To say that living our lives was a burden would be a gross understatement.
We would spend hours upon hours learning from these men as they taught us how to defend ourselves and how to hurt past the point of tears, but still remain standing. We were indoctrinated into the belief that all of this was for our own betterment; it was to produce children unquestionably loyal to the orphanage. We understood very little behind their reasoning of what they were doing to us, but any word that seemed to doubt their logic or how they raised us was only rewarded with something we already had too much of.
Because of this, I would see changes in my friends as they matured and became more aware of what truly was happening to them and to their friends. They became quieter, withdrawn, and accepted punishments or orders without questions.
Far too many times, I would see the children willing the darkness to take them; begging for an eternal sleep to take away their pain and living nightmare.
And out of all the orphans, those who left the white halls for darkened alleys and crowed warehouses to earn their keep were the ones I saw suffer most. Not only did they spend their days training with the rest of us, but they also had to stay out during the night until they had earned the required amount.
For years, I watched from the outside as they barely survived and cried to each other over the things they had experienced- some of the older girls had it comparatively worse; they didn't earn their money from bruises or broken ribs; no, they sold their bodies in another way.
But, today I will see what it is like from inside the ring of child street fighters.
"564," Mr. Evans appears in the doorway of the dormitories. Without a knock to warn us, we barely had time to stumble to where our mattresses lay before I stuffed the book from view ineloquently. My back presses heavily against the hard cover of The Angel's Plight, in order to conceal it from view, and I can feel the rough edges digging into my scarred back.
The man runs his eyes over the children scattered across the floor as he chooses his words quickly, with his stare coming to rest on me. "I need you to come with me."
521 throws me an anxious glance, and immediately his hand moves to the small of my back- both for comfort and to take the book to a new hiding spot. I turn my head slightly towards him and give a single nod of acknowledgement, standing up slowly. With my friend's gift of fluid movements, he is able to maneuver the contraband behind his own back, while still staying out of Lyle's sight expertly. I swallow despite my dry throat and move forward, avoiding the children's forms.
A few of the orphans peek up to watch me leave the room, but none of them intercede; I wouldn't expect them to; they know better than that.
As I reach Lyle at the door, he promptly grabs my upper arm and hauls me outside the dormitory. I flinch as he slams the door and tightens his grip on me. An entourage of guards is gathered in the hallway, each of them wearing a sidearm and a grim frown. I raise an eyebrow, more than curious about the extra security, but I know better than to ask what they are here for.
I am led down the hallway in a stony silence as my rebel eyes dare to steal a glance in both the direction of which we are headed and towards the men who surround me. It surprises me to find that quite a few of their faces are unfamiliar-perhaps they are all new recruits, simply being broken in with the simple task of escorting a defenseless orphan girl. I chance a second look at one of the ones closest to me, taking note of his pale blue eyes and wild red hair- in many respects, he is like me when I first arrived here; innocent, oblivious, ignorant. He is still fresh and untouched by the horrors here.
He must feel my stare on him as he flicks his own gaze to mine, locking eyes with me for a mere moment and exchanging a look of both curiosity and sympathy. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out; I want to tell him to run; to run so far away that these shadows will never touch him again... But, in this instance, a terrible thought crosses my mind.
How can I pity a man who is becoming a monster?
I feel the question burrow deeper in my heart as we come to a sudden stop, and the man- the boy- stumbles over his own feet. He turns red in the face and ears, moving his eyes from mine and towards the ground in order to avoid a hate-laden glance from Lyle and the colleague directly in front of him.
Yes, yes. I think, I can pity a man becoming a monster. I can pity the human who will be torn away.
Evans is opening a door for me, a single eyebrow crooked as he waves a hand for my attention. I snap my stare to him, noticing his impatient look grow quickly. "Any day now, 564," he practically growls, making me follow his unspoken orders without another hesitation.
Inside the room is a long table with chairs tucked behind it. The men that fill the seats are dressed in nice clothing, all suits and ties and reading glasses, and I can't help but notice that among them is Edward Carter- he is wearing a smile to match his attire. Mr. Lyle Evans joins us after shutting the door, pushing me forward roughly and standing to one side of the room quietly in observation.
There is an uncomfortable minute of silence as the sitting men shuffle their papers, folders, and pens, a few conversing in low tones as they prepare for whatever sort of meeting I have been pulled into. Carter is the only one to remain still in his chair; he watches me with an almost sort of fascination, but his eyes betray another emotion- hatred. A burning enmity directed at me for no apparent reason. I cannot think of a single thing I could have done that might have caused his animosity for me.
Finally, Edward Carter clears his throat to eliminate the whispers being exchanged around him and places his hands on his own documents. I only notice now that there is a large stash of crumpled cash sitting in front of him. "Good evening, 564. I suppose that you are wondering why you are here tonight with these fine gentlemen." I fidget, seeing past his fancy talk and dashing smile. I can only expect that much of this conversation will not me directed at me, but rather it will focus on me.
"You have become a very strong, young girl- much more than any of your peers and even those that are older than you. Normally, you would simply continue your training with the others and learn more techniques until you were around fifteen. But, with your exceptional talent of adapting to this lifestyle, you have become something of a prodigy here, and with that comes extra responsibilities."
Panic has already begun to flood my chest as I realize exactly where this discussion is headed. I have no one to look to for help or support as a wave of anxiety and dread chills my blood.
"We have decided that you will be able to the join the older children outside the orphanage- working the streets to earn your keep and have a more hands-on experience with fighting and defending yourself." Carter watches me closely for a reaction, but somehow I doubt that my response was anything like what he expected.
I smile. Through the sinking feeling of terror and alarm, I fight to keep a brave face in front of these men. I daren't speak- even if I was stupid enough to try, no more than a breath would leave my lips.
Evans steps in, interrupting whatever was to be said next. "We expect you to bring home around $50 a night- no excuses. Along with this, we will grant you far more freedom in this orphanage as you will be able to leave training an hour early everyday to begin your fighting."
Carter nods before reaching under the elongated desk and retrieving a brown satchel, setting it in front of him. "You can have this to store your money in and whatever you think you need to bring along. If you lose it, you will be held responsible."
I can only bob my head once, the load of the information and duties suddenly seeming overwhelming. And suddenly, they are congratulating me. The orphanage's leaders plaster grins to their features and tell me what an honor this was; I should be grateful that they trusted me so completely.
I clench my hands into fists and remain quiet as he and the others begin to drone on about something or other- I can't seem to concentrate on the exact manner of their conversation. All that is ringing clear in my mind is that my whole life is about to change.
It was then that I became a street fighter.
I was eleven.
I was innocent and I was to become a monster like the men before me.
A/N Many apologies for such a late AND short chapter! Lots of things happening here... I will try to be better about my weekly updates now! You should note, the next chapters will be much later in Amelia's life- when she around 15/16. This is when much of her story begins to take shape and I believe that it will be more enjoyable to skip ahead a few years than boring you with minor details and such. If this were to be a published book, then you'd see a page specifically saying that time has passed :)
Also, in upcoming chapters, you will see something that was not mentioned in NOHW. It will become important for the Association's true motives/reasoning(s)/means for what they are doing to these children. In fact, the entire existence of the Association relies on what is to come, as it shows how these monsters have been able to operate without detection for so very long. In the edited version of NOHW (which I hope to publish one day) you will get some more insight on this and so many exclusive scenes!