BLOOD AND BONE | rewritten

13

Returning to Rienga after the mission was not as gratifying as Gigi hoped. In successfully capturing the terrorist suspect and bringing him in alive, they had accomplished what several teams of IMC agents had not. There would be no punishment. Not this time.

But the suspect went down too easily. In fact, the man essentially led them right to himself. Gigi was...uneasy. Granted, that was a permanent for her. But especially in this.

Coming back from Bereysk was also a painful reminder that Gigi carried her wickedness with her wherever she went. She prayed leaving Rienga, the place she became wicked, would perhaps let her become herself again. But she was becoming increasingly aware she had no idea who she was anymore. No one was there to remind her of the girl whose skin she stole.

That made her think of her mother. Gigi had gone without seeing her for years. Not a day went by without her longing for her mother's comfort. Oftentimes, she starred in Gigi's dreams. And her nightmares.

Had the IMC informed her of where Gigi was now? She knew where Gigi had been-that place. Or at least she thought her mother knew. Things tended to get muddled in her mind when they involved those past years.

Letting out a breath, Gigi laid back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Unblinking. She yearned to see her mother's face again. But another part of her would rather die than reveal how wrong she was to the one person who would see it. That was, if she was even recognizable.

Gigi went to stand before the mirror over the sink. She'd gone without seeing herself for nearly eight years, having only glimpsed herself in reflections of glass at the House. And her first thought as she stared was how foreign she looked. Gigi was no longer a timid eleven year old. Perhaps that was in another life. How could Gigi be sure she hadn't simply imagined her happy childhood?

She knew nothing of self care. But she was sure she did not look good. There were dark circles under her eyes. Flaky, dry skin on her lips. Nails bitten to the bloody skin. A permanent vacant gleam in her eyes. Like a corpse's. She could die right then and not appear any different.

Was this how she looked to others? Was this really her own body? Most times it felt as if her mind didn't match her physical form. Like it was loosely tethered by some invisible thread. That was a product of before, when the meds made her world gray and her limbs moved like they did in dreams. Before.

At least she was ignorant then. Now she was a stranger in her own body.

When she couldn't stand to peer into her uninhabited eyes any longer, her gaze dropped to her throat. The wound was healed. Her skin was perfect. Yet she still felt it there, still felt the wound inside her, dangerously close to bursting open at the smallest trigger. The slice nearly cut her jugular vein. When Gigi first felt the warm slide of the blade, there was a moment where she wondered if it had been cut. If she'd die. Her only reaction was a tide of dark relief.