When there's madness,
When there's posion in your head,
When the sadness,
Leaves you broken in your bed,
I will hold you,
In the depths of your despair,
And it's all in the name of love...

-- Bebe Rexha

3 years ago:

It's been a year already, so I don't know why Vik has to keep looking at me like that.

He thinks that I don't see it, but I do. Whenever I turn to face him, the look of pity he had been setting me under flees away, wisps of it trailing behind in the depths of his eyes and the slow movement of his downturned lips.

This time, I glare icily at him in response.

Stop pitying me

"We going in or not?" I ask, turning my attention back to the small shack that is half concealed by all these damn trees. I feel my boots sinking into the damp earth of the forest floor. A mosquito whines in my ears with that single high-note, driving me crazy. I swat at it, irritated.

"You seem on edge," Viktor says. "Are you sure you're up to this tonight?"

I blow out a breath, trying to suppress my anxiety that is steadily crawling up my windpipe. "It has to be tonight, Vik. I leave in a few days, remember? This is our last fledgling mission, I don't want to blow it."

"Understood," he says, and I hear him slide the backpack off his shoulders.

A moment later, he hands me the gun.

I try to keep my hand steady, but it is visibly shaking, even in the dark. The metal slides into my clammy palm uncomfortably. I just want to drop it.

"Sasha?" Viktor places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "If you don't do this, they won't pass you. You'll be... sold. You have to do this."

I nod, focusing on the feeling of his hand on my shoulder. Warm and comforting.

"It's not you, it's them. You're just a tool," he insists.

I hate that I need him to feel assured. I hate it. I don't want to be weak anymore.

"Vik?"

"Hm?"

"Do you ever...?" My voice trails off as I realize how stupid my question is. How stupid thinking about the what-ifs is.

The hand moves from my shoulder to pull a strand of dark hair behind my ear. I tense at first, but the gesture is so gentle that the anxiety dies down in an instant. I lean my cheek into his hand, absorbing the warmth that is, for a moment, a balm to my frayed nerves.

I know that Viktor only feels sorry for me. I know that I will never be able to forget what happened to me as long as he's around as a reminder. Viktor makes me feel weak, knowing about my shame. But just for now... just for now I allow myself to think that maybe being close is okay.

It's such a fragile moment. So quiet and undisturbed, like a snowy night. It could go on forever, if we let it. Time could suspend, and we could forget those same old what-ifs again, the ones that always seem palpable between us-- painful stabbings of want. But what's inside us will break this moment apart eventually, I know.

His want, my fear, our duty to The Company. It's all stronger than this little moment we've salvaged here, where we're both human and capable of loving in a way that isn't perverse and broken.

However, that is not our life, the wind reminds me, picking up the brush around us as it floats through the trees. The cool sting against my cheek takes Viktor's warmth away. It's a hand slapping me back to reality.

I am not here to love for the first time. I am here to kill for the first time.

After not even a minute has passed, I remove his hand from me and regretfully turn away, heading towards the shack, refusing to acknowledge the pain it causes in my chest, like thunder breaking across my lungs.

The earth seems to be trying to halt my progress towards the little wooden structure, my steps heavy and slowed by the muck.

I creep up to the mossy door and try opening it. As expected, it's locked. There is no lock mechanic on the door, so I know that it has been barred from the inside instead. The windows have been boarded up as well.

Mr. Gillingan has pulled out all the stops to deter us.

I motion for Viktor to come over. Together, we heave our weight against the door, the weathered wood groaning against our effort. After a few hefty shoves at it, it gives way with a fibery squeal, and we burst into the dark room of the shack.

I swat a gossamer cobweb out of my face as I enter. The thick gray webs crisscross the room, a testament to how long the shack has laid in ruin. Raising the gun, I go deeper into the room, but there is no mistaking that it is empty.

"Impossible," Vik grumbles from behind me.

I nod. We followed and tracked him here. He has to be here somewhere.

I study the webs, noting that some appear to have been broken unnaturally in the center of the room, torn away.

I walk over, following the wispy trail.

Upon stepping onto the mossy rug, I feel a hollowness to my step, the feeling of the floorboard changing.

I look at Vik, jerking my chin downward. He nods in understanding.

We pull the bug infested rug aside, and sure enough, there is a cellar door there, half rotted away from fungus and gnawing insects.

I move lightly off of it and bend down, signaling to Vik to be ready to grab him if he should run. Prepared, I swing the latch open.

Gillingan lets out a surprised yelp, stumbling back into the cellar.

I jump down through the trapdoor, pointing the gun at him.

Now. Kill him now. Don't think about it!

The gun rattles in my hand as I start shaking, a lightheadedness coming over me as I take in the frenzied expression of the man before me, who is pressing himself up against the wall, screaming, "Please! Please! I just wanted to be free! Haven't you ever wanted to be free?"

His question gives me pause. Gillingan is an Attendant who went rogue, stealing money from The Company to run off with. A poor choice-- a bitter mistake.

Gillingan sees my hesitance and continues on. "Please! You don't have to do this! We can fake the photo! You can cut off an ear to give to them. Please... I just want to escape. I want a life to call my own!"

My hands start trembling so bad that I am scared I will pull the trigger without meaning to. My teeth start chattering against the flurry of nerves engrossing my chest and filling my lungs.

There is a hornet's nest in my heart, the wings of the insects all furiously beating in my breast, frantically trying to burst through my skin. My throat begins to close off, it seems, my breathing becoming ragged.

I can't kill him.

You have to!

I want to be free.

You can't!

I can't kill him, but I can't let myself be sold either. I can't be raped again. Over and over again. I can't. I can't.

Involuntarily, I start shaking my head at my thoughts, my vision glazing over, the vision of the white ceiling overhead overcoming it -- the grunts of that man filling my ears as if it were all happening again.

"No!" I hear Gillingan cry from somewhere far off. "Please! Please!"

The gun is wrenched from my sweaty palm, sliding out of my feeble grasp easily, and a shot sounds out, making me shreik and cover my ears in surprise.

I drop to my knees on the floor, holding my head, disoriented.

It takes a moment before I realize that I am looking down at lifeless pair of eyes, Gillingan's body inches from me.

I just stare.

"Sasha?" Viktor asks quietly. A moment later, he grabs my arm and pulls me up, murmuring, " Come on."

"You- you killed him," I breathe, unable to peel my eyes from Gillingan's, which are starting to become blotted red with burst blood cells, the bullet wound in the dead-center of his forehead weeping crimson.

He looks so fucking scared. He died scared.

"We'll tell them you did it," he says gently. "It will be okay. It's alright now," he whispers, pulling me into his arms.

I feel the gun in his hand against the small of my back as he hugs me, and it burns like a crucible to something unholy. Bile rises in my throat, and I shove him away from me, flying out of the cellar, thrashing the cobwebs away wildly as I scramble out into the cold night air.

I throw up violently, dropping to my knees, wretching until my throat burns and my stomach feels like it will come out of my mouth.

"Sasha?" Comes Viktor's timid voice from behind me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, wrapping my arms around myself. " I'm sorry," I croak out miserably. " I'm so sorry, Viktor."

It's awhile before either of us move, but eventually, I pull myself together and rise to my feet. When I turn to look at him, he won't look me in the eye, standing in the doorway. His actions have finally caught up with him.

" Wait here," he says, turning away, "I'll get the hands and feet."

"No," I say firmly, straightening my back and marching back into the shack. " I'll do it."

Re-entering the cellar, I proceed to cut off Gillingan's hands and feet, then take a picture of his body as further proof for The Company. Viktor helps me carry the mutilated body into the woods, with only the trees to bear witness, but I insist on digging the grave myself.

This grave marks the second time Viktor has killed for me. The second time he has saved me.

Next time, I promise myself, I will save him.