mirror // pansy parkinson

eighteen

I awoke to a very bright Carter.

Really— Carter Felix's curls were shining violently as his golden-painted face peered down at mine, looking anxious. His eyebrows met together, and I itched to reach up and slowly carress those eyebrows—separate them. I heard myself saying 'don't furrow your brows'.

Except I couldn't say the words. Fear and panic and adrenaline kicked in. I jerked upwards, my sore arms reacting faster than my brain could ever alert or direct them. The right arm— my right arm caught at the boy's left. Apparently, my right arm did something to his left because he gave a yelp and he crashed onto the... bed? Yes, I was on a bed, and he crashed onto the frame. I instinctively took him by the neck when he writhed painfully.

'Where am I?' was what I asked. I blinked then, finally conscious and out of my instant kill mode.

Carter had his eyes wide and shimmering as they blinked slowly. His arm was still in an odd position. I glanced down at my arm and frowned. What the hell did they do to Carter? But I was thankful. For some reason I couldn't fathom. Yet.

'You know damn well where you are,' the pale-faced boy said, aghast. 'Was all that martial art really necessary?'

'I'm afraid yes, Mr Felix.' I grabbed his awkward arm and pulled at it. He winced.

I glanced around, then realised it was no other than my room— no, not my room, a prison cell that grew to be my room.

At that thought, my head was filled with the events before. I now understood why my arms did that to Carter.

My gaze shifted back to the boy whose right arm depended solely on me.

'What happened?' I asked him curiously. 'Didn't I— wasn't I screaming at your mother? Why am I—'

'Yes, you were screaming at Greta before you collapsed,' he said. He sound grave. And in pain, of course. His arm was nearly dying. 'Last night. She deserved that.'

I read his expression, but it seemed unreadable.

'What do you...she deserved? Aren't you in league with her?'

He laughed without much humour. 'In league? God no, I wasn't in league with her.'

Relief washed over me. I wasn't sure why it did, but I felt an immense amount of relief.

'So,' I said, my voice shaking with concerning enthusiasm, 'you didn't know she was going to...'

'I did. I do. In fact, knows that she's going to kill—'

He broke off as my grip around Carter's arm tightened. His skin underneath my grip whitened. The boy winced.

'Then you are in league with her,' I scathed. The amount of the words 'in league' said between us seemed to tickle my funny bone. But I kept a straight face. 'And to think you were ever so nice to me—'

'Listen, will you?' he said sharply. I stopped mid-sentence, my mouth clamping shut at his tone.

'I'm listening.'

He snickered. 'I doubt that. You never listen.'

I rolled my eyes.

'Talk, Felix. I'm nearly breaking your pretty arm right here. The procedure would just take one snap but I, for one, knows the meaning of mercy.'

He glanced at his arm. He did not look too convince that it would just take one snap. I wasn't convinced either. I was tempted to snap it a little, to see whether it'll break or not but I bit back the urge.

'Alright. Do you want the long story or the short story?'

'Long,' I answered bitterly. 'As I get to pull at your arm longer.'

He looked sorry that he ever asked. He sighed exasperatedly as if he was irritated by me. He looked sorry again that he ever sighed because I gripped it harder.

'Fine,' he choked. 'Long story it is. I'll explain to you everything.'

'From the scratch.'

'Yes, yes. From the scratch it is.'

He went on telling me a story about a woman named Catherine Felix. How she was wronged by the people, how her intentions were pure when she started the institute, how she became mad when she realised everything was so wrong.

How she became mad.

Instead of having a swell of hatred or annoyance towards Catherine— or Hope, as Carter told me that was what everyone called her— I only felt pity.

'That's a nice story,' I remarked sarcastically. 'Condolences.'

Carter shrugged. 'I have never seen my great-grandmother.'

'No shit.' I tugged at his arm. 'Now tell me how the hell murder is related to all this.'

His expression darkened. 'That's all Greta.'

'She's sick and tired of this institute. She wants it over with. But every single time she tried to abandon it, it lingered in her mind until she went partly insane. She, well, as she put it, had no choice but to end all the patients. '

'She followed a specific order, if you want to know. From weak curses to strong curses. You're fourth to last. Yes, you heard that right. She had killed every single patients before you. It was a bloodbath. A bloodbath I didn't want to participate ever since...'

He trailed off. I tugged at his arm, encouraging him to finish whatever he was saying. He sucked in a breath.

'Ever since Ray,' he finished painfully.

'Ray?' I scowled. I hadn't encountered any Rays. 'Who's she?'

'He,' Carter corrected. 'Ray Astlen. 200th in row.'

I perked at the digits. It seemed that there were not a lot cursed ones in the world.

'Nice guy, he was,' continued Carter. He looked lost in thought. 'He, like you, knew was going to die. But he did nothing of it. He only asked me of one thing.'

'And what is that?'

'"Whoever is after me,"' he quoted his dear friend, '"protect them. help them break free of this curse."'

'Well, did you?' I asked impatiently. 'Did you help the patient after him?'

'Well, I'm still helping her,' he said, beaming brightly. 'You see, Pansy, you're the patient after him.'

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a/n: so sorry for the late update! next chapter will be more eventful i promise xx