Carving Us Out

Bas

"What do you call that?" The voice is sharp and grating, like punching bricks. For a second, I think it's coming out of my own throat, but it's not. Of course not. I'm pretty sure I sound like an angel.

With asthma, sure, but everyone has little quirks to stop them being perfect.

When I force my eyes open, Marsha grins at me. "So what's Lara up to, Bas?"

Not Lara. Carver.

"Mind unhooking me first?" I say through gritted teeth. The needles are digging into my skull, and it hurts like hell, little pinpricks that make my skin tingle and tighten. The bed isn't exactly comfortable, either- more of a doctor's table.

Marsha is the doctor in this centre, and I've been brought in to connect to Carver's brain. Mostly because I'm the only one that can.

I have no idea why, and they won't tell me until I find her for them. Everybody wins. I convict a criminal -you have no idea how many points I'll get from that- and some answers, and she gets to answer for whatever she's done.

My stomach goes numb for a second as I sit up, and it has nothing to do with the tube that's been forced in through my belly button. Because I have no idea what she did. A whole month of my memory is gone, but the officials don't know that. For one thing, I hate giving in to the idea that I lost some control. Especially to them.

The second I turned seventeen, things changed. I'm not a kid anymore. I can't lose control, I can't mess up, because mistakes are for children.

There's another, more important reason, but it's not one that I like to think about.

What if someone else finds her? If she hurt me in the past- I had to get amnesia from something- then I deserve a little revenge.

I shake my head fast, clearing the weird uneasy sense of doubt.

"So," Marsha gives me a pointed look. I only know her name because of her name tag. It sticks out from her plain blue slacks. "What did you find out?"

"Get that thing out," I nod at the tube in my belly button, and she tsks, removing it. Her cold fingers press against the lean muscle of my stomach, smirking as they all flex in response to her removing the damned tube.

"Enjoying the view?" I say tightly.

She always has been a bit of a sadist, and I'm just glad I opted for a different Profession that she did. I'm more interested in hunting than healing, and I'm lucky I'm one of the few who can be successful as a bounty hunter- my ability to connect to minds is unprecedented.

Especially with Carver, so it's irritating that despite all the time we spent together, I still can't get a clear read on what's going on inside her head.

"No flirting with the nurses, Bas," she laughs, making sure that the deep cuts heal within minutes, like they always do.

I'm never going to get used to seeing myself covered in my own blood with no obvious source. I know I should feel some kind of triumph, or joy about it, seeing as how I have effectively beat up evolution.

It's still strange.

Almost as strange as the idea of flirting with Marsha, when she bloody tortures me every time I'm in for a session. "It's Sebastian to you, Marsha, love." I pull on my shirt, the dried blood brushing against my skin uncomfortably.

She grins, always liking it when my Irish accent slips through.

Which only happens when I'm pissed off, but hey, whatever makes her happy, since that's all that matters to her. It's all that ever has. I've known her almost as long as I've known Carver- especially since the latter has been AWOL for a couple of years- and it's amazing how little she's changed since we both turned seventeen and got processed.

"Bas?" she interrupts my daydream like state, her hands on a pen and a clipboard. "I have a job too, you know. I don't have all day."

"Uh." I rub my face. "Mental state: scared. She's on her own, too. Not working with anyone."

Carver, scared.

I try to rub feeling back into my fingers, but they keep shaking.

"She keeps thinking about six things that she's done- I saw the fire in her head. From her surroundings, I'd say she's in deep countryside. Trying to keep a low profile, except-" I hesitate and glance at Marsha. "She's thinking about me a lot. It's unclear when she's remembering things and when she's actually experiencing them. I'm not...I'm not sure she knows the difference, either."

"Is that all?" Marsha pretends not to be creeped out by what I've said, but I can tell when she is. Not as smug as usual. Not as high up. "Well, at least you're both obsessing over each other. Gives you something in common." She winks.

I scowl. "It's my job to catch her, Marsha." I tug my jacket on, running a hand through my hair to get the weird cramped feeling out. "Seriously, what the hell did you inject in my brain?"

She laughs, pushing my medical folder firmly back into its place, locking the cupboard. "You're just angry that you couldn't figure out where she was."

"Yeah," I answer tersely. "I just know that she's going mental."

Marsha meets my eyes and smirks. "Is that hard for you? Watching her go insane?"

I stuff my hands into my pockets because they won't stop shaking and I hate it.

How do I feel about it? Well.

Carver's smart. Smart enough to keep up with my fickleness, my changing moods, even smart enough to see it coming. She's smart enough to be able to have missed most of school without losing even one point.

Smart enough to hate the Statute? Shut up, brain, I know first hand that that's probably a side effect of her insanity.

And... logically, that level of genius is not something I'm happy about.

Because it makes my job harder, you know?

"Bas..." Marsha chants.

I shrug. "Who cares? I'll get her either way. Even if she's a gibbering mess." I smirk. "Which would actually be pretty funny."

Why the hell do I keep spacing out? Is Carver rubbing off on me?