Upside down

Chapter 3 - 605 days in captivity

Lost in thought, Jennie stared at the fine scars that adorned her fingers, reminding her all too clearly that things would never be the same.

Oh, how she would like to tell herself that the past meant something to her. But she had no past to build upon. No present to strengthen her.
Nothing but naïve, desperate hope for a better future.

For freedom.

Even now, after almost a year, the scars had barely faded, and Jennie didn't bother to hope that they would ever disappear.

How could they?
Whenever Jennie extended her hardened, pointed nails, her fingers bled. It didn't stop just because she did it regularly.
It felt like someone was ripping out her fingernails every time, and yet she had to go through it each time.

"Enough rest, back to training!",

the instructor barked, clapping his hands loudly. Jennie sighed, put down her water bottle and re-bandaged her hands. Then she sauntered back to the punching bag, did a quick stretch, and started punching.

It helped to imagine the people she hated as she hit the bag. Countless faces popped into Jennie's subconscious.

The boy who had picked on her back in elementary school.

Smash

Jennie enjoyed the burning impact of her hand and the punching bag. It made her feel alive, feel free. It reminded her not to give up yet.

The arrogant cadets who had nothing better to do than constantly harass Jennie.

Thud

Smash

Thud-thud

One punch for every face she wanted to ruin with her nails, to make it bleed until there was nothing left but shreds of flesh and blood.

Her father.

SMASH!

Jennie struck so hard that her hand pulsed after the blow, and the sound echoed through the hall.
For a few seconds Jennie stared at the punching bag, then grabbed her bottle and fled the training hall. She ignored the partly curious, partly snide looks of the other cadets.

She hated it.

Why did she have to be so incredibly emotional?
Why did her heart still tighten painfully just thinking about him? Why couldn't she just kill her damn feelings?

She locked the door to the bathroom stall and slid powerlessly down the wall.

"Die...",

she whispered, hitting her chest.

"Die."

"Die!"

She screamed all her despair at the top of her lungs, pounding against her chest as if her words could reach her heart.
Her entire body shook uncontrollably.

"FUCKING DIE!"

she screamed.
Her echo screamed back, then there was silence.
A warm liquid seeped through her shirt and through the bandages. Jennie sighed and took off her shirt, only to see the marks of her own fingernails underneath, which had dug into her skin and made her bleed.

"And why is it that I am still not able to control you?",

she accused her bloody, far too sharp fingernails.

Without another word, suddenly expressionless as if the emotional outburst had just been her imagination, she removed the bandages from her hands, went to the sink and washed her hands until the water in the sink was no longer red. She ran the ice-cold water over her face and looked at her own reflection.