Shattered (Completed)

Chapter 12 - Deaths

Luke's death is a big tragedy. I want to scream as I feel a little of the fight wither from me. Gone, like the wind barrier. I collapse to my knees, trembling. One is dead.

One is dead.  A twin is dead. This mission is worthless. 

"Get up," hisses a voice. But I can't move. I'm paralyzed. Frozen here, right in the middle of the lobby, trembling. Because that's all I can do. 

A hand tugs on my arm. Pain rips through my left forearm. My shoulder. My hand, as I hold it up to stop the pain. 

But pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain. . .

My vision goes hazy. I don't feel anything. It's all gone. My thoughts, my feelings, my. . . My. . .

I wake to a blinding light and two different voices. People that I can't yet identify.

One asks, "Is she okay? Er, wait. . . Look, look! She's waking up!" Flora, I realize. Flora is here. I wrap my mind around Flora. Blond hair. . . Green eyes. . . Flora James. Freckles around her nose. A smile. And a braid. 

A hand cradles the back of my head, lifting it up. I groan, squinting my eyes. "Wh. . . where. . . what happened?" I ask quietly, pulling my legs up closer to my chest. Pain in my shoulder. Why? What  happened to me? Why so many questions? I groan again. "God. . . it hurts a lot. . ."

"Shush, shush," snaps a voice, and I know in an instant that it's Florence. His rough hand is behind my head. And before I know it, I'm sitting up. My hand is strung with pain as I use it to scoot up. I yelp, clutching my hand and looking at it. There's a bandage beneath white cloth that I can't think of  a name for yet. Did I get. . . shot? The thought of a bullet ripping through my hand in slow motion coats my mind.

I shiver.

"How you feelin', kid?" asks Florence's soft voice. He lowers his head to meet my eyes. All I can manage is a shrug. So he nods. "We'll leave someone in here in case you need anything, but for now just rest up." He smiles a quiet smile and pats the shoulder that didn't have all the pain, leaving at that.

They left me with Flora. She smiles up at me, swinging her legs beneath the chair. It occurs to me suddenly that we're in my circle room. The mirror is fixed. "You know," Flora begins, her voice startling me. "I could make you happy. That's normally what I do and people feel better. They can't feel the pain because they're happy. . . ya know, if you want. Not saying I have to." She smiles to act natural and shrugs.

But I shake my head and sit back against the wall, letting out a small sigh of relief. "I'm fine. Thank you, though." 

She nods, seeming satisfied with herself. Then she adds, "Do you need anything, Alex?"

"Hm?" I ask, tearing my eyes away from the mirror. Is it selfish to look at ones-self in the mirror because they haven't seen them-self enough? I think it is. So I look at her intensely. "No, Flora, I don't need anything else. You can leave if you want. I bet you've got things to do."

To which she replies with a chuckle. "Things to do? No, ma'am. I've got nothing to do all day. Naturally I'd, um, just be doing nothing." And because of the wicked blush on her cheeks as she looks in the opposite direction, I can tell she does things. Should I bring it up? Would it be rude to ask about her love life when I myself don't have mine figured out?

Before I can ask, she answers my question. "Blaze and I aren't anything." she says quickly, clearing her throat awkwardly. "We're just friends. He and I are opposites. And you may not know the phrase opposites attract, but they don't, because Blaze and I aren't anything. Just friends."

I grin. "Gotchya." 

And as if guilt has burdened her to speak, she sighs and looks away. "Okay, fine. Blaze and I are dating. But you can't tell Mister Florence or anyone, because they'll all flip out. Okay? Pinkie promise me." She stands up and holds her pinkie finger out to me. When I frown at it, she takes her pinkie and latches it with my own. "There. That's a pinkie promise. That means you promise to not tell anyone. Ever. Okay?"

No pressure. I nod with a teasing grin. " 'Course, Flora. I won't tell a soul." And I wink to secure the deal. "Now, I could use a glass of milk and. . . uh. . ."

"Honey?" 

"Honey," I confirm, grinning. Then I tilt my head. "How'd you know?"

Flora shrugs. "Florence says you like warm milk and honey. I don't blame you. At all." With a giggle and a twirl, she exits the room - 

- just as Evan walks in. He leans against the wall by the door and stuffs his hands in his pockets. This man is nothing like who I first met, the man who shattered my mirror. This man is calm, mature, but still dirty. I see him look over the new mirror with a smirk. "They fixed it up, eh?" He then tilts his head up and meets my gaze. His grin vanishes and is replaced with a look of guilt. He steps closer and examines my wounds. A bandage, going all the way up my left arm, lies beneath a white sweatshirt that is dotted with blood. He takes my arm in his hand and tenses up when I flinch in pain. "I probably could've stopped this from happening," 

"What do you mean?" I ask quietly, giving him a playful grin to show it's fine. 

Hesitating briefly, he gives in and sits beside me on the bed, but he doesn't lean back. "If I hadn't had encouraged them, you'd be fine." He shrugs, cursing quietly as he looks to the side. "I'm sorry, Alex. It's my fault this happened."

"Didn't the others get shot, too? Or at least hurt?"

When he hesitates once more, I sigh quietly. No one else got shot. He explains, "They couldn't get Blaze, Flora was working at changing their emotions so they didn't aim at her, Teresa went invisible, and I. . ." He groans, covering his face. "I hid. Like a coward. . . I'm a coward, Alex. I could have shielded you. But I hid. And you got shot three times because of me. If I hadn't just - "

"Evan, shut up," 

He flinches in surprise. "What?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me. Then he grins. "You called me Evan."

"Well. . . that's your name, isn't it? A-Anyway, stop beating yourself up about it. You're fine. I'm not close-to-dead, and I'm most certainly not dead. So. . . relax. I'm fine. These bullet holes will, uh, heal fast. . . I think,"

He starts to laugh, and I can't help but chuckle too, even though every lift of my body hurts my shoulder. When the laughing comes to a halt, I find him just staring at me. Then, suddenly, this man says to me, "Alexandria, I believe I'm in love with you," 

And when he swoops his head down to touch his lips to mine, my body erupts into flames.