When the darkness takes over, I keep my promise. I spend many hours talking to Lia-in-the-Mirror, wrestling with myself. Days pass, and sometimes weeks, in the infirmary, where I am tied to the bed and still manage to scratch and scar myself. Even with all those trials, I begin to heal and pick up the shattered pieces of my mind.
Michael helps. He's often in the bed next to mine. The shock didn't kill him, but damaged several nerves. We thought he would never walk again, but with the advanced medicine we now have access to, he has made incredible strides. Two months after the last prison offensive, he can get around with the help of a collapsible cane he designed and built. The shock would have either killed or permanently disabled an ordinary young man, but he and I and the deceased Lia trained for the possibility that we may be forced to hurt each other if one of us was undercover. We secretly built up endurance to the unique electrical charge given off by the tritezas. That circle I instinctively made when I attacked him was our signal to feign death and fool the true enemy.
We still hold Commander Teague and the other soldiers as prisoners of war, hoping the capture of the highest-ranked officers might prove useful in negotiations. So ever since the last offensive, I have been gathering the courage to tie up my final loose end.
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"Are you sure you don't want me to come?" asks Michael, concern etched in his features. We stand outside a heavy metal door labeled Prisoner 001.
He had struggled to make it into the basement's cell blocks, walking unsteadily and leaning on me for support at times, but he had insisted on coming. He didn't want me to face this nightmare on my own. And, though he won't say it, he worries that my mind would go into the dark places that have been so carefully cultivated.
"This is something I need to do alone."
"Okay," he concedes. He knows me well, and he knows that I need autonomy. "I'll wait out here," he says, sliding to the floor. I can see how tired he is after our trek, far longer than his physical therapy ever takes him, and I feel guilty for exhausting him.
"Hey," he says, flooring me with a gentle glance. "You didn't make me come down here. I insisted. Don't feel bad. I'll be okay."
I nod silently. As I turn to face the door, one of the guards gives a perfunctory nod, and both turn their faces away. I inhale sharply, punch in my one-time access code, and push the door open.
YOU ARE READING
The Darker Side of Me
TerrorJenna Laosky was five years old when she watched her mother shot down in cold blood. Fourteen years later, she's a highly trained, intelligent fighter for justice. She also happens to a be a prisoner. Captured by the most devious commander in the Un...
