Animal

Bitter

I'm insane.

As I sit in the corner of my bedroom in the training center, I open my mind to the possibility. I hug my legs against my chest as I remember my Fight, just now realizing what I had done. Just now, fully comprehending what I had done. It is as if I am just now waking up!

The city lights shine in through the windows and dancing across the floor. On the outside the training center looks like it doesn't have windows, but it does. I keep my window open, no matter how cool it is outside. I like the sounds of the traffic outside and the people moving around on the streets below. I also like the breeze, my skin is always so hot.

I press my face into my legs.

I tore a chunk out of a man's leg and tore his arm off. I curse under my breath. Something's wrong with me.

I curse again and climb onto my feet. I miss my family. I miss April. I miss Oliver.

I can't sit still.

I find myself in a training room, turning on a program, I decide to train instead of sleep.

* * *

I don't feel like myself.

"Look at this, Scrappy."

My eyes flicker to Ms. Adams as I pull myself out of my own thoughts, they weren't good thoughts anyway. She holds up her tablet in front of my face. I take another mechanical bite of the bland protein bar she had given me. Its rough grain scratches against the roof of my mouth. I struggle to swallow the thick dough it had become in my mouth.

I don't understand what I'm seeing. "What am I looking at?" I ask quietly.

Ms. Adams sighs and sets the tablet down before picking up her golden tea cup and taking a sip. "You are in the top five, Scrappy. Mr. Anderson is pleased." She sets the cup back down onto her desk. I watch the steam emitting from it curl and twist into the air, before disappearing. A mid-fall breeze blows in through the window behind her desk. I take a deep breath, the purified air from outside feels my lungs.

I blink and take another bite of the bar so I won't have to say anything in response. I cannot be bothered to lie right now.

"You have another fight Wednesday." I chew harder. "It is a K-Fight." I swallow even though its painful. "Mr. Anderson wants it over in five minutes...less if you're able. The bloodier, the better."

I rip another piece of the protein bar off and chew quickly.

"Do you hear me, Miss Armstrong?" She asks slowly.

"I hear you," I answer tersely.

"Miss Armstrong..."

"I said I hear you!" I snap. She narrows her eyes at me. I look away. "Sorry..."

"I was going to say, you're bleeding." I look down at my hands, seeing I had cut myself again. I growl in frustration. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this! I drop the protein bar, and wrap my bleeding thumb in the T-shirt I'm wearing, its Oliver's, I wear it whenever I can. Ms. Adams woman eyes me closely. "I just don't understand you, Scrappy. Do you not understand what it is you're capable of? You could be the best Fighter in the world." I blink at her. I don't care about any of this."Let me show you something," she picks up her tablet again. A second later she's sliding it across her desk to me. On the screen is a tall man with light brown skin and wavy hair framing his face and shoulders, he looks familiar. The piece of metal wrapped around his neck suggests he's a Fighter. "This is Moore Anderson," my eyes dart to her in disbelief. Couldn't be... She nods with a real smile, answering my unspoken question. "This is Mr. Anderson's father, Moore Anderson, and he was the best Fighter...ever. No one has ever beat his record, to date. I remember watching him when I was little and being in awe, he was truly amazing. You see, being a Fighter isn't a dead end, and if you play your cards right it can actually be a stepping stone to greater things. He become so successful, he was able to create a dynasty and become one of the richest men in the world, just because people loved him. People trusted his Fighting ability so much that when he created a training center, everyone flocked too it. Any fighter he trained was automatically sought after and Bet on. His influence over people was legendary." Her awe and giddiness is tangible as her back straightens in the chair and she leans forward. It is oddly interesting to see her like this, she looks ten years younger. "He even ran for president and almost won... as a man from the Other Side of the canyon. Do you have any idea how big that is? The people here... they see us as animals, less than, tools... but because of his Fighting, they respected Moore. He came out on top in the end."

I unwrap my still bleeding thumb and watch blood seep through the jagged tare before saying, "I still don't understand why you care so much about how good of a fighter I am." I say quietly but even I can hear the edge in my own voice. "Why would you care about how popular I become? Why care about how much influence I have?" What is she trying to do?

Her smile turns sharp at the edges. "You're smart, Scrappy. You're not wrong, you should never trust anyone completely." She leans back and stares at me. "When your influence grows, so will mine, being your mentor."

"So, you'll feed off my success?" I ask dryly.

"Exactly," she shrugs.

My eyes flicker to hers again. "And... if I don't want to do this?"

She picks up her tea cup and licks her lips before taking a sip. "You don't have a choice, Scrappy."

I look down, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. Of course not.