Hey everyone! Hope you're doing okay and you enjoy this chapter! What did you think of the last one? Do you think the plan will run smoothly? What do you think's going to happen? ;) As always, don't forget to vote & comment.
Love, Lily xox
P.S.: In the side is a drawing I did of Andy for my sister @AliceGoneMad666 ;)
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Listlessly, I stared down at the untouched bowl of soup in front of me. The hours had dragged by until suppertime; this afternoon I'd been assigned to dishwashing, but they sent me away after less than an hour because I'd been so agitated I ended up dropping two plates. So I had spent the rest of the evening in training with the mindset that maybe physical exercise would take my mind of things and help me get prepared for tomorrow. The only things I ended up achieving were making myself angry and accidentally punching Jinxx in the face.
From across the table, I heard him make a joke about it to the person seated next to him.
“Hey, you shouldn't've sneaked up behind me!” I put on a jovial voice, hoping it was convincing.
He rubbed at his jaw like it was sore, but I hadn't hit him that hard. “I was only trying to tell you it was time for dinner – you were so crazy focused on that punchbag you didn't even hear me!”
I forced a laugh and shrugged, but otherwise didn't counter him. Besides, Vic had just sat down near him and they'd struck up a conversation; I went back to being mute, wrapped up in my own thoughts.
The what if's constantly running through my head were driving me crazy – all the worrying was making my head hurt, but I couldn't turn my thoughts off no matter how hard I tried. I needed a different distraction, something bigger.
Still the meal continued without change. The only difference from normality was that most were more subdued, worried about what tomorrow would bring. My meal remained uneaten; my stomach was churning too much for me to be remotely hungry anyway. When everyone had finally finished and we were leaving the hall, I looked around for my friends but found them all otherwise occupied; CC, Suki and Jake were deep in conversation, heading towards the meeting room with a determined air; Alice and Ashley were laughing over some joke, and Jinxx and Sammi were both with different groups of people, overly animated and very obviously ignoring each other. I sighed, and turned off down an empty corridor on my own. I wasn't really sure where I was going, but I knew that I had to find something to distract me; maybe some exploring would help take my mind off things.
There was a call from behind me. “Hey, Mal; wait up!”
Turning, I saw Ben making his way down the corridor. He seemed as laid-back as ever, smiling lazily at me.
Outside of the occasional passing comment, I'd never really talked to Ben, much less been on my own with him. I slowed, curious as to what he wanted. “Hey, Ben. What's up?”
“Oh, nothing, you know, just trying not to thing about our impending doom,” he joked. “Want to kill some time?”
I was intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”
After catching up with me, he slowed his pace to mine. He grinned. “Follow me.”
Oh, what the hell. We walked slowly, making small talk. After a few minutes we came to the hospital wing. I frowned in confusion, but Ben was already going inside.
The room was empty; Austin was nowhere to be seen, which was unusual. Ben crossed over to the shelving on the far wall and retrieved a large, unmarked book, a black marker pen, a cloth bag and some weird machine I couldn't describe if you'd paid me.
“What is that?”
He set it down on one of the mattresses and sat down next to it. “It's a tattoo needle. I was thinking, seeing as you're a virgin--”
“Um, what?” I followed his actions and seated myself on the opposite mattress.
“An ink virgin,” he clarified, smirking. “It might be cool for you to get a tattoo done. Nearly all of us have them, and they're all done by me, the resident artist.” He pulled a face. “If you want to, that is. It's just that, well, tomorrow . . .”
I looked at the machine. The needle looked big. And sharp. “I don’t know – doesn’t it hurt?” Realizing I sounded stupid, I tried elaborating, “I mean, what with tomorrow, I don’t want to injure myself before we’ve even started.”
Ben shrugged, “That’s true. I didn’t think of that.” He laughed but it sounded kind of sad, “I don’t know, I just . . .”
“Tell you what,” I interjected, “If you draw a design for me and if we make it back alive, I’ll be your personal canvas. Think of it as insurance. Deal?”
He looked up through his sandy bangs and smiled a little. “Deal.”
To break the silence that ensued, I joked, “Well, get to it then. I’m expecting a masterpiece.”
“Hey, you can’t rush genius.” He threw back, but balanced his open notebook on his knees. Pen held aloft, he looked back up at me with a now thoughtful expression. “So, what sort of thing do you want? Make it good, it’s gonna be on you for the rest of your life.”
“Something . . . something inspirational. Something that gives me hope whenever I look at it.”
“Okay, care to be a little more specific? Like, what sort of thing do you want to represent that; an image, words, both? Big and bold or delicate? Colour or black and white? Where are you gonna have it?”
“I was thinking some words with an image, something meaningful. Like, I don’t know, some words that reflect what I want to be or something.” The privacy of my inner thoughts was coming out here and I was more than a little embarrassed by it. “I don’t know. Maybe it could be on my arm or shoulder, somewhere visible. And definitely colour. I’m sick of black.”
He was making notes on the paper in front of him, but laughed at this. “I know how you feel. Sometimes I wish we wore red or something. Not as good a camouflage, but a hell of a lot more motivating.”
“Right,” I nodded, grinning. “So, got any ideas?”
“A few. These words you were talking about . . . you want anything in particular? Like, you said they should represent how you want to be. How do you want to be?”
I swallowed. “I want to be strong and brave, and do the right thing always. I want to know good from bad and I want the ability to choose either. I want to be free from F.E.A.R. and to be utterly my own person. I want to have good relationships with those around me and love and be loved in equal measure.” I realized suddenly how much I’d said; these were things I’d never voiced aloud before. Heat rose in my cheeks. “I mean, I don’t know. I thought—”
“No, no, it’s cool,” Ben reassured me, “I can work with this. It’s really good. Really.” He smiled again.
“Right.” I was more than a little relived that he didn’t mock me. If it had been his brother, Danny wouldn’t have hesitated to make some cutting remark. But it was Ben and his hair fell into his eyes as he began to draw, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration. I couldn’t see what he was drawing but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.
There was quiet for a while, bar the brush of pen on paper. I brought my knees to my chest and rocked back and forth a little.
“What do you think will happen tomorrow?” I asked him to fill the quiet.
“I don't know,” he admitted, eyes on his work. “I'm trying not to think about it too much. I'll drive myself crazy otherwise.”
I laughed softly. “I know what you mean; I can't stop obsessing over the ways it could go wrong.”
Ben stopped and looked up at me. “You shouldn't; worrying won't change a thing. What happens, happens.”
“I guess,” I conceded. “But that doesn't mean I can just switch off my thoughts.”
He clicked his tongue. “Well, try.”
Maybe Ben was trying to avoid the subject because of his own anxiety, but his curtness was irritating me and that only added to my bad mood. I stood up. “Okay, well, I’m going now. Wouldn’t want to disturb you or anything. Let me know when you’ve finished.”
“Hey, what?” He looked up, distracted from his work. “Where are you going? C’mon, Mal, keep me company. Gets awful lonely down here.” There was a teasing tone to his voice, but his eyes said that there was some truth to the words.
Relenting, I sat down again. It would be unfair to leave Ben on his own just out of spite when I had nowhere else to be and no-one else to hang out with. Besides, like he’d said, this place did get lonely when you had no one to talk to. I could definitely relate. “Sorry. I’m just in such a weird place right now, my brain’s just about fried.”
He didn’t look up from his drawing, but carefully said, “You want to talk about it?”
“I . . . nah, it’s alright. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”
“Your problems are not a burden, Mal.” To emphasize this, he put his notebook to the side deliberately and looked right at me. “I’ll listen, even if no-one else will.”
He stared at me with a look I couldn’t define, but it definitely made me uneasy. I looked down and realised he’d taken my hand in his. He was leaning forwards and looking at me so intently I began to feel my face heat up. Oh, shit, I realized, working it out.
“Look, Ben . . .” I tried to be carful with my words and my tone, but he saw my expression and his face dropped. I extracted my hand from his. “I’m sorry. I don’t – I’m not—”
“It’s fine. No worries.” His tone was easy and he smiled at me, leaning back again.
“It’s not that I don’t like you, Ben, as a person. But I don’t feel like that.”
“I get it. Really, Mal, you don’t have to explain yourself.”
But I feel like I should. I know how much rejection hurts and I would never want to inflict that pain on another being. “I think I’m too – I mean, I'm sixteen.'' I echoed Andy’s reasoning for not wanting me.
''Excellent observation.'' However, Ben seemed undeterred.
''So you're not worried about the age difference?''
''Why would I be?'' he shrugged, "We could die any minute. Why should we have to deny ourselves of the things we want? It’s stupid.”
I couldn't think of a retort to that. “That’s true, but at the end of the day, Ben, my feelings are directed elsewhere.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Name and shame, dude.”
Blushing, I realized too late that that revelation may have been a mistake. “I – I’m going now, okay? I don’t want to impose, just let me know if and when you’ve finished the design, okay?”
He didn’t argue with my leaving, but didn’t buy the distraction. “C’mon, tell me. What am I gonna do about it anyway? Nothing.”
I had started to move towards the door, but stopped to look back over my shoulder. “Okay, here’s the deal. If I tell you, will you convince Danny to let me be the one to rescue my family?”
Once more he was the laid-back, grinning Ben I was familiar with. “Convincing Danny to do something is like trying to convince a rock to produce water. You drive a hard bargain, Miss Mason, but I’ll see what I can do. Now, tell all.”
I turned back around so my face wouldn't give me away. “Let’s just say that there’s a significant reason I’m going on this rescue mission.” I waited a few moments for him to work it out.
Ben gave a low whistle. “Oh, seriously? Damn.”
“Yeah, seriously.” I said more to myself than to him as I left the room.
~*~
(A.N.: Just to clarify, it's the next day now)
Andy’s skin was on fire; his mouth was so dry it had near enough gone numb. He didn’t think he had the ability to speak; if he’d tried, it would have earned him another stripe across his back anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he longingly gazed at the water fountain just across the square.
This morning, after Andy had finally been thrown back into his cell, he’d been there for no more than ten minutes before he was being dragged out again; he’d demanded to know where he was being taken, which had earned him a slap so hard that the cuts on his face had re-opened and swollen nastily.
The light of the day had damn near blinded him as soon as they’d hauled him outside; straight away, he’d been tied to a newly set up post in the middle of the square, bound by his wrists so he hugged the jagged wood. People stared and cried out at the sight. Andy knew he must look a real mess, bruised and battered and broken. The whipping had certainly added to that image, but Andy hadn't let himself scream. Every crack of the whip had brought a pain so fierce it was like burning alive, but he used it to remind himself he was still alive. Just about.
The sun beat mercilessly down onto his bare torso; his skin was turning to livid blisters and his wounds peeled and cracked. The salt in his sweat stung at the cuts but the pain was nothing compared to yesterday. Every noise was a stab to his skull. The light was so bright he could barely open his eyes, but he knew that if he did all he would see was the post he was chained to and passers-by regarding him like some dangerous animal in a zoo. For the most part they kept their distance, but one particularly bold woman had approached the minions guarding him to ask who he was. Though they were supposed to be emotionless, it seemed that the one who spoke took particular relish in telling her about their capture and defeat of the most notorious rebel of all of them – the leader. Andy hadn't looked up from where he knelt in the dust, hadn't tried to defend himself, and though he loathed his own weakness he didn't know if he had enough energy to withstand another vicious lashing.
A weight on his leg followed by searing pain brought him back to the present. He bit the inside of his mouth so hard he tasted blood. Looking up, he saw the minions walking away; one of them had ‘accidentally’ stood on his calf. Wow, I must be looking pretty fucking pitiful if they don’t feel the need to even guard me.
It was then he caught the eye of a young boy on the other side of the town square, filling a bottle with water from the fountain. The kid looked maybe eight, with a mop of curly ink-colored hair and gangly, freckled limbs. He was staring at Andy with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Andy watched as the kid glanced, left, then right before shuffling gingerly towards the whipping post. The square wasn't busy, but there were no minions in sight and those who were present weren't paying any attention. Andy guessed that in a place like this, keeping your head down and your nose out of other people’s business was the only way to survive.
The kid finally stopped a meter or so away from Andy. He visibly swallowed, eyes wide and horrified as he took in Andy’s battered form. “Are you okay?”
Andy almost laughed, but didn't want to upset the kid. “Never better. Yourself?” When he got the words out, they scraped his throat and escaped in a barely audible wheeze.
The boy stared, dumbfounded. Andy said, “Look, kid . . . they won’t like it if they see you talking to me. Best—” he broke off in a spluttering cough. His throat was sandpaper, dry as the desert dirt beneath him.
It was then that a metal bottle appeared under his nose. He could see water glistening inside, hear it slosh against the walls of the bottle. Pain spiked in his gut.
Wordlessly, the boy pressed the bottle to Andy’s lips. The cool freshness of the water gliding over the sandpaper of his throat made Andy want to cry, it was so good. The bottle wasn't taken away, and he drank and drank until it was empty.
Water dripped down his chin and onto the ground. He looked up at the boy. “Thank you.”
The boy blurted, “Do you know my sister?”
Andy frowned. “Sorry?”
“I said, do you—”
“Hey!” Andy’s head shot up to see the minions who’d been guarding him running across the square. People turned and stared. “Step away from the prisoner!”
The boy’s eyes were wide with horror. Andy quickly said, “Kid, what’s your name?”
“O-Oliver.”
“Oliver, do yourself a favor right this second and ru—” Andy was interrupted with the solid metal of a staff hitting him squarely in the jaw. He saw white stars exploding in front of his eyes.
This time, when Andy looked down, it was blood dribbling to the dirt.
Oliver’s cry pierced the air. The minion was bodily dragging him away. His eyes met Andy’s. “Please – keep my sister safe!”
Andy wanted to call after him, ask him what the hell he was talking about, scream at the minion to get its fucking hands off the kid, to please just do Andy the favor of death already, but he knew it would be futile.
Bizarrely, he felt the rope slacken. They’d cut him away from the post and began to drag him along the ground.
“Get up!” A voice above him roared. A foot connected with his ribs. “Get up!”
Andy tried, he really did. But his legs were too weak to carry him and he found himself stumbling along like a baby deer. Citizens had come out of their houses as they pulled Andy down one street; they stood and stared as the whole grisly procession went on past. Andy looked up; he saw faces at windows, children pointing, horrified expressions. Bitterly, he wished he could stand up straight and look undefeated, but he’d never been one for pretenses. Where he was being taken now, he didn't know; and if he was honest, didn't really care. He was starting to hope all of it would be over soon, cowardly as the thought was.
He was shoved into the sand face first; his dry mouth tasted sand, blood and failure.
The speakers crackled to life. When The Monarch spoke, he sounded particularly smug. “Rebels: here lies your lost cause."
Mallory had been right; all he was was a coward. Andy pressed his face into the dirt and wished for the sweet mercy of death.