The rise of the White Widow

Day two in the Red room

(Last day, it's Sunday for clarity of what day it is)
Day two in the Red room

The guards rudely awaken me at the crack of dawn on this second grueling day in the Red room. Exhausted, I can barely get on my feet, let alone prepare myself for the merciless training that awaits. The sweat and achiness of the past few days have taken their toll on me, and I struggle to gather my strength.

As I enter the training area, I'm met by a group of fellow widows who have been instructed to fight me. My limbs feel like lead, and I put up the weakest performance in my life, barely able to block or evade their blows. My vision blurs as I finally collapse to the cold floor, overwhelmed by my fatigue.

"Ugh, she's useless," one of the guards grumbles to his partner, clearly annoyed by my failure.

A fire ignites within me, fueled by this insult. With a strong effort, I summon enough strength to get back on my feet and stagger towards the guard who expressed his contempt. Seizing his arm with a vice, like grip, I force him down to the ground and shove my knee into his back to keep him pinned.

In an act of defiance, I unsheathe my knife and violently stab him in the side repeatedly until another guard intervenes, grabbing me from behind. Even now, I refuse to surrender, as I'm being restrained, I kick up my legs flicking them over his shoulders. Positioning myself just right, I plunge the knife into his neck.

With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I rip out my knife and sprint towards the exit. However, more guards have been alerted and they swarm to intercept me. Despite my body crying out for rest, I keep fighting ferociously until a sharp needle pierces my skin and a sedative burns through me like ice. Darkness encroaches upon me as all feeling slips away, and I can't fight any longer.

As I regain consciousness, I find myself on the plane heading home. Groggy, I sit up and rub my face, trying to shake off the drowsiness. Glancing out the window, I notice we're about to land. Panic rises in my chest as I struggle to breathe. I know there will be serious consequences for my recent disobedience.

As soon as the plane touches down and I disembark, I spot my dad waiting for me at the terminal. His stern expression sends shivers down my spine. As I walk towards him, he immediately clips me around the ear, a painful reminder of what's undoubtedly in store for me later on.

Without a word, he leads me to the car and we begin our drive home in complete silence. The tense atmosphere is suffocating. When we finally arrive home, he pulls into the garage and shuts the door quickly to hide my disheveled appearance from prying eyes. He yanks me out of the car and orders me to go straight to my room.

Climbing the stairs feels like an impossible task, and just short of reaching my room, I collapse to the floor in exhaustion. Hours pass as I lay there until Hayden, returns from school. Spotting me lying on the floor, he rushes over with worry written all over his face.
(This scene reminds me of the song broken, if you know the lyrics then you will know what I mean "You are broken on the floor and your crying, crying")

"Shit," he mutters under his breath before quietly offering help.

"It's okay, Dove," he reassures as he scoops me up into his arms and carries me into my room. Laying me gently on the bed, he turns to leave but right before he does so, I grab his hand with immense need in my voice.

"I- I need- hug- hug," I stammer shakily.

Surprised by this request since he knows how much I dislike being touched normally, Hayden pauses before pulling me into his embrace regardless. At first, I stiffen at the contact, but soon allow myself to relax into his arms. Despite my hate to touch, there has always been a strange desire for it as well. I long to be held so tightly that I won't fall apart.

And in that moment, in Hayden's arms, I feel safe.