Skye Crying

12 ║Rayla

~ Hidden: Verb ~

Put or keep out of sight; conceal from the view or notice of others.

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Clip Twelve - Rayla's POV

The guards had escorted me quickly back down the massive staircase, pushing me into a black car similar to the one I had arrived in. My mother was nowhere to be seen.

Shivering slightly, I turned my thoughts to Samael's proposal. I obviously don't have a choice to turn it down, so that means that I'll be moving in with the other potential candidates inside Central's inner wall.

I was hustled into a impressively large, yet bland building that pulsed with blue light as the nighttime darkness settled on the city. I was shuffled along hallway after hallway, and after I while I gave up trying to keep track of all the twists and turns. 

My escorts, two tall, burly men clothed in black shoved me through a silver door, not bothering to cast me a glance or tell me what was going on.

The lock clicks, the sound echoing sinisterly through the tiny room. I sink soundlessly into the lone metal chair, gazing vacantly around the empty room. A chill emanates from the grey walls, making me subconsciously shudder.

SLAM!

The door bangs open, crashing against the wall and leaving a dent. I jump violently and whirl at the sound, letting out an audible gasp. Two sinister looking guards file into the room, but I hardly notice - I have eyes only for the person in the doorway; my mother.

She looks deathly pale, yet unharmed, her eyes darting around the room, wide with fear. I don't think she's even noticed me yet, she's so focused on the guns in the guards hands. I don't draw any attention to myself, watching her with a feeling of cold satisfaction at the look on her face; after all, I see no reason to love a mother who only cares for herself.

She notices me with a start, and her impossibly pale face gets even whiter. Neither of us make any sort of move to embrace, but we stand in a kind of stare-off, eyeing each other warily. 

"I was told that this is our last meeting - our chance to say goodbye, if you will."

The words sound so robotic, not a hint of emotion behind them. I used to think that being a mother meant you automatically had some amount of affection for your child, no matter how small.

My mother is living proof of how horribly wrong I was.

"So we won't be seeing each other after this?" I don't even bother to keep the malice and disgust out of my voice.

She nods. So do I. We continue to stare at one another, as if wanting to say all the things left unsaid between us, but at the same time not wanting to. 

"Are you even going to say anything to your only daughter?" I snarl. "Or are you elated at the prospect of never having to deal with me again?" 

My mother's lips move soundlessly, struggling to find something to say.

I stalk past her, enraged, regretful and mourning all at once. 

"Rayla..." The pleading and desperation in her tone makes me pause. I don't turn around, but I can hear her sniffling pathetically. All of my fury at being neglected, ignored and left to fend for myself in a corrupt city builds up inside of me; I feel that if I say anything, I might snap.