Page 8 of Rescuing Rebel

But with a smile fixed on my face, there’s no avoiding it. We pause as she waves to the young women. “Ladies, meet our newest arrivals. I know you’ll make them feel welcome.”

Their assessing eyes crawl over me as we exchange stiff pleasantries. The quicker I extract myself, the better, but the older woman speaks up as I open my mouth to excuse myself.

“You have anger in your eyes.” She studies me intently. “You think you’re hiding it, but it’s plain as day. It’ll fester if you don’t confront it. Believe me, I know.”

How do I tell her I couldn’t care less? Like, I’m not here to share sob stories with a stranger. I narrow my eyes, unsettled by her perception. Schooling my features, I force a light laugh.

“I’m just tired. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be right as rain.”

The woman’s knowing gaze remains fixed on me a moment longer. Inwardly, I bristle, even as I keep up the façade. I can’t afford to have someone see through my act. The counselor makes our goodbyes and steers us toward our assigned rooms, chattering about settling in.

I have to be careful.

Very, very careful.

Before I know it, we’re ushered to the dining hall for our first meal at The Facility. The air buzzes with voices and laughter, survivors swapping stories over heaping plates of comfort food. The very picture of a supportive, uplifting environment.

It makes my skin crawl.

A quick glance at the baked chicken and mashed potatoes on my tray leaves me unenthused. My gaze darts around the dining facility, looking for an empty table on the periphery. Spying a small one in the corner by the window, I snag the spot before anyone else approaches.

I’m halfway through forcing down a bite of amazing chicken when a giggle makes me look up. A wisp of a girl, no more than twenty, stands shyly across from me.

“Do you mind if I sit with you? I’m one of the new rescues, too. I’m Daisy.”

“I prefer to eat alone, thanks.” I fix her with an icy stare. Hell, I’m not here to make friends. Shared trauma does not mean we get to be besties. I shoo her off quickly and focus on the meal I want to hate but secretly love.

I may grab seconds.

Daisy looks stricken. “Oh, um, okay...”

She scurries back to the safety of a crowded table. Part of me feels a twinge of guilt at the kicked-puppy expression on her face, but I force down the unwelcome emotion. I can’t afford sympathy or attachment. Those will only compromise my focus.

As I pick at the buttery smooth mound of garlic mashed potatoes, the cafeteria’s noise fades into the background.

I feel—trapped.

I don’t need their solidarity or sympathy circles. The only allies I trust anymore are my own cunning and a knife in the back. If I’m going to take back what I lost, I have no room for anything as useless as friendship.

Lying awake long past midnight, I finally give up on sleep and slip out of bed. The moonlight paints my spartan room with an eerie indigo glow through the windows. They want us to feel safe, but the armed guards and perimeter fencing give away The Facility’s true purpose.

Changing quickly into dark clothes, I open my door and scout the hallway.

Empty.

A night staff member sits at a monitoring station down the hall, head nodding drowsily.

Sloppy.

Hugging the wall, I creep toward the side exit door I passed during intake. The red light on the keypad glows like a taunting eye. No dice there. Moving as silently as a shadow, I head for the main stairwell door. Also securely locked.

Of course.

Frustrated, I sneak back to my room, thoughts churning. I need to find where they keep patient records and files. There must be something useful I can use among those pages, but first, I must figure out a way to slip past their suffocating security.

FOUR

Rebel

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