The Bad Guy

Chapter 7

Catra came back to consciousness slowly. At first she felt nothing, her body free floating in the disassociated numbness of sleep. Her mind was blank – the last thing she remembered was creeping past Horde guards and out of the Fright Zone to...

Memories came back to her in quick succession, each more terrible than the last: waiting for Adora, being confronted by Glimmer and Bow, Adora trying to get her to join the Rebellion, Hordak's spy. Catra swallowed and found her throat felt like she had swallowed glass. The sound of her own screams–pained and terrified–played over in her mind. Against her closed eyelids her brain projected the menacing red glow of Entrapta's robot, advancing under Hordak's control.

Heart hammering, Catra jolted upright. Or, at least she tried to. The sudden motion sent a storm of pain rampaging across her body, and she dropped back with an anguished wail.

It took a few moments for the pain to subside to a point where she dared try moving again. She started with her eyes, opening them just a crack. Only one obeyed her command – the other, it seemed, was swollen shut. Drawing sharp, shallow breaths between gritted teeth, Catra lifted an arm to inspect it. Her muscles felt like lead and her hand trembled with the effort it took to lift it. Oozing bandages wrapped her wrist, no doubt dressing the deep gouges where her hands had been bound behind her back. That feeling of helplessness gripped her heart all over again – of knowing she wouldn't be allowed to defend herself. It felt an awful lot like her childhood.

Gingerly, Catra turned her head. Her headpiece sat on the table by the bedside. She grimaced, feeling naked and exposed without it. Her gaze roamed further, at which point she realized something was off. She sniffed the air and the scent of the thin pillow on which her head rested.

This wasn't her room.

"Where am I?" she mumbled to herself. Her voice was hoarse and her mouth was dry. When she tried to lick her lips, she tasted the stale metallic tang of blood, and her stomach lurched.

Catra tried once more to sit up. She moved slowly and pushed through the pain, but her chest burned and something about her midsection felt constricted. With extraordinary effort, she managed to lift the edge of the standard issue barrack blanket that covered her and discovered the entire top half of her torso was hidden under a snug layer of bandages.

Broken ribs, she thought with a wince. Perfect.

That was all she could handle. Catra eased back onto the pillow and braced herself against the random flares of pain that assaulted her across every corner of her body.

Screwing her eyes shut tight, she let self pity wash over her. She was broken, she was weak, and she was useless.

Don't forget: you're also alone.

Catra didn't realize she was crying until a sob escaped her scorched throat. Hot tears ran down her face and into her hair; she didn't bother to wipe them away.

She was so tired and in so much pain that breaking down felt like the only option. And so, Catra cried. She wept shamelessly, shedding tears until her eyes burned and the pillow was damp. Her gasping breaths turned into painful hiccups that felt like a kick to her lungs with every convulsion. A headache pounded at the inside of her skull, but she just kept crying. It didn't matter if it hurt – she deserved it all.

So caught up was she in her own misery that Catra didn't even stop when she heard the beeping of a keypad. The door hissed open, and she tilted her head just enough that she was able to watch Scorpia fumble over the threshold, her clawed hands ladened with supplies.

Their eyes met across the room and the moment hung. As she watched Scorpia's eyes grow wide, seemingly in slow motion, Catra suddenly found herself wishing she had stopped herself from crying after all.