A Beautiful Reflection From Firework Eyes

Sometimes You Gotta Fall Before You Fly

I squint against the lights as I stand in the center of the room. The contraptions strapped onto my wrists are uncomfortable, the plastic digging into my skin, but I don't complain. Complaining makes it worse.

The walls here are painted white, making the bright fluorescent lights reflect back at me. Glass surrounds the back wall, cameras focused on me from every angle. I feel like I'm in a glass fishbowl, being watched by curious kids tapping on the glass. I shift uncomfortably as I catch sight of Mr. Styles and a few scientists standing behind me, staring at a few screens, talking to each other.

"M-37, go." The voice blares from the speakers. I obediently turn toward the back wall, holding my hands out in front of me. Instinctively, my mind goes to Kellin. What's he doing right now? Is he scared? I wonder what they are doing to him.

The flames flicker in my hands as I close my eyes, concentrating. Heat blasts my skin, though it doesn't hurt. To anyone else, they'd probably be screaming with pain, but the flames merely tickle as they crawl up my arms, licking at my clothing but leaving it untouched.

The pile of wood to my left goes up in a burst of flames, crackling and smoldering. I can't help but grin as the one in front of me does the same. The sensors are beeping behind me as I focus on the last one, holding my hands out in front of me. I'm exhausted—the little sleep I got last night isn't helping, but I force myself to concentrate, gritting my teeth through the pain. The last pile explodes, wood raining down around me as a fire roars in its place.

I let my hands drop to my side as my head spins. I nearly pitch forward, but somehow I manage to stay upright.

"Good work," Mr. Styles says, entering the room. I look up at him, wiping the sweat and charcoal from my forehead. "You've been improving."

"Thanks," I say. I guess I have been improving, but it's hard to tell.

"We're glad to see you've been feeling back to normal," he says. I flinch at his words, the memories threatening to overwhelm me again. "How is everything with your roommate, M-49?"

M-49? Oh, right. That's Kellin's number. I guess I'll never quite get used to hearing the numbers, though I've gotten so used to mine. The way he says it still makes disgust stir in my stomach. They won't even call us by our names. Just a number, as if we're animals.

"Everything's good," I reply quietly.

"Great to hear that. We hoped it might bring your spirits up." Anger flares in me as I clench my fists. As if a roommate is just a toy to cheer me up. A replacement for what they did. I force myself to breath and unclench my fists. It won't do me any good to lose control.

I let the officer lead me back to my room, though it's not like I need him too—I could find my way back if I were blindfolded. I glance around my room, disappointment filling me as I realize Kellin's not back yet. It's strange, I have to admit. I'd gotten so used to being alone, but now I had Kellin. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm awake and that he's actually here, not a figment of my imagination or part of my insanity.

I only have a few minutes of silence before the door is opened, and Kellin is shoved roughly inside, his shirt covered in blood.