Thirty-Eight

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I guess Silas and I fell asleep at some point in time because we wake up tangled on the floor as Cecile starts yelling at us to wake up.

"Get up, slackers! Let's move, move, move!" She bellows ridiculously loud. "It's time to train!"

With a sleepy groan, I get up, untangling myself from Silas and climbing over him to get to the door of the cell. Silas sucks in a breath, but when I look back, I see he's not obviously injured so I decide he's fine.

Cecile unlocks the door and scrunches her nose. "Don't worry, we'll get you some clothes for you to change into."

Looking down, I realize that my bright white jeans and tank top, even if they are splattered with my own blood, are not the best choice for training to ki—be a weapon. Cecile rolls her eyes and takes me to a hall where she pulls an outfit out of a closet. Silas remains locked in the cell, much to his growing frustration. I can still hear his shouts.

"Get dressed," She orders, tossing me a black outfit, a gleam in her eyes telling me it would not be a good idea to stall or argue.

Scared, I quickly shed my clothes pull on the clothes she gave me. They somehow fit me perfectly, like they knew ahead of time that I was coming. Unfortunately, they probably did. I just want to know how long they have been planning on training me. It's probably the whole reason why they bought me. I don't understand what they see in me, why they think that I could be a weapon or a killer. However, I am grateful that they bought me. There were a few men at the auction that I would rather die than go with. I repress a shudder at the thought.

The black clothes fit, but they don't fit me. I feel wrong, but it seems like I will be wearing black for a while. I belong on the white side, the side with the boys. But I am just a pawn in this game. There is nothing I can do except get through this and get to the other side. Once I am there, I will be stronger for this.

I will return a queen.

I follow Cecile down, down, down, down, a set of stone stairs. It seems never-ending, but we finally reach the bottom.

By now, I can just barely see through the pitch black darkness. Cecile flicks a switch that I didn't notice and the cavernous room is flooded with bright, fluorescent lights. There is a plethora of training equipment. I don't even recognize half of the items in here. The room is like a giant hole in the ground, it is humongous.

"On the treadmill! Now!" Cecile screams.

Her volume causes her voice to echo in the large room and it gives me a growing headache. I cringe, thinking about the fact that this is only the beginning.

This is only the beginning.

At least she runs with me instead of standing there and barking out orders. Everything she has me do, she does as well. But, I soon grow tired of it.

"Come on, Sang!" She yells. "If I can lift it, you can too!"

Yes. The tiny girl who never exercises should be up to par with the giant lady who is made of bricks disguised to look like muscle. That makes perfect sense.

I shake my head, annoyed with how sarcastic and pessimistic I've grown lately. I don't like it. I don't want to be jaded, I liked the way I was. I wasn't so scared. I wasn't dark. I was light. I still am, but I can feel myself growing darker as time goes on. Maybe it is just a part of growing up, but I still don't like it.

My hands shake terribly under the weight of the bench press as I struggle to keep it from slamming down on my throat. Cecile is spotting me, but I don't exactly trust her with my life. Okay, that's not true. I don't trust her at all.

Finally, Cecile groans, "Ugh. Fine. You can be done with this. Clearly, strength won't be your strong suit. We'll have to make you better than everyone else in every other department, then."

Relieved, I gratefully put the horrid weight down and massage my screaming muscles. I stretch my arms as I follow Cecile to a treadmill once more.

Cecile starts me off at a run, faster than the last time, making me nervous about how fast Cecile is going to make me go. I run. And run. And run. After twenty minutes, I am dead. I don't care how scared I am, I'm done.

I step off the treadmill and double over as I pant for air. Cecile slams her fist into my gut and knocks the wind completely out of me as I topple backward. My head slams into the stone floor and I see double, then triple, then I lose count. Cecile doesn't stop though. Cecile kicks me, sending me flying away from her.

I don't scream or cry, though.

I am used to this.

My mind shuts down as she continues.

I am used to this.

It's hard to hold on to hope when things get bad, but you have to. I've always been ready to give up. To just quit. Be done. But I can't.

I am not a quitter. I have people to prove wrong. I have to prove myself to them, all of them. I am not just somebody to be pushed to the side or sold off. Someone who you can just abandon, because nobody deserves that. No. I have to show to myself, and to everybody else, that I am stronger than that.

I am Sang Sorenson, I am Ghost Bird, and I will not be thrown to the side.

I will not be ignored.

I will not give up.

Storming over, Cecile stomps on my solar plexus, effectively sending pain bursting through me as I lose consciousness and give in to the darkness.

I am used to this.

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