Page 42 of Monsters Like Us
Micah’s voice cuts through the static in my head. “Katana. Look at me.”
I don’t move, remaining stubbornly silent.
“Talk to me.” His tone is rough, threaded with a desperation he’s trying to hide. Chains scrape as he shifts, straining to see me. “Say something.”
My throat aches, words trapped behind it. If I speak, I don’t know if I’ll scream or sob—or both.
“You didn’t break,” he presses on, low and urgent. “You fought him. You didn’t give Vale a thing. That takes strength.”
Strength.
I don’t feel strong. I feel hollow. Like Corinne’s calm hands and Vale’s cruel torture stripped me down to something small and breakable.
A flicker of bitterness sparks before I can stop it.Where was your strength, Micah? Where were you when they strapped me down?The thought cuts sharper than the shocks did.
But then I see his wrists—raw and red from the chains he pulled against. His chest heaves like every second of silence was a war inside him. He didn’t save me because he couldn’t—and somehow that makes it worse.
I drop my forehead to my knees, my voice muffled when it finally breaks free. “I hate him.”
Micah exhales, the sound more growl than breath. “Good. Hate will keep you alive.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears hot but silent. I don’t know if I resent him or if I’m clinging to him. Maybe both. But the only thing keeping me from splintering completely is the sound of his voice, steady in the dark.
“Don’t shut me out, little murderess,” he murmurs, quieter now. “Don’t let him win that way.”
The nickname sparks through the haze, familiar and grounding. My chest tightens, a tremor shuddering through me. I don’t lift my head, but I shift just enough that my shoulder brushes the wall closer to him. A tiny movement, but it’s all I have.
For the first time since the shocks, something flickers in me that isn’t pain.
CHAPTER 37
Micah
Since there areno windows in our dungeon, we count time by the creak of stairs above us and the flicker of the bulb, each shift a false sunrise. But our time chained in that chilly, monstrous lab is punctuated with some regularity.
Every morning and evening, Corinne appears in her scrubs, sets down food and water, usually humming under her breath like this is a hospital ward instead of a prison.
Vale comes less often—always at night, always with the same twisted smile—but his presence stains the air. He bargains with me, trying to convince me to talk, but I refuse.
I’m surprised when Katana starts talking to Corinne, her tone careful, probing for anything useful. Part of me admires her courage, the way she slips questions in like knives. But the rest of me is terrified. Vale will notice if she pushes too far, and then he’ll punish her just to watch me break.
Most of the time, Corinne answers with a smile and says something vague, like “structure is important” or “you’ll adjust.”
When we’re alone, Katana and I whisper. At first, she resists—her shoulders tight, jaw locked, like she resents me fornot telling her about my past. But I keep probing, needing to hear her voice. The hours are long, and silence is worse than fear.
“My mom’s boyfriend tossed her down the stairs,” she admits. “Listening to the sickening thud of her flesh and bones crack off the old wooden stairs... it gave me nightmares afterward.” Hazel eyes meet mine. “You were the only thing that quieted them.”
Her words pierce the deepest part of me, breaking through the chains wrapped around my heart. I never thought I was capable of caring for anyone after what my sister and parents did. Never thought I could feel sympathy... until her.
When she asks about me, I give her nothing. Not the truth about my parents. Not the truth about my sister.
Not in this place. The walls have ears.
Katana sighs and rolls her body away from me, huddling against the wall.
It seemslike an eternity later that the lock clicks and the door opens. Their footsteps thud down the stairs, his heavier and slower than hers. Vale’s eyes immediately go to mine, darkness and insanity glimmering in them. A smirk pulls up his lips as Corinne happily sings, “Good morning,” before opening the small closet door and pulling the machine from it.
I wonder if it’s my turn today.
