Page 143 of Cara
Heavy footsteps carve the same agonizing path through the crack under the door.
His weakness… is me.
Weaknesses get you killed.
My eyes reopen, almost reluctant to part.
Everything is heavy.Cold.
Even the ground.
The shrill whine of an alarm and my vision returns, my gaze settling on the ceiling.
Brick. White painted brick.
My chest sinks enough to meld itself into the cement.
“No,” I breathe.
Beside me, chained to the wall, Thomas stares past me, a horrified expression distorting his beautifully gaunt face.No.
I was just home. Xavier was there.
I wasn’t… I was free.
The metal cell bars of the enclosure creak, and I physicallyflinch, just strong enough to turn my face toward the sound. Tears scale the sides of my face into my matted hair.
I hear what fear sounds like falling from my lips—pure, petrified terror as I recognize the faces of my captors.
“A dream,” I tell myself quickly. “It’s a dream.”
“Get off her!” Thomas screams.
I'm closing my eyes, begging for this to end. To wake up.
All that pleading crumbles to nothing as they mount me, and I find myself wide-eyed, ensnared in the gaze of a soldier who despises me. I’m gasping, losing sight of everything but this prison.
Maybe I’ve been here all this time…
Maybe I’ve woken from a dream. Just a dream…
Maybe I never left this cell. Xavier never came.
Thomas’s wails make this worse—so much worse.
I’m recoiling from wandering hands, shaking my head.
No.No.
Pushing, I feel something cold and hard, and it’s strapped to the man’s leg. My cries go unheard while vile hands force my face down into the concrete.
There are others.
They’re everywhere, willing voyeurs to my pain.
My fingers surround the gun at his thigh, ripping the thin strap that secures it to him. I’m vibrating, my entire body. My teeth grind enough to feel pain as I, with a glance at Thomas, helpless in chains, guide the muzzle of the gun to a stomach and pull the trigger.
Blood projects, painting my clothes, but I'm pushing to my feet.
