Rebuilt For Revenge (Editing)

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Octavia:

My chest heaved, breath coming too fast, too shallow. I couldn't think straight. My body wouldn't obey me.

"Why?" His words were punctuated by a heavy fist slamming into my cheek. The sharp sting bloomed hot, and then came the warmth—blood sliding down my skin.

"Why did he choose you?" His tone was a mixture of fury and suspicion.

The question rattled me. Why would he even ask that?

"I—I don't know," I choked, shaking violently as another surge of electricity ripped through me. My back arched against the restraints. My teeth clenched until I thought they'd shatter. "I was— I was on death's door!"

The current climbed higher. My scream cracked the air. The pain was unbearable, gnawing through bone and marrow, leaving nothing untouched.

"P-please... stop!" I sobbed, the tears mixing with blood on my face. My voice was raw, broken, but he didn't relent.

"Then answer the bloody ques—"

The room vanished.

I hit the floor hard, gasping. My hands clawed at the carpet as the real world returned—my room, dark and silent, the nightmare shattered but not gone. My lungs struggled for air, my vision blotched with dancing specks of light.

Breathe.
1... 2... 3. 1... 2... 3.

I wrapped my arms around my knees, rocking until my pulse steadied. Same nightmare. Same screams. Different night. Sometimes the memories played softer. Sometimes they cut deeper. But they always left me shaking.

"He says it's strengthening," I muttered bitterly. Strengthening. Right. If he saw me like this, curled on the floor, he'd call me weak. But he didn't know. Not really.

My phone's screen burned my eyes when I grabbed it.
05:50.

Not 2 a.m., not 3. Thank God. At least I wouldn't be a zombie the whole day. Sleep was a lost cause anyway.

Dragging myself up, I made for the wardrobe. No sign that anyone had heard me. Either I'd been quiet, or no one cared enough to check. I wiped my face dry—sweat? Tears? Both. Didn't matter.

Great. Mopping the halls was on my duty list today. Just what I needed.

------------------

Teeth brushed, hair brushed. I stood before the mirror, tilting my head at my reflection. Not bad. The outfit worked, especially with the woolly hat—even though it wasn't winter. It gave the whole look an edge, and honestly, I needed all the edge I could get.

Bag slung over my shoulder, I padded down the stairs. My thoughts drifted to my brother. Was he okay? I should call him later, just to hear his voice.

But the thought froze when I saw him—someone I had only met last night—already seated at the table. A steaming mug rested in his hands. Coffee, maybe tea. He didn't look up until I spoke.

"Hey."

I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, a bottle of water from the fridge, and perched myself on the table. Legs swinging, I peeled the banana casually. His eyebrow rose slightly, probably at my choice of seat.

"A banana and water for breakfast?" he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Why not coffee? Might actually wake you up."

I shook my head. "No thanks. I don't like the stuff."

"You're missing out," he muttered before taking a sip—only to sputter it back into the cup. Smooth.

He chuckled at himself, then looked at me properly. "Oh—where are my manners? I knew I was forgetting something." He straightened, offering a hand I didn't take. "Cashe. Cashe Matthews."