The Destroyed Girl

Chapter 1: WICKED

RHEA'S POV
I hear it again, and again, and again. The screams of my cell mate. The cries of agony and the thrashing as he fights against them. I know exactly how he feels, because I've been through what he's going through now. In fact, the pain rings in my head still, my body numb from the painkillers that they throw our way.

Finally, there's the clicking sound of the door opening, and a thud as they toss Minho into our shared cell. The guards wait at the door for us to go to the canteen for dinner.

I had my session in the morning. Minho is lucky. He gets his at night, before dinner, so he can rest sooner. At lunch, they run tests on us, putting us through brutal trainings that our bodies can barely tolerate.

I slowly make my way to Minho's cell, wincing with every step. We've become close, being cell mates. We help each other after the simulations.

I hate being stuck here. I hate having to go through those simulations and wake up from them with tears in my eyes, blood flowing from my nose. Worse of all is the aching feeling in me. That feeling that screams at me. I miss them. The girls, Aris, even Newt and the other Gladers.

But it's not the time to miss anyone. It's the time to be finding a way for me and Minho to get past today and get ready for tomorrow.

Two weeks we've been here. Two weeks of constant suffering and having to endure pain and simulations. I should probably be grateful for the pain killers that they give us, but in all honesty, they numb our minds, make us hopeless when it comes to fighting back, and brings us into a lucid state that allows them to throw us around into simulations. Simulations wherein if we get hurt there, we get hurt out here as well.

Minho lies on the ground, groaning. His eyes are bloodshot, his lip has is split, his shirtless body littered with bruises, the blue and black stark against his pale skin. On my knees, I shuffle over to him, pain ringing in my head. The lingering effects of my simulation from this morning make me sluggish, and training earlier has tired out my entire body.

When I reach Minho, I tug his arm over my shoulder. We slowly get up, and I help him out to the canteen. Putting his shirt back on is way too painful for him, so he remains shirtless. I don't care. It's hard to care about such trivial things after all this time.

Minho and I need each other for survival. I would even go as far as to call him my only friend in this place.

We both sit next to each other on the bench, in front of our trays. I force food into Minho and he eats slowly. I only eat when he's done. We don't speak. The only time we speak is during lunch, where I've finished my session which happens before breakfast and we're about to go for training.

He leans onto me and groans.

"When will they come?" He moans.

"They better not," I tighten my hold on my utensils in either hand, the picture of any of the girls or boys getting hurt by coming to save us making me feel sick.

Unbidden, I think of Newt. I remember the words he said to me, right before WICKED attacked us at the Right Arm. How he was saying that there had to be someplace better. I wish I had his hope, or at least had him here to tell me to keep going and to find a way to get out of this place.

Because I am so close to just giving up. It's getting harder day by day to bring myself to fight back when they try to strap me to the simulation centre, and it's getting harder to hope for an escape.

But the moment they arrive, WICKED would capture them, subject them to the same torture as they are to us. And I don't think I'd be able to stand by and watch the hope leave Newt's eyes.

So no. They can't come after us.

~

Morning is when I wait for my usual appointment with the scientists. But they don't come in. Instead, Janson does.

Minho and I both tense, because it's been two weeks and not once has there been a change to our routine. Not once has anyone other than the guards come to our cell.

"Well, well," Janson brings his hands together in front of him. "I heard that the two of you have been rather impressive, enduring your simulations. Good. Don't worry, it's come to an end. There'll be no more of that. From now on, the two of you rest."

I can't help but feel a surge of relief, mixed with doubt and fury. I want nothing more than to strangle him against the bars with hold us captive, but I don't even have the energy to give a surprise attack.

"Come, you need a shower. We need you both to look presentable. You two are going to be our honoured guest," Janson says, smirking in a way that a chill through me. When neither Minho nor I move, Janson clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Come along now. Don't make me force you."

Minho and I exchange a glance, but we both know there's no fighting back here.

We stand on shaky feet, and we follow him.

~

The warm water is refreshing. It soothes my mind, and the feeling of being clean makes me want to cry, as stupid as that sounds. It's been so long since I had a proper shower it doesn't feel real.

I scrub the dirt dried blood off my skin, which still remains pale as ever, and wash my hair thoroughly. I clean my whole self three times over before stepping out of the shower.

My head starts throbbing the moment I step out of the shower, but I know it isn't because of my scar. My scar, which they gave me an oil for-probably Ava's way of trying to reconcile. It has stopped hurting so much, but now my mind is tormented by the after effects of sitting for all those simulations.

I find a blow dryer and blow dry my hair. I can't stand wet hair. It always sticks onto my clothes.

I change into a black t-shirt, black combat pants and a pair of old tennis shoes. I wonder who they belonged to before this. But I'm more distracted by the next article of clothing laid out for me to wear. put on the black jacket after combing my black hair, a sigh escaping my lips as I lift the hood to shield my face. It's more comfortable than the previous one I had.

Glancing at the mirror, I see that I actually look like my normal, hooded self. I walk out of the bathroom and Janson grins.

"Let's take you to breakfast, shall we?" He says, and leads me to the canteen.

When I go in, I see a clean, refreshed Minho. He looks up at me and sighs in relief. I take my usual spot next to him and Janson leaves us in the huge, open space.

"Could you take off your hood? I've gotten used to seeing you without it," He says, his voice sore.

I do. I don't him mind him seeing me with my actual appearance now. Because we've understood each other's pain and he doesn't judge me. I would've never shown him if we weren't kidnapped though. Oh, how different the two of us are to each other now.

"So, no more torture," Minho says, but even now, he can't bring himself to smile.

"They have something planned for us," I say, my voice hoarse.

Minho nods. "You think they're coming?"

"I wouldn't know," I shake my head.

"What would we do if they are?" He asks.

I fidget with the zipper of my jacket.

"We need to get rid of this place," I say, taking in a rattling breath. "WICKED needs to be destroyed."