Scarlett Romero has spent her entire life as an ordinary citizen; going to school, getting a job and definitely not killing people in the middle of the woods on a Friday night.
Until one Friday night, she does.
All she can remember is acting out of...
Even if you know what's coming, You're never prepared for How it feels.
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Chapter Nineteen "In Which I Piss Alexander Off... Again"
Scarlett's POV:
I can hear my heart throbbing in my ears, so loud I'm tempted to clamp my hands over them and never let go. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my face harder into Alexander's chest, like he can shield me from the gut-wrenching dread building in my veins.
Alexander holds me close, hands gentle but sure against my back. He traces small circles on my spine, sending little sparks of warmth through me. It makes something heavy settle on my shoulders – it isn't fair for me to feel comfortable when Natalia is running for her life and the life of her child.
"Don't watch," Alexander whispers, breath fanning the shell of my ear. I want to listen, to curl up in a ball and refuse to acknowledge the guards closing in on my friend. I want to let Alexander watch for the both of us. But I can't; I know I can't.
I turn in Alexander's arms and lean against him, letting his arms rest over my shoulders, hands hanging limply above my chest. I clench my jaw, gritting my teeth and straightening my shoulders as I watch the rows and rows of soldier's swarm Natalia.
They get closer with every blink, and one at the back even gives a test shoot. Natalia ducks, but doesn't look back, and I can practically hear her desperation telling her to run faster.
Monica flinches at the gunshot, her arms coming up to wrap around her waist. The sound echoes in my head, rattling around like a pinball. I bite my lip hard enough for it to bleed, stomach sinking to my toes.
There are so many guards running after Natalia, and I'm sure they won't line up and take it in turns to shoot; they'll press the trigger at the same time. What do we do then? I go to move, to get Monica away from it all, so she can remember her family with bright smiles and lingering hope, but my feet are nailed to the spot.
"She can make it, she's going to make it," Monica whimpers, silent tears trickling down her face, staining her cheeks and dripping from her chin. I want to tell her she's right, and that Natalia can escape, but I can't, because Natalia has as much chance of being free as I have meeting my real parents.
The other inmates must be thinking along the same lines, because nobody shares her unrealistic optimism. They give her pitying glances, most with a deep-set understanding in their eyes, knowing exactly what hell she's about to go through. Everyone is so fixated on Natalia, or the memory of their own grief, that no one cowers from Alexander – I don't even think they notice he's here.
The guards are the complete opposite. Below the barrier, they watch us loosely, most chatting with their partners and laughing like they have no care in the world. They don't care about Natalia, they don't feel the same way we do, the 'my heart is about to collapse in on itself' feeling.
