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"Sora?"

I wake with a start, sweat spilling down my skin, mixing with the thick hot stream of tears. My breathing echoes in the room, mingling with the sound of a clock ticking. I am shuddering with a ferocity as great as an earthquake. My eyes wildly search the room, certain Red Eyes is lurking in a corner, ready to launch himself at me once more. I imagine he is eager for another torturous encounter.

The room becomes doused in heat, turning a million degrees.

"Sora?" 

My eyes find nothing but dark corners of a stale room; there are no paintings hanging, nothing to stimulate my eyes.  Only pale walls and a concrete floor to match. I smell evergreens, trees from my home and a strong scent of a cold winter day in the woods. It screams home, but I know I am far from it.  

I know he is in the room with me, I can sense another body close by, even if I cannot see them yet.

Where is he?

Vivid pictures of Red Eyes drowning me, shooting me, taking my last breath with a laugh slipping from his lips come back to me in shattered, unorganized pieces. My memory is a broken mirror, and the pieces do not fit back together properly.

My hands fist the knitted blanket, burning with anger.

"Tell me why you are here," he orders. His eyes- god, they are always that sick shade of red making him look twisted- stared so deep into my soul I swear he could see every crack.

"I don't know!" I cried again for the millionth time.

"What are you planning with the rebel troops?" He growled, slamming his hands down on the shiny metallic table top. All around him stood men in uniform, their magic emitting a smell so pungent it made me gag.

Blood coated the air.

"I'm not with the rebel troops!" I cried out.

"Don't lie to me Sora Edwards!"

"I'm not lying! I swear to the gods! To the King! To any one! Please!"

His face remained as stone cold as before. Begging would do me no good. He is a trained killer, immune to the bleating of prayers and begging, just as I will be with time here in the Barracks.

"You will regret lying to your king."

Suddenly beady red eyes weren't staring back at me.

"What the he-"

"Dunk her. Again," he ordered the men. His voice changed from boyish to velvety smooth, like melted chocolate drizzled over a puffy cloud. His eyes now a mossy green, and his blonde hair inked into black locks as dark as midnight right before my very eyes. Slight stubble etched on his chin, enchanting his angelic face.

"No! Please don't!" I scream, tears streaming down my face faster. "I'm not with them! I swear it!"

Before I could change his mind the men dunk my head under the water until my lungs were full of the deathly fluid.

A high pitch scream ricochets in the air around me, deafening me.  Hands wind in my hair, pulling, clawing, trying to rip it out by the roots.

You'll wish you still had your pretty flames after I'm done with you.

I want to claw his voice out of my head until I'm mental.

"Sora, you're okay," a voice soothes. "You're okay!"

"Wha-" I say, jerking away from the hand touching my bare shoulder. I messily wipe the tears falling from my eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Royce leans back in his chair. He seems different from the last time I spoke with him; more defeated. His blonde hair is caked with grime, and he has a harsh black bruise over his left eye. His freckles are dark against his pale skin. He was tan the last time I saw him.

He's slowly deteriorating and it's only been a short while  here.

"I came here to watch over you."

"To what?" I asked. Watch over me? He doesn't even know me!  

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "To watch over you. You were knocked out when the guards shot us up in the train. You hit your head when Rick's body landed in yours. You were covered in blood." He shuddered. "I thought you were dead. I thought one of those bastards shot you."

Rick. The man whose body fell on mine, the man who was urgently screaming for me to run- it's like his bloody, mutilated face is right in front of me again. The smoking end of a barrel is too.  

"Run! Run! You have to run!-"

Bang!

My skin flushes with warmth, fighting against the chilling air.  I am surrounded by a warm blanket, in a darkness so cold it could freeze a licking flame.

You are supposed to be dead.  

"I don't understand," I whine, frustrated. "Where am I?" My heart might stop due to exhaustion if it continues to beat any harder in my chest.  Why am I not dead?  

"You're in the infirmary," Royce replied. "You hit your head pretty hard.  Smacked it on a ledge of a shelf or some shit.  They won't really tell me the whole story, but I don't think he will let them tell to begin with.  You've been out cold for three days."

"Three days?" I asked, sounding more like a child than like the Sora I have come to know over the years.  It feels like I have lived many lives in only a moment.  My hand reaches up, touching the back of my head. Sure enough, a nasty bump protruded from my skull. Surprisingly, I didn't feel any pain.

"Why don't I feel anything?" I ask. Shouldn't I feel pain?

"He made the medical staff give you something to take the pain away." He glared at the floor, as if he- whoever "he" actually is- would appear from even the slightest breath of his name. Royce's hazel eyes met mine again. "He didn't let anyone else who was shot have medication, or even medical assistance. I've been working on people in our Barrack the past few days. He's a bastard if I've ever laid eyes on one. The most vicious too."

"Royce, who is he?" I asked. I shrugged the blanket covering my body off. All of this information swirling in my mind, coming too fast and all at once. I couldn't comprehend much, if any at all.

Why am I the exception?

"I don't understa-" I didn't get a chance to finish my sentence before Royce interrupted me.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, there princess!" He said, quickly averting his eyes. His pale skin flowed as red as a tomato in the dark room. He gave a nervous laugh, still staring at the concert floor. "Don't let all your glory hang out, you haven't even bought me a nice mug of booze yet."

Oh no. You've got to be kidding me.

I look down at myself, and am completely mortified. The only scrap of cloth covering my body is the blanket draped over me. Under it, I am completely in the nude. I wasn't even bestowed with the grace of having underwear.

Bastards.

I quickly clutch the blanket over me, covering all of my "glory" as Royce referred to it, and pushed the hair back from my face. Completely mortified over the fact of Royce, a boy who I had just met a few days ago, seeing all of my lady bits. I ran a hand over my face which burned; I wouldn't be surprised if it quickly turned a shade of pink.

"I'm decent now Royce."

He cleared this throat awkwardly, turning back to face me. "What were you saying Princess?"

Princess? "I just don't understand. Who is the 'he' that you are referring to?" And why are you calling me by a bunch of pet names?

"Beady Eyes. The fucker who ordered the Elite soldiers to shoot up the train car."

Red Eyes. The man who has haunted me. The man who has tortured me over the last few days.

Tears well up in my eyes again, remembering every terrible action he did to me. "Royce he's a monster! He's tortured me and tried to drown me!" The words tumble from my mouth, details pouring out all at once like water spilling from a vase. I couldn't hold back, nor even if the gods wanted me to.

"Tortured you? Sora, that's impossible."

"What?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"You've been here the whole time," Royce spoke carefully, eyeing me as if I might be unstable. "I've been ordered to watch over you for as much as I can. I've only left for training and to help the wounded. Even then I was only gone for a few hours at a time."

I pull the blanket closer, not understanding any of the gibberish that was coming from Royce. Sora, the girl who left the Gather and her three sisters, the girl who is being forced to fight in a war she does not believe in, seems to have completely lost her mind.

The way the water felt lapping up against my hot skin felt so real. His voice sounded as if he were really in the room with me. There had to be an explanation for all of these broken fragments floating about my brain.

A nightmare Sora. The shards of memories are nothing more than dreams mistaken for reality.

I chew on my nails that are already shortened to the quick. Is it possible that the vivid memories are nothing more than horrid my overreacting imagination has generated?

"I swear to you Sora, nobody has touched you in the last few days," Royce assures. "I wouldn't let them."

Wouldn't let them? As if he is my protector!

"What does it matter to you?" I snap. "I am nothing to you."

The old Sora reappears in full force, ice cold heart and all. Thank the gods I don't feel the cracks yet.

"Sora, I can't imagine how much stress you must be under right now," Royce kindly says, "but you are special. The Elite treat you differently; they want you to be an outcast. If I were you, I wouldn't push away your only friend."

I didn't have to say it; he knew he was right.

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Posted on February 12, 2017.
Partially Edited On February 15, 2017.

Omg here ya go guys!! I'm adding this while i watch reruns of the Walking Dead! I'm so pumped for the new episode tonight! I even made cookies (not that it's cool for a 17 year old to bake more than a grandma, but who cares?!!).

Gimme your feedback and don't forget to vote!!

How do you guys feel about Royce??

What about Sora??

Part two will be coming as soon as possible!!!!!!!!!

1793 words.