They had to leave that afternoon. Andrea sat on her bed with her legs crisscrossed, her lunch on her lap, her stomach rumbled in hunger.
She ate as she read a book, the faint sound of ‘Experience' by Ludovico Einaudi playing.
As she was done devouring her food she placed the empty tray on her nightstand. She pulled off her sweater as she walked into the bathroom and she saw herself from the wall mirror.
Scars splattered across her abdomen. She feared to turn around to see the ones on her back which were much worse.
Handful of people considered scars as both a citation of dignity for what they had overcome and a roadmap of where they'd come from, an outline that could enable and encourage others to bypass move on faster.
But to her they were just scrapes that held horrifying visions to the past, visions that just demonstrated how vulnerable and frightened she was inside.
None of them were her doings. These where the results of training with Marcela.
Maybe she deserved it.
She changed back into the official uniform. When put on her wrist gun she was reminded of Fruedo.
Images of his dead body tinkered in her mind. She marveled if there might've been a chance that he might be alive, and the chance was low, almost zero.
He could've been an outstanding asset for her, practically better than Casper.
Nevertheless, Marcela always told her that the best people to work with and against are the one you know best.
However, she knew people with one glance at their face, their manner, the way they communicate, what they wear, what, and how they dine.
She discovered how to analyze each person in minutes, find their weaknesses and use their strengths against them.
Since of course many of our biggest strengths is our biggest weaknesses.