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18. A DIFFERENT LIFE

TORN FLESH

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: A DIFFERENT LIFE

MITCH knew he was lucky.

Lucky to have called in on the radio when he had.

Lucky to have gotten an answer.

Lucky to have had Stan drag him out of the hospital that humid September morning almost three months ago.

He was lucky Margo was still alive.

He felt a small wave of warmth pass through his shoulders, he couldn't help but be somewhat excited at the thought of seeing her again.

She'd been right, about him needing a haircut.

More days than not, he found himself sitting in front of one of the younger girls back at the camp as she tied it back into a small bun of sorts to keep it out of his eyes.

He wouldn't let any of them cut it.

He didn't feel comfortable letting them touch his hair like that.

If he was being honest, he couldn't remember the last real conversation he'd had with Margo.

One that hadn't been a depressing goodbye or an escape, he couldn't figure it out.

He'd begun to forget what her face looked like not too long ago, he had to be reminded of her features now and again or else he'd simply be living on the memory of her voice.

Hell, he was beginning to forget what that sounded like too.

It didn't matter if he didn't remember it, not while he was driving at least.

What he was focusing on was the rain that was quickly freezing over and turning into snow, it wasn't heavy yet, but, he knew it would be enough to make the river ice over soon.

Hopefully, that would make crossing the long stretch of water all the easier.

Eric sat beside him in the passenger seat with his eyes fixed on the map as he drew his finger across the waxed surface, "you excited to see her again?"

Mitch gave a small nod as he turned right onto another road, "yeah, you?" Eric gave a soft nod of his head, of course, he was somewhat excited to see her, he'd been there alongside Stan to raise her from her adolescent years.

He was happy to know that she'd managed to put her skills to some use in their new reality.

More so that they'd kept her alive for this long.

"Y'know, she used to be a pretty compassionate person, before all of it." Mitch didn't reply, instead, he glanced to the left through his window before continuing forward.

"Before her parents, Ronnie used to talk about her all the time."

Mitch cringed at the mention of the dead mercenary's name, knowing that he played a part in his death- no matter how terrible his crimes- sent a nauseating ache throughout his entire body, one that usually tended to last anywhere from a few hours to a few days.

Eric let a dry chuckle creep past his lips as he finally looked up from the map, "he was a good guy before Stan didn't make an exception on his rule of being left behind." he paused as he glanced from the window to Mitch, "that was the difference between Ronnie and Margo, he thought Stan would break the rule for him while Margo was prepared to put a bullet through her head if it came down to it."

Mitch nodded in response.

And then he spoke.

"D'you think she'd be the same if she hadn't killed them?"

The car slipped into silence with the question, Mitch almost wondered if he hadn't heard him.

"Yes."

Holding his words with him for a few more moments, Eric felt a chill brush along his shoulders as he spoke, "she would've become an assassin under his supervision or ours, she was born for it, designed for it."

Toying with his bottom lip between his teeth, Mitch found a question that had been lingering on his mind ever since he'd first heard the tiny mention of it.

"What did they do to her? When Irene and Stan first took her into the program."

He watched from the corner of his eye as Eric tensed and his eyes flicked to the paper instead of answering.

"Eric." he lightly warned casting a glance in the man's direction, letting out a sigh, Eric prepared himself to answer the brunette beside him.

"They um... they used a type of electroshock therapy on her, minus the therapy." pausing for a moment he set the map on the dash in front of him before resting his head in his hand, "they used strategically timed electric shocks on her brain to wipe the stuff they didn't need, stuff that they thought would interfere with her training."

"They only erased the things about Ronnie, basically his entire existence in her head, and with it went the name he gave her when she was born."

Mitch was at a loss for words, all he had was one last question resting on his lips, "how do you know?"

Eric let his hand fall into his lap- his eyes following the limb- before he answered again.

"I was the one that administered the shock therapy."

Allowing his gaze to rise from his hands, he turned to look at Mitch, "I never stopped seeing her face, it was in my nightmares, in my books, on my phone, it was everywhere, almost as if she was haunting me for what I'd helped do to her."

Mitch found himself resting his gaze on Eric, he could see a few tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks.

He felt guilty.

"I still see it now and then, it comes out of nowhere, I can hear the screams sometimes."

"Did you ever ask Stan how to get rid of it?" the man questioned his hands still on the wheel, Eric shook his head, "no, if I told him about it he'd send me somewhere or give me something to get rid of it. I deserved it, to see and hear her. It was my punishment for doing those things to her."

Mitch closed his eyes for a brief moment before letting them return to the road in front of them, "if you could go back... would you have done it?"

Eric slowly nodded his head, "if I hadn't done it, someone else would have, better me, someone who knew the limits than someone who wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible."

"Even if that meant killing her in the process."

Words caught in his throat, Mitch began to push Eric out of his vision while he stared down the road with a blank look caught upon his features.

God, he hoped the drive didn't take much longer.

Meanwhile, Margo was suffering from what could only be the least amount of pain caused by her injuries, mainly due to the fact she was laying down.

But the hallucinogens had left a heavy mark on her brain, gifting her with a terrible- somewhat nauseating- headache before the drugs parted ways with her.

Violet, still seated in the back with her, was trying to get the older woman to drink some water in hopes of relieving the build-up of pain that was pressing into her temples.

"If I drink that I'll throw up." the woman warned holding a hand out to block the girl from getting closer, Violet let out an aggravated sigh, "well you have to drink something, it'll make you feel better." she spoke.

Her argument, however, did not seem to affect Margo's stance in the slightest, instead, the woman turned on her side- facing away from the youngest of the three- with a small thump.

"How much longer till we're there?" Margo questioned allowing a groan to slip out past her lips before the statement, carefully snagging the map from where Rogue had it placed in her lap, Violet began to look over it with careful eyes before listening.

"Well, we just passed the mile marker I was looking for, so I'd say maybe eleven or ten hours."

Margo groaned again.

She couldn't remember a time she'd been stuck in a car as long as this, she hated it, it made her limbs sore and gave her car sickness, something she hated being affected by.

Carefully reaching towards the bag in the passenger seat up front, Rogue dug through the front pocket- with one hand and her eyes on the road- before she produced a small bottle of medicine.

Wide-eyed, Violet quickly took the bottle from her and popped it open to give the woman lying down in front of her some, hopefully, it would help with the way she was currently feeling.

Maybe even make her less grumpy.

Proceeding to hold the two small white pills in her pale palm, Violet was more than shocked when the girl turned over and attempted to sit up so she could take the medicine without choking on it.

Sitting up with her arm propped behind her to keep from falling back onto the seat, Margo took the pills from the girl and popped them into her mouth before swallowing them dry.

Violet cringed.

It seemed disgusting, swallowing the damn things with no water or liquid.

She didn't understand how Margo did it so effortlessly.

And despite how rude it might have seemed at the time- in general- she truly wished she never grew up to be like her.

She could see the torn pieces of her strong exterior barely hanging on to her bits of flesh.

The woman was torn.

And it seemed her spirit was as well.

Violet wondered what she'd been like before the disease had swept across the country.

Had she been just like her? Someone young in age that had been surprised and left devasted in the wake of the losses brought by the infectious disease?

If she was, she didn't show it.

As she thought more and more about the beginning of the end she found herself sorting through the mess that had left her an orphan.

She'd never heard what had happened to her mother, just that she was dead.

Maybe that was for the best.

And then her father's death hit her.

His bloody hands holding out a weapon to the girl before urging her to run away from him, from the Lurkers that had begun to close in on them after their camp had been swarmed. He knew that if he was going to die, it would be protecting his little girl, and he'd done just that.

Seeing as he was already bitten, it was all he could do to try and ensure her safety at that moment.

The rest would be up to her.

So when she returned the next day- hoping to find her father alive and well- she let out a blood-curdling sob at the sight of her father stumbling across the clearing with empty eyes and half his arm torn through with teeth marks.

She cringed at the sight of him bleeding across her consciousness, she wished all of it was a bad dream.

That at any moment she'd be woken up by a few shakes to the shoulder and see her parents bustling about the kitchen as they made coffee and breakfast before work. But she knew that wasn't going to happen.

As Margo had said before, the brave inherit the Earth, so now it's our turn to take charge.

She needed to start acting the part.

Otherwise, she'd be just like everyone else that hadn't survived.

She would be insignificant in the eyes of their cruel creators.

Just a pawn in their games.

She wouldn't go out unless on her own accord, at her own hand.

That was when it finally clicked for her, how Margo continued living with all the deaths she'd caused if not inflicted, she didn't.

What kept her going was remembering them.

Remembering that if she died that their deaths would be in vain, that they hadn't served a purpose.

Violet let out a sigh before turning to gaze out the window to her left.

She watched as the snow drifted through the air before either melting or gathering with the rest of the snow dotting the road.

They would be like snowflakes, graceful and yet so dangerous when left unplowed.

TORN FLESH

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: A DIFFERENT LIFE

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