Sapphire Bones

Monsters

Updated: March 21, 2019

-L-

"She hasn't moved for a few days – are you sure she's still alive?" The feminine voice came from just outside my cell. Partly worried and the least bit annoyed, their tone barely adjusted to the situation. After Jeffries left I sunk back into the deep unconscious loom I found myself in more often than not these days. Back with Peter I hardly had a moment without someone there to prod into my head. Here they left me alone for days. Isolation became a welcome friend that I held close; loneliness allowed me to breathe peacefully. I'd be absorbed by the black hole of a cage they kept me in and left to fare the damning thoughts that circled my own head and ravaged any clear memories I had left. But at this point I allowed it. Any memories I had left of the life before Peter were blurred from years of whatever psychological trauma he dealt me. Getting rid of those offered me solace I so desperately needed. Because along with the memories of my childhood, those with Peter began to fade as well. His face dusted into the back of my head with the rest of the images I used to hold dear to me. He became a fragment, sharp edges that pinched my brain every once in a while, but otherwise left me alone. I had other wardens to worry about.

"Yeah she's just faking it," a male voice unfamiliar to my normal squad of mercenaries that patrolled the hall answered the feminine one. "Kick 'er around a little and she'll wake up." A scoff and a couple coughs later, large thundering footsteps led away from my cell leaving me with the feminine mercenary. I didn't dare open my eyes. My lungs clung to the last bits of air I had left in my system; if she didn't leave soon the primordial instincts would kick in and force me to breathe.

On the days the feminine mercenary left me alone, others not assigned to my case visited. As long as I played dead, held my breath for as long as I could, they left me alone. But the moment my chest heaved up and out I was left at their mercy, and my screams did nothing to appease their thirst for a confession – or whatever they wanted – from me.

"He's gone now – you don't have to be afraid," her voice came at me like church bells at noon on a Sunday. The edges of my lips wanted to cock up into a smile but I held firm, eyes pinched tight to keep any tears from leaking out. "I already told you I wouldn't hurt you," she spoke again. This time softer as if the other mercenary would hear if her words stretched too far into the hall. I blinked once; the black in front of my eyes didn't diminish. Instead it grew stronger, a more intense black void than it was before. It never stopped, never came or went. It just was.

"Why do you care?" My voice cracked in my throat. Days passed since I spoke the last time; my broken jaw held my words in as it healed. Her mouth clicked and the hinges on the door clanged together as my new mercenary came into the room. "You won't even tell me your name – you know mine and yet you refuse to use it," I coughed out, a bit of bitter saliva coated my teeth. My lips barely parted when I spoke; a continuous pang of irritation threatened the bone under my teeth. She shuffled softly, her short heels barely audible despite my ears near the ground. Maybe this time I tipped her off – she'd have her way with my brain and I'd be left a mindless corpse at the stand. Maybe then the Council would pity me and allow my death to come without beheading. I'd die on my own terms; I didn't have a wolf to dispute my desires and keep me alive. Not even Margette could keep me alive if I wished otherwise. Margette was nothing but a voice in my head, and in the human world I would have been thrown in the back of a cell and left to rot. Pills shoved into my mouth, and therapy to rid my brain of the voices. Here, they had no idea about the woman in my head. Margette was a secret – my secret that I didn't intend to share with anyone.

"I care because you need someone to care," She answered. The mercenary was still a distance away from where I lay, my back to her. I refused to turn over, to give this woman the satisfaction of grabbing my full attention with her presence. "I know what Peter did to you – what everyone in that bunker did to you," she murmured.