𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

XXXII

I sigh and turn to the wall. I take a finger out from under the covers and press it against the wall—as if I'm pressing up against a window to the real world, something so close yet so out of reach. I stare at my finger. My working, perfectly straight finger. I stare at it because you wouldn't have guessed that only a week ago it was severed open to soak in acid and expected to heal. It did.

i-m-i-s-k-y-i-o the guard goes. I stare at my finger pressed against the wall for so long that I begin to tap back. .. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..- I correct softly. I-m-i-s-s-y-o-u.

The guard stops abruptly. I stiffen, tightening the thin blanket around me. I clutch the blade close to me. I wait for the guard to check on me, to refill my sedatives. But he doesn't. He doesn't say anything. And A few minutes later, I heard the first file of steps. It's 3:00 am.

I'm not there, not fully, when they reach me.  I can't tell you who I am anymore,  but I can tell you that the nurses turned all my lights on. I can tell you they were wearing strange suits, gas masks, and thick gloves. I can tell you a guard held the door open for them. Can tell you he shared the same face as Xander.  I can tell you they took six minutes and thirty-seven seconds to roll me through the vacated hallways to Dr. Martinez's room.  I can tell you she started the tape after putting the paralysis sedatives in my mouth. I can tell you I didn't swallow them. I can tell you I didn't cry. I can tell you that much.

Tick, tock, tick, tock the clock tormented. But I could hardly hear it through the voices in my head, the voice in my head. I don't want to hurt people, I swear I don't want to hurt people. But Henry's voice replays in my head like a broken record. The world has already hurt you. Even in my head, I try to fight it. Don't you want to survive–to destroy—this world that keeps trying to destroy you?

I watched as Dr. Martinez spoke to the camera, updating her research. Just because I'm discarded doesn't mean I don't have a heart, I try to reason with him—with myself. I watch as one by one, nurses in protective gear flee the room. Aren't you tired? Henry's voice asks me. I listen to Dr. Martinez give the date, the time, my patient number. I watched her share her hypothesis. I listen to the words she speaks, words that I've never been allowed to be anything but. Disease, monster, abomination—I hear these words and I realize that no, there's no point in being anything else than what they want to see. This woman that has starved me, burned me, slapped me, handcuffed me, cut me, stolen from me, cared for me, and broken me—she was never satisfied. I doubted she ever will be. So I say yes. Yes, Henry. I'm so very tired my love. So very tired.

I take a deep breath. Hello, world. It's three am, Dr. Martinez informs the viewers. Her back is to me, and I grip the hilt of Mattheos knife. The same knife I've been clinging to my chest since he left. The same knife I've been too scared to let go of, in fear of it vanishing. My name is Jane Ivers. My chest rises and falls rapidly as she makes my way, preheating the burner next to me. You will not hurt me again. I lift the knife. Dear world, I am real. This is when she turns.  And I am coming for revenge.

"Jane," She stills, an edge to her voice. She eyes the knife in my hand and puts her hands up in defense. "Jane, put the knife down." She tries to reason with me, the calm in her voice cracking. I shake my head. Instead, I drop all the pills in my hand. All the pills are designed to keep me still while they use my body again and again, all in the name of science. All in the name of justice. "Jane, stop this. You're no monster—"

A laugh teases its way up my throat. "Aren't I?" She backs away, just as I step forward. "Aren't I, mom?"

She stops. Stops moving. Stops talking. Stops breathing. Her chest doesn't even fall, it just stays put. She doesn't blink, either. Like this was a surprise—for both of us. Like she's buried the truth so deep, told the lie so well, so often, that she believed it, too. "What are you talking about, Jane?" She lets out a quivering laugh.