Perfect Flaws

23. Trifling Mind Games

Elijah

I haven't slept.

Not one hour. Not even for half an hour. It's been a day and I have no fucking clue where she is. I don't know if something has happened, but I'm trying my best to act like I don't care.

My own mind is trying to lie to me.

I feel like my mind is crawling out of my body, like a spider on a wall waiting to be squished.

How hilarious, moments in my life find themselves in a loop.

People in my life just leave.

A repeating occurrence, practically natural. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if Dal left.

My back aches from sitting on my couch for so long. Even Nala is worried at this point, she keeps coming by me to check if I'm okay.

She sits her chin on my knee, while I continue to pet her head.

"Fuck this," I whisper, getting up from my couch.

I'm not going to sit here and think about her. She sure as hell didn't care enough for me, so why should I?

I hear a creaking from my front door, as Dal steps in. "Wow, you're up," he jokes.

Without a glance at him, I walk over to my room, opening up my closet. I grab my duffel bag and sneakers, making my way back into the living room.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Training."

"Hell no, you were just shot like four days ago," he reprimands.

"And? I've got forty-seven slashes on my back. What the hell is a bullet?" Nala walks over to sit next to Dal.

Dal's jaw ticks, "Look I get you're in a teenage heartbreak, but you still need to heal. A breakup doesn't magically make you terminator."

"We weren't in a relationship."

"Could have fooled me. If I didn't interrupt, you were seconds away from swallowing her whole."

"I'm training. Either come with, or babysit Nala."

He sighs, pissed off for no apparent reason. "Sorry princess, your dad is a fucking lunatic," he complains, petting her back.

I begin to walk out of the door, stopping to say goodbye to my dog, and onto the sidewalk. "Slow down!"

I huff, "Hurry the fuck up!"

______

I may have underestimated how wounded I actually was. Every punch I throw at my punching bag completely fucking hurts.

My skin stretche- tears actually. I already had to change my patch once. If Dal saw how much blood was leaking he'd have my ass on a hospital bed.

However, I'm stubborn. Probably too stubborn. Training is keeping my mind off of the not named.

In the corner of my eyes I see five kids around the ages of nine to thirteen. They each drag a mat behind them, with a dagger in their other hand.

I don't discard the noticeability of their misery. Each and every one of them look exhausted, dull, and lifeless.

I know their routines in and out. Dal, Kins, and I all went through it. Of course Kins didn't level up to riskier missions, but if those kids live, they will.

The saddest part? That's if they live. If they can handle any more than what they're doing right now.

All of us live near each other. We're hidden, and none of us know each other's addresses, except Dal and I.