy. Amari falls to the floor, struggling to get up, but before she can he punches her in the shoulder. She winces and scrambles backwards, climbing to her feet, a shadow of bruises in the shape of someone's knuckles patterned across her jaw. Her expression is laced with anger.

She aims a fast, short, powerful to his leg, and he returns the blow unflinchingly. Amari gasps. I hear a crunching sound in her leg where he punched her a split second later, and she crumples to the floor, breathing fast, shallow, ragged breaths. Her eyes flutter closed, shut tight, as she grimaces from the pain. The blonde punches her in the head, and she crumples and slumps sideways, her face a lot paler than usual. A final breath escapes, and then she goes limp.

"Amari!" I scream.

The prophecy will come true at the beginning of thirty.

* * *

My eyes snap open and I lurch forwards. A scream slips through my mouth before I can stop it. I'm breathing fast, my shirt drenched in sweat; my face, my arms, and my legs are all covered in a thin, cold sheen of it, and I'm hot and uncomfortable.

I hear the sound of clothes rustling next to me. The usual light is on in the halls, flooding the cell with light.

"What is it?" Amari demands, shaking me; her shackles jingle loudly. "Is someone there?" She looks around wildly, as if expecting to see someone hiding in the shadows, slinking like a fugitive.

"N-nothing," I stutter. "J-just a--just-t a--just-t a d-drea--just a dream."

"Bree, you're shaking like crazy. What was the dream about?"

Amari tries to rub my shoulder comfortingly, but I pull away. I don't want any contact with anyone right now; I would much have preferred to be in solitude, if the choice were up to me.

"D-don't..."

"Why not?" Amari asks, withdrawing her hand. I can hear the hurt feelings in her voice and see it in her face.

"I--I--it was about--about you," I admit, looking down. My eyes study my thumbs, and I twiddle them, staring down at them instead of at Amari before continuing in a constricted, toneless voice, "You were...dead. It was...about...a--a prophecy...that I...that I said...."

Amari freezes. I can see she's trying to control her emotions, rein them in before they get out of hand, as she slowly turns towards me.

"I was...dead?" she questions. Like she hasn't heard me right.

I nod mutely, looking away from her.

"Who killed me?" she whispers, her hand resting on mine and giving it a small squeeze.

"A--a cute blonde dude," I say dumbly.

She laughs at my explanation and repeats my words back at me, a hint of amusement in her voice when she says, "A cute blonde dude? My god, Bree! I never thought---"

Blushing furiously, I clap my hand quickly over her mouth and hear her quiet, muffled laugh into my hand.

"Mmm--"

"Shudup!" I whisper furiously, and, despite the situation, she giggles.

I've never heard Amari giggle before, and the sound is so unlike her that I find myself lowering my hand. She playfully punches me in the shoulder, but with Amari, it still feels like her hand is made of iron. I realize I'm wincing in spite of myself.

Then the doors of the cell burst open, shackles are slapped onto my wrist before I can register who it is, and I'm grabbed my the back of my shirt and pulled towards the cell door. I struggle, hearing the small tears of the fabric of my shirt, but then nails dig into my collarbone, and I capitulate and allow the person to tow me out of the cell and to my ultimate doom (excuse my use of melodramatic...ism...? In the words ultimate doom, I mean).

This chapter is dedicated to my readers. I couldn't have done this without you.