Branded s-1

by Abigail Ketner

  Just as I slide my feet into my tattered slippers, the siren blares like an evil witch waiting to ambush me. The thought of going back to work makes me want to hurl.

  Bruno bursts into my room, panting and shoving his guns into his holsters. “We’ve gotta run. Now!” He slides his key and opens my door into the hallway.

  After a moment of confusion, I follow him.

  “There’s no time to explain… I’ve been called out and the building’s being evacuated.”

  As if proving his point, a group of people push past me, shoving me into the cement wall. Bruno wraps his thick hand around my bicep and drags me along behind him. My feet barely touch the floor as he rips me through the crowd, weaving this way and that. When we reach the last floor, I feel the building shudder violently.

  “Another car bombing,” someone says while holding their shirt over their mouth.

  “Outta my way,” another replies.

  They spill into the courtyard, coughing and covering their mouths. A layer of dirt and dust covers everything, almost like a snowy day, except more gruesome. That’s when I see the bodies lying in the street. The dark-red blood streams like ribbons through the grayness.

  Another blast sends people ducking for cover. The mass sways to its knees in search of anything or anyone to hide under. Silence. Another layer of blown particles gives us a mummy-like appearance. Gray hair, gray skin, gray clothing, and the constant hacking up of whatever we’ve just ingested. I cover my ears and then my eyes and then realize I lost Bruno.

  The sound of heavy machinery grinding down the street brings me to my senses. The clanking of heavy metal stops across from the courtyard. I search for Bruno, shoving through the shocked crowd, but I only see dusty silhouettes of tanks and guards.

  “Watch it. What’s your problem?” A man spits at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I push people aside. But still no Bruno.

  Panic climbs up my throat. I can’t breathe and don’t know where to turn. The people push to escape the confines of the courtyard and suddenly it becomes suffocating. I’m shoved against the chain-link fence and squeezed. The rusty metal embeds in my cheek as I turn my head sideways, scraping my face. The screams of compacted people reach my ears, but I fight for my own survival. I’m going to die if I don’t move.

  Feeling desperate, I pull myself up and begin to climb. The fence jerks toward the street as the crowd forces its way. My hands hurt from clinging to it and I pray it doesn’t give out. A deep voice penetrates my ears and immediately I know it’s Bruno.

  “Lexi!” he shouts.

  “I’m here…” I cough uncontrollably from the particles in the air. “Help me!” I can’t see him, but I hope he hears me.

  “Don’t let go!” he commands. “I’ll get you!”

  His strong voice steels my nerves, and I clench my hands tighter around the links, determined to hang on. My toes begin to ache from being cramped in their footholds, but I still cling to hope. Cole’s face hangs in my mind—handsome, defined, and fiery. I’m determined to survive… for myself and for him.

  Minutes feel like hours before the guards calm the people enough to organize an exit. As they disperse, I start to slide down. My fingers feel stiff and ache. My muscles burn with slow fire as I meet the hard, cement pavement.

  “However are you surviving with Cole being gone?” A sharp, high-pitched voice shakes me from my stupor.

  I look up and meet the sadistic eyes of the head guard, Wilson. Instant fear seizes me as he pulls me closer to him. He smiles, smelling of tobacco and cologne.

  “I was a little concerned. Haven’t seen you around lately,” he says. “Guess if I was in your shoes I’d try to stay under the radar as well.” He kicks the dirt. “Rumor has it your brother’s been found. But again, it’s just a rumor, so I guess we shall all wait and see what Cole brings home.”

  I remain silent—part preservation but mostly terror.

  He backs away, still smiling, and motions for Bruno. “You should really keep a closer eye on this one—I don’t like her.”

  Bruno salutes and replies, “Yes, sir.”

  “Carry on.” Wilson steps aside, waving us off, and instructs the others to block off the street.

  My feet feel stuck in the cement as the sudden urge to cry washes over me. I bite my lip as Bruno pulls me away with a stoic face. My heartbeat echoes in my ears. We step over broken bodies, yet all I hear is thump-thump, thump-thump.

  Bruno leads me in silence as we witness the full impact of the destruction. More tanks roll in and hoards of guards pop out, eager to investigate. They line suspects up against the wall of the building across the street with their hands behind their heads. A guard holds a pistol up behind them and pulls the trigger.

  The harsh exhale of the gun makes me jump. I fall on my hands and knees, feeling dizzy as the thumping in my head grows louder.

  “Get up,” Bruno says.

  “I’m trying.” I sound unconvincing, even to myself.

  “Get up! Before they make you the next target.” He picks me up and puts me on my feet, wary of others watching. “Just move, even if it’s slow.”

  So we plod along to the hospital. The pent-up tears finally drop down my face, racing through the grime. The fear of suffocation consumes me as well as Wilson’s words. He knows my brother’s here and Cole’s hunting him down. I clench my teeth in anger and refusal to break, although my world shrinks by the minute.

  Once inside the hospital, I attempt to clean my face in the bathroom. It smells like urine and feces mixed with other bodily fluids. My feet make a sucking sound as they lift. But nothing compares to what I see in the broken shards of the mirror—the turquoise of my eyes amidst the wreckage of everything else. Again, I’m reminded of my father and I hear his voice telling me, “Be strong, Lexi. You can overcome anything short of death.” His words bring me strength, and I resolve to hold it together.

  Day Two of Cole’s Absence. Nothing makes me loathe work more than seeing Amber’s sly smile when Bruno drops me off and picks me up. I try to ignore the stares, but it’s pointless. They’re all speculating about my absence, about Cole, and the reason I’m miserable. Being here brings back so many memories of Cole, Alyssa, and the assault that it’s like a slow death of the soul. My body works while my mind wanders. My arms function, but my heart roams wherever Cole does. I imagine him strapped down with equipment, sweating in his uniform while tracking my brother. Could he really pull the trigger, knowing he’d destroy me in the process? My stomach does flips, so I run to the bathroom and heave.

  “Everything all right?” Sutton says.

  “Sure,” I say out of habit. It’s fairly obvious that I’m not okay since I’m puking.

  “What can I do to help you?”

  I don’t answer because I’m pretty sure he knows the answer.

  “I know Cole’s gone, so if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  I sit back and wipe my face with a towel. Yes, he definitely knows I’m a mess. “Okay.” I wave him off. I stand up and compose myself in hopes he won’t report me, but he’s already gone. There are too many patients rolling in each minute for him to worry about my issues.

  In the back of my head, Cole’s words keep replaying. “You won’t open up to me. How can I ever trust you if you won’t tell me the truth?” I try to convince myself things are better this way, but my mind swings back and forth like a pendulum.

  I know he cares, and I know the danger we’ll be facing, but I’m not going to give up yet. My will won’t let me because I can’t function without him by my side. I can’t function knowing he and Zeus won’t be there when I get home tonight.

  Day Three. Bruno and I train early in the morning. I wake up anxious and can’t sleep, so I might as well fill my time with something worthwhile. He punches; I block. He kicks; I counter. He takes me down, and I try to free myself. But nothing, nothing, fills the hole in my heart.

  Cole’s worth being vulnerable, but it t
ook his departure for me to realize it. I promised myself I’d never speak about my past—not ever. He might be disgusted and never at look me again—the stigma attached to people like me isn’t positive. Some days, I can barely look at myself. Either way, I might lose him, so why not?

  Day Four. I go about my duties as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m here physically, but my mind climbs the walls in hopes of seeing him. I never missed anyone this way. All the while, victims of street violence pile into the hospital. The business of cleaning rooms and aiding nurses should distract me, but it doesn’t. I’m hopeless. Ben takes another body to the morgue and I have to clean the room. I sit behind the curtain and agonize.

  “Lexi,” Bruno says, leaning in through the door.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m going to stand out here and wait for you, all right? Unless you want me to come in and help you. It’s been three hours and you’re still cleaning the same room. I think they’re getting pretty backed up,” he says gently. He knows why I’m a zombie.

  “Three hours is a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe a little, but you know what I mean. If you need help, I don’t mind.”

  “No, it’s no problem. I’ll try to work faster. Thanks for the offer though.” I grab the sheets off the bed and throw them on the floor. I pick up the pillow, throw it back down, and start punching the daylights out of it.

  Bruno runs to me, grabs my waist, and hangs me in the air. “Chill out,” he says. He holds me there.

  I keep kicking, though, because I’m breaking down.

  “You can’t do this. If they suspect anything, they’ll kill you. And with the way you’ve been acting the last few days, it’s not hard to put two and two together. So you better snap out of it or I’ll lose my best friend. There are more important things going on in this hell hole besides your heart breaking,” he says. “Feelings you’re forbidden to even have. And honestly, what do you think could ever come from it? Nothing… You need to grow up, girl, and think about what you’re doing.”

  He’s right. The violence in the Hole has escalated, sending more people to the hospital than ever. Even children arrive with injuries, but I’ve reached my mental threshold. I go about my duties oblivious to the news that citizens bring in. My mind plummets in a downward spiral interrupted by one sane voice.

  “Put her down, Bruno.” He sets me down. Sutton stands behind me, and I turn around one inch at a time. “Come with me. There’s a matter we need to discuss,” he says. I hesitate. “Now, young lady.” He walks out the door and waits for me in the hallway.

  This is never good. I already know what’s coming. I’m going to get in trouble for my behavior and slacking at work. I’ve let him down in so many ways.

  “Close the door and take a seat,” he says with a stern voice.

  I slouch in my seat. I lack the strength to sit up. I can’t handle Sutton being mad at me, not right now. But that doesn’t stop the anger from flashing through his green eyes. He pushes his papers aside as he sits on his desk.

  I can’t keep eye contact while he talks. My head spins.

  “You’re playing with fire and it needs to end right here, right now. You’re lifeless and the reason is way too obvious. I won’t tolerate it.”

  My eyes flip to his face and my mouth opens to reply, but he shushes me.

  “Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “No, not at all.” My arms are limp in my lap, and I don’t have the heart to make up an excuse.

  “The feelings you have for him must die, or both of you, without a doubt, will be executed.” I seal my lips, waiting for him to continue. “If you don’t get your head together and fast, I’ll make Bruno your permanent assignment, which will only escalate their suspicions.”

  “How could they—?”

  “They take this kinda thing very seriously. In their eyes, loving a sinner is by far the worst offense.”

  My eyes well up, but I blink back the tears in defiance. They aren’t tears of sadness but of anger—anger over life, over Cole leaving and my brother disappearing all those years ago, and being in this damn place. My mind is imploding.

  “You think your situation is the center of the world. But it’s not. I am demanding your affair to end, got it?” His question is more like a statement.

  I nod my head once, swallowing hard. “Is that all?”

  “And take this extra pair of scrubs. You smell worse than the hospital.” He tosses a folded pair of scrubs into my arms and pushes me out the door.

  Heading down the hall and into the bathroom to change, I think about what I wrote to Cole. But regardless of what he thinks about me after he reads it, I just wrote it all for nothing.

  Cole,

  I’m telling you the truth even if it breaks me. You can judge me, forgive me, or maybe someday even love me. But if you decide to hate me, at least I know I gave you all I had. We all have a dark side—I hope you can see past mine.

  There’s a story you need to hear… It’s about a girl I once knew.

  She believed the only way out of the hell she lived in was to hang herself from a chandelier. Have you ever read about her? No, you haven’t because her story was never published, at least not this one.

  Her stepfather had three personalities and she hated all three, but the first two she could manage. The third one petrified her.

  He started pushing her down the stairs, punching her face, her gut, her back, and her head. He’d swing his arms, lashing, and crush whatever part of her was in his way. One day he shaved her head simply because she colored her hair without asking his permission. If his abuse caused her to rip open, he’d stitch her shut, and she cried as she felt the needle being threaded through her shin. She told me the physical pain was nothing because eventually it subsided and she healed.

  One night she got up to use the bathroom, and when she was making her way back, her stepfather was sitting in a chair in the corner of her room. His legs were crossed and his hands folded on his lap. In the moonlight, he sat with an evil grin smeared across his face. He licked his lips and told her to undress but to keep on her underwear and bra. He demanded her to lie in bed without a blanket and go back to sleep. For months that’s all he would do—watch her sleep—and she figured at least she wasn’t getting beat and she was semi-clothed.

  A few weeks later, he started climbing in next to her and tracing her body with his fingertips. She was crawling out of her own skin, never sleeping a wink. Not that I blame her. His aftershave and the stench of cigars on his breath constantly turned her stomach.

  She went to her neighbor and told her what was happening. Of course they called her a lying whore—a dramatic young girl screaming for attention because she lost her real father. The neighbor must’ve told the stepfather because her life changed forever that night. He came home early from work, drugged her mother as he always did, and yelled for the girl to come at the top of his lungs. When she didn’t, he went searching for her and when he found her… he immediately tied her hands behind her back, tied her ankles tight together, and cut off all her clothing. He then picked her up and carried her to a room she never knew existed. It was the size of a small walk-in closet, enclosed by a cement floor, ceiling, and walls.

  He dropped her body to the floor and peed on her face—leaving a small flashlight shining in the back right corner so she would see what was coming next. Three boxes sat in the corner and he cut the ties off the tops before sealing the door shut.

  Now it was just her, a flashlight, urine-soaked hair, and three boxes. She screamed in horror as the first box exploded with a wave of tiny black spiders and the second with silver dollar-sized siders… The third box released spiders the size of her fist. The girl was deathly afraid of spiders and he knew it.

  She had nowhere to go and no way to get them off as they covered her body like a blanket. She flung around as much has she possibly could, but they covered every inch of her flesh, entering ev
ery opening of her body. She felt them in her ear, in her nose, and if she screamed, they filled her mouth. She flailed herself around and slammed her head onto the concrete floor, praying she would crack open her skull. But nothing worked. When they went down her throat, she gagged and started vomiting profusely. When the light burnt out, all she could hear were the spiders scuttling in and out of her, all around her. When she worked up enough strength, somehow she managed to roll her body from one wall to the other. She kept going, despite the wet mush that seeped from their hairy flesh as she squashed them underneath her. Eventually they started eating each other, and she could manage the few left crawling on her.

  She doesn’t remember coming and going from the room. She assumed he was drugging her as well, but not enough that she wouldn’t be aware of her next form of torture.

  One time it was a dead cat. His intestines looked like blown-up sausages protruding from his mangled gut, only to be joined by hundreds of flies. He cranked up the heat and the stench of rotten flesh caused her to vomit over and over. All she could do was close her eyes even though she wanted to rip the flesh from her own body and die along with the cat. She was going insane; she was sure of it—hearing voices and seeing things she wasn’t sure were real. She was saturated in her own urine, feces, and vomit for weeks without anyone noticing she was gone.

  Her stepfather told everyone he had sent her to boarding school, so of course nobody asked questions. She wished and prayed every day she’d die. But death never came…

  The night before she was arrested, her stepfather forgot to drug her mother. She came into the girl’s room and found him lying there holding her. (He’d do this when he went from man number three back to man number two.) He’d take the girl out of the room, clean her up, and bring her back to good health.

  Of course her mother was furious. The girl thought her mother would finally believe her. Instead, the mother slapped the girl across the face, screaming at the top of her lungs, “YOU’RE A SELFISH WHORE!” That’s when the girl knew she had lost her mother forever.