Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
A frown came unbidden. She had no idea how much I loved my family. How badly I didn’t want to hurt them. How I hated dragging them through their misconception of who I was.
“I know that.”
“Yet you fight them.”
Inhaling a shaky breath, I sagged against the wall.
I was so tired of it.
The fighting.
The fear.
She resituated her glasses on her nose. “Why don’t we let you rest this evening since you’ve had a stressful day—but tomorrow I want you to participate.” Standing, she stared down at me. “Deal?”
My nod was tight. “Deal.”
At least then I’d have some time to figure out what to say to get free of this.
“You’re going to thrive, Aria Rialta. You’ll see.”
Her heels clicked on the linoleum floor as she moved to the door, and she smiled back at me from the threshold. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.”
Chapter Eight
Aria
Voices carried over the stark-white floor of the cafeteria. I pushed a heap of something unrecognizable around on my tray, knowing I should eat and keep up my strength, but it felt impossible to lift the plastic spoon to my mouth.
No way to swallow the bitterness that soured my stomach and crushed my spirit.
Exhaustion had set in, bone deep, and I found myself fighting the sleep that I had begged for earlier but hadn’t come. The aftereffects of the sedative lingered in my veins, luring me toward a blissful state of unconsciousness.
Or maybe it was just the knowledge that I would soon return to Pax that pulled me in that direction. The need to be with him, to stand and fight at his side, that made me ache for the tiny bed in a foreign room that I knew would be waiting.
Closing my eyes felt like a promise that everything would be okay.
Because being a prisoner within these walls sang of torment.
A foreboding whispered from my soul.
A haunting echo of a warning.
As long as I was here, I was in danger.
I could feel it.
Perceive it like truth as I let my gaze wander over the raucous energy of the cafeteria.
I tried to figure out where it was coming from.
The threat that lingered like an omen.
Patients were scattered about, some in groups and others sitting alone like me, downcast and withdrawn, wishing to be anywhere but here. Others talked and teased, the coed situation offering the perfect conditions for flirting and crass exchanges.
The teenagers here weren’t unlike the ones at my high school.
Each seeking solace in who they were, or maybe fighting against it and trying to become someone else, human nature driving them to fit in.
Others clearly revolted against the idea of conforming, claiming their individuality like a brand they wore.
I tried to guard myself against what hummed below the surface of it all.
Pain.
Grief.
Desperation.
Hopelessness.
I’d never sensed it so profoundly before while being awake. Right then, it felt as if I hovered near Faydor, not quite within its boundaries but close enough to hear the wickedness that droned within its borders.
Though here, it was distorted. Warped, misshapen moans that echoed somewhere in my soul.
I had no idea why I could feel it then, how I could almost hear the atrocities being whispered into their minds by unseen Kruen.
It was something I’d never experienced before.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried to guard myself against it.
One of the counselors clapped her hands and shouted over the din, “All right, everyone, finish up; dinner is almost over. Once you’re done, go back to your rooms.”
I didn’t hesitate to stand.
The second I did, I was hit with a rush of dizziness, and I fought the weight of it as I carried my tray to the cart where we were supposed to leave them. Once I’d scraped the remnants of my dinner into the trash and set my tray on the cart, I crossed the cafeteria, keeping my head low as I followed the crowd out.
I went left, down the short hall toward my room.
Each step had become painful, the fatigue overwhelming. My wound hurt even worse tonight, the barely healing skin retorn in the scuffle I’d had with my father, reigniting the searing flame that singed my flesh.
When I got to my room, a bag my mother had packed for me was sitting on the end of my bed. The contents would have been searched. Anything deemed inappropriate would have been set aside for when I was discharged, and the rest was neatly folded inside.
Pajamas and sweatshirts and jeans. Underwear. My toothbrush and toothpaste and deodorant.
My heart clutched when I saw what was at the bottom. It was the stuffed bear I had slept with until I was seven and now kept propped on the dresser in my room, a tangible I love you from my mother.
Sadness swept through me, grief at what was to come and what I was going to have to do.