Rage of Vendetta (The Vendetta Series #2)

BONUS STORY - Colder Than This Home

Colder Than This Home — Time Frame: Before the events of In Vendetta House

Eighty-two, eighty-three, eighty-four—

"Would you like some dinner, dear?"

Sasha O'Conelle struck her head back against the wall repeatedly. She wrapped her arms around her legs, continuing to stare at the ceiling, counting the specks of dirt and ignoring whichever cafeteria worker Dr. White had sent this time. 

She used to play a game with her mom. They would count the patterns on the closest surface, and they were allowed to take those many steps away.

"Anastasia," the worker sighed. "Please stop hitting your head."

Sasha whipped her gaze at the outline in her doorway, letting her eyesight adjust. She recognized the woman vaguely. Sasha had only been here for two weeks, but she was good at remembering faces. 

"Don't call me that," Sasha intoned. "It's not my name."

However many horizontal patterns were however many steps left or right. However many vertical patterns were however many steps up or down. The first person to catch up to the other won. 

Blank-faced, Sasha went back to counting the sequence of dirt specks. 

Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven—

"I have orders not to let you starve yourself in your room, Anastasia."

They could choose either to go offensive or defensive. Sasha always won, though she suspected her mom let her, since there wasn't much else to do on those dreary, rainy days. It was silly for a kid her age, she knew, but it was how they kept joyful.

Those days were gone now.

Eighty-eight.

"Anastasia—"

The next dot blurred into a fuzz.

Before the woman could even finish her sentence, Sasha had leapt off her bed, lunging with her arms outstretched. 

Imaginary fire burnt from inside her veins to a reality on her skin, erupting as she closed her fingers around the woman's neck. She was screaming, violently shaking the woman like there was a rag-doll between her hands rather than a human being.

Her scream turned from avenging to pained as a burning jolt suddenly shook through her body.

Sasha fell off on her own accord, unfurling her chaotic fingers, splaying against the carpet. Her ankle twitched, the source of the shock where a lone chain stopped her from burning down the entire place.

"What is going on here?" Sasha heard shrilly exclaimed over the humming in her ears. Footsteps were clambering close, blurred figures filling up what she could see through the slits of her vision. 

She didn't want to pry open her eyes. She knew she did considerable damage to the woman, and she didn't have the time or energy to regret it. 

Her hand had been forced.

"Come with me, please," someone said to her, and then Sasha was being yanked up. Her limbs were heavy from the searing agony, her ears still ringing, her skin still burning.

All Sasha could smell was smoke as they forced her to walk. 

On her first day, she discovered that there was no escape. Sasha had burnt down her entire school with one warm hand to a curtain. She could barely light a match here.

"Pick up the pace, please."

Sasha opened her eyes. How had she ended up here? Where was the warning? One day she was living by a mundane routine and the next, armed men barged into her front yard, her mom was shot, and she was left to live in a twisted dollhouse.

Wasn't that what Vendetta House was? An extravagant infrastructure of make-believe, where every single move she made was controlled, and any free thought was punished.

"How tragic," Sasha heard simpered as a body passed her.

She turned to see a brunette with green streaks disappear around a corner.

"Sorry," her indigo-streaked friend apologized as she followed in the brunette's wake. 

Sasha shrugged, apathetic. She couldn't care less.

Until another ten shoulders jostled her, one after the other.

"Oh my god, watch it!" she finally snapped. "What is this, a conga line?"

"Sorry! Sorry!"

It was a male voice this time, slightly on the squeaky side. She frowned up at a mop of blond, and was caught in a mixture of curiosity and annoyance when the boy started following her down the hall instead of simply moving along.

"Are you new too?" he asked, in a seriousness as if he actually wanted to know the answer.

Sasha gave him a sidelong glance. "Aren't we all?"

To her surprise, the boy beamed at her. 

Sasha almost smiled back, and that must have been the final straw for the man escorting her. 

"Alright, hurry it up, Dr. White is waiting," the guard, judging by the taser in his belt, snapped. He shooed at the boy. "Don't you have class?"

The boy flat-out ignored the guard with as much cheer as he could summon, and Sasha felt a kindred spirit stirring inside her, in fact, the first spark of feeling that wasn't rage since arriving here.

"I'm Eric!" he called as the guard pushed Sasha through an office door. 

"I'm Sasha," she replied as the door got shut in his face.

But it didn't matter. A tendril of hope was awakening, curling around her thoughts, a bright beam of light amongst the shadows in her head.

For a change, Sasha sat quietly with a slight smirk rather than a scowl on her face when Dr. White began her lecture.