beautiful thieves | ✓

forty-three

The image of blood and flesh sprayed all over the woodland and me and the six dead bodies on the floor will never escape my mind. It will always be there, taunting me. Torturing me. Plaguing me. In my daydreams and nightmares, whether my eyes are opened or closed, it will always be there.

I've never really had any control over my life. Anything I did was controlled by my mother. Anything I said would have consequences. I never thought I could lose control of myself. But I did.

I killed every one of those men. I fought and hit and kicked and shot until my bullets were gone and they were dead on the ground. They didn't fight back. They needed me alive. So I used that to my advantage, coming away with nothing but a scarred mind. Well, and a few more cracked ribs, but those aren't nearly as painful.

It was Zavier and Fauna who found me. Posie, who I had kept safe, was taken away from me and I was lead back to the house. We stepped over too many dead bodies to count, along with a few of the wolves.

Fido was shot dead while hiding in a bush. The blind little pup was frightened of the loud noises and went to seek safety. He never found it.

Pandora had been shot, too. She got it in the leg and was screaming throughout the night. She's still alive, thankfully, but last time I saw her was when she was asleep, her wild, orange curls dim and brittle and a green tinge to her pale features.

The rest of us were somehow physically unscathed. A few broken bones, a few deep wounds and bullet grazes were the worst of it. A lot of us are limping, many more sleeping off concussions. Maeve has been puking up her guts and can't keep any food down. Colby has shut himself in his room and barely talks to anyone. Blake needed several stitches on his face and arm and is clearly in a lot of pain, even when he tells me he's not. So, technically we all survived, but the house has been deathly silent as if every single one us were shot and killed.

I feel a hand on my shoulder that tunes me back into the world. I force a smile up at Sean and mutter a small thank you. Taking a deep breath, I fold the t-shirt that had been scrunched in my hand for however long I was lost wandering aimlessly in the fog of my brain, and place it into the bag.

Danielle and Crystal have decided to move all of us. They've been very secretive, only telling us to pack up the essentials so we can move somewhere south. It doesn't guarantee our safety, it doesn't mean a 'happily ever after', but it's lifted everyone's spirits with the prospect of starting a new life.

We're not giving up the fight to save Chelsea, Enoch and Connie, but we need time to plan it out. Even if it gives us a few extra days to prepare, moving away will be worth it.

"I think this skirt would look great on me," Tristan says, holding it on his front. "Shame my ass is so voluptuous."

"I'm sure we could get you one your size." Sean turns to me. "Do you think anyone makes nice skirts for elephants?"

Tristan chucks the skirt at him and it lands square on his face. He hands it to me without looking away from our brother. "That could have given me a contusion."

"You've survived a kidnapping and being shot at. I'm sure you could survive a contusion," Tristan argues. I roll my eyes at the two of them and place the skirt in the bag.

It's not a big bag. A lot of my stuff has been damaged after the Drakan cadets stormed into my room, including my phone and a bunch of clothes I had. I don't really mind, I give more of a shit about the lives around me rather than a top I probably only wore once and the phone I never used, but the idea of grown ass men rummaging through all of my possessions was enough to gross me out.

"How were you two even kidnapped?" I ask. My voice is still rough and I don't like the way it sounds.

"Well," they both start. They give each other a look.