Instinct

This is completely my own work. Similarity to any other works are completely coincidental. This may not be copied, built upon or re written in any way. Instinct should not be seen on any site, under any names other than my own.

INSTINCT (c) Olivia Moore / Jisabella. All Rights Reserved.

COVER (c) Olivia Moore / Jisabella. IMAGES (c) Synaptica-stock and ma8201 on dA

SEQUEL TO SURVIVAL

Dedicated to @adam_and_jane for being a great help and inspiration for carrying on with this when I've gotten discouraged. Thank you!

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It always started the same.

A wash of grass way too green to be real peeking out from behind perfectly lined white picket fences, immaculate gardens and children laughing, a feeling of peace and love so potent that remembering it later would make her heart ache. Her shoulder would brush against his, and his clear grey eyes would flicker toward her, a wry smile tugging involuntarily at the edge of his lips. Stephanie would slip her hand into his, her heart catching as he grinned- an honest to god smile- and encompassed her hand in soft skin and warmth.

A ghost of that sensation would stay with her for the rest of the day.

The sun would surround them with golden warmth, a cocoon of safety much like the prickling heat that travelled up her arm and throughout her body just by the simple contact his hand provided. For a moment, a niggling feeling of uncertainty would pulse through her, and she'd shoot a tight-lipped look at the tall, angular boy beside her. A flash of darkness and accusations would thrill through her memory, standing the hair of her arms on end.

She never remembered, nor understood, where it came from until it was all over.

In a moment of fear, she'd pull Daniel to a stop, barely registering the questions creased in his face or her own confusion. Looking into his eyes, so open and clear, a pang pierced through her chest. She wouldn't be able to fight the sense of urgency and loss in her, and so his litany of questions didn't stop her from reaching up and threading her arms around his neck, pulling him down so that their lips would meet. Instead of pulling away, his words died on her mouth, and after a moment his hands would press against the small of her back, bringing her flush against his chest.

Electricity shot through her bones, stealing her breath. The feather down softness of his hair between her fingers. The feeling of his lips against hers. She'd feel reassured, overwhelmingly happy.

And then she'd wake up with a shock to white walls and stark cold metal. And she'd remember.

The dreams would become increasingly hard to replicate. Hot kisses became a distant shadow; it would just be the feeling of his arms around her and his hair in her hands. When that faded, the safety of her hand wrapped in his- until all that was left was her shoulder brushing against his, that brilliant smile and his wonderful, non-descript eyes.

***

"You're quiet."

Yes, Stephanie thought, but couldn't summon the energy to say it out loud. Yes, I'm so very, very tired. It was dimly, distantly frightening, this exhaustion. It was wired into the very depths of her soul. Instead, a sigh escaped her lips as she stared at the wall, a flash of auburn teasing at the peripherals of her vision.

"Do you want to tell me?"

A biting retort rose to the tip of her tongue, but dissipated quickly. Any response would just result in more talking. Useless words. Useless emotions. What was the point?

"This is hurting you Stephanie. It's hurting your health. You need to talk about it."

What Dr. Powell failed to mention was that while it may be in Stephanie's best interest to talk, it was in The Facility's better interest that she should get over whatever drained her energy, left her spending days and nights curled up on her cot. She was no longer an asset if she was wasting away, in body and in mind. Stephanie found that she didn't quite care whose time she was wasting.

A sigh. "This hasn't been all bad, has it?" The doctor carried on. "You've been treated well, taken care of."

"I've been locked up here for months."

"Is that what's bothering you?"

Stephanie turned her eyes on the psychiatrist. "Wouldn't it bother you?"

"That's not a straight answer."

"Yes, I know," Stephanie said. "It's deflection in your words. But in my world, it's a simple question. One I'd really like to hear your opinion on."

Powell settled back in her chair, raising an eyebrow. She was waiting.

Stephanie cracked a bland smile, she couldn't help it. "It's inhumane to lock up a person like this against their will. It's against their basic human rights. You do this to animals, anything beneath humans, beneath basic rights. So tell me, what makes me beneath you?"

The doctor only sat there, in her self-assured silence, waiting for Stephanie to talk out all of her frustrations and ultimately cure herself of whatever was eating at her mind.

"Why can't we just have a conversation?" Stephanie asked. "Or am I not human enough for that, either?"

"So this is an issue of-"

"It's not an issue of anything," she snapped. "I'm just tired." Stephanie shook her head, smoothing a hand over her face. "You get to go home every night. You get to breathe fresh air. You get to see the people you love and live your life but I don't disappear when you leave. I'm still here, right where I'm sitting, boxed in by these walls with no windows."

"I'm sure we could arrange something, to get you outside, as long as you were willing to cooperate."

Stephanie smiled again, a small lift of the lips. "Isn't that the problem, though?" She asked. "Arrange for me to go outside. I used to be able to just walk outside if I wanted to. Now, I have to ask permission, like I'm a damn dog waiting by the door for my people to come home."

"It's-"

"It's demoralizing. That's what it is."

The doctor was at a loss for words, staring down at her hands as if they held the answer to all of this.

"Could you be straight with me, Rebecca?"

That twist of the lips, uncertainty in its entirety, made Stephanie want to cry, but she sat resolutely.

"What happens to me when this is all over?" Then, as an afterthought, "Does it actually end?"

Moments, minutes of silence passed. "I don't know."

"That's what I was afraid of," Stephanie whispered.