Starlight in Crystal City (Book 2)

29: Fun Fact: When Threatened, a Girl Becomes a Storm

The gate connected to a high-voltage wire fence slammed shut behind me. The sound of its electric charge roared over me, through me, and around me. Its spikes, sharp like the edge of blades, pierced into the white hue of the sky. A heavy mist coated the air like a layer of craft glue—semi-transparent and dripping with rain.

If I hadn't already passed through three levels of security, it would have seemed imposing. But there were dozens of police officers scurrying around, preoccupied with their own business. Lexi was behind the barricades with Jax. She was dressed in a pencil skirt and a blazer; staff from the holding centre had confiscated her camera and personal items. Even the hairband of my braid was gone, and its unravelling strands swung as I walked. 

The helicopter—its blades extended like telephone poles lying sideways—was a dull, burnt red. It was perched on the landing pad atop the building. More police officers flanked the narrow stairway leading to the bright yellow circle marking the flat platform. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

My shoes pounded against the ground. I clenched my hands into something resembling a fist and kept going. One foot in front of the other. As I grew closer to Vivian, the frayed, discombobulated knot of my emotions rose. Rising like an elevator. Higher, and higher, and higher. Going up. Until I reached the top.

Four police officers directed a black van to parallel park by a concrete beam. From the back, a handcuffed Vivian emerged. It seemed like so much security for such a tired-looking girl. Her eyes were glassy, like mine when I hadn't slept, and she squinted against the light. She'd changed into a pair of ill-fitting pants and a plain, striped t-shirt. Her back was rigid; her neck jutting out as she attempted to glance around the corner. As if trying to see where she was going.

I came to a halt in front of her. One of the police officers nodded at me and said, "We're heading out in fifteen. Say your piece now."

Only fifteen minutes. I felt time ticking between us. And my pulse. In my ears. On repeat, like the thoughts in my head. All this time. All this time. (A record stuck playing the same phrase, unable to recover. Over and over and over and over.)

I was stuck. For words.

I was stuck like that. Wanting to punch her. Wanting her to see my puffy, red cheeks and the anger in my eyes. But I was frozen, and I couldn't think of the words. I gripped the sleeve of my shirt, planting my feet against the ground.

"What are you doing here?" Vivian asked, breaking the silence. When I didn't produce an answer—couldn't—not even with the fragments of the anger I'd been preparing to unleash paralyzing and aching in my throat—she continued, "Let me guess. You want me to wrap this up in a pretty little bow, so that's there's a justification. You want me to say this isn't your fault, even though it is."

(She knew me so well. All this time, it was her.)

"Why would you do this?" My voice trembled, getting caught in the wind and spiralling away from me. Answers. I need this. Tell me it's not true. Tell me it's a lie. Tell me why.

Annoyance flashed in her gaze. She dropped her tone as if speaking to a small, disobedient child. "You didn't come all this way for that. Come on, really?"

She guffawed when I said nothing. There was a fake-sounding chalkiness to it, like she was used to coughing to cover the sound. The clouds behind her somersaulted towards us in fast-moving droves. A distant, low echo of thunder vibrated like the bass of a drumbeat.