A Beautiful Reflection From Firework Eyes

Feels Like The Walls Are Closing In

(Nine months ago)

I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose my voice. My throat hurts from screaming. I know I must look terrible. I haven't been able to stop crying for the entire time I've been in here, the saltiness from the tears stinging cuts on my face. I can't reach up and wipe them away as they drip onto my shirt, running pink from my blood. My whole body is trembling, from fear or anger, I don't know. I can't breathe—my heart slamming into my ribs as I strain to free myself.

I tug at the shackles again, but they don't budge. Warmth trickles down my wrists as I strain against the restraints, again and again, not caring about the pain. I need to get free. I can't be trapped here. I can't—

"Please!" I scream. "Let me out." But there's no response. I've never felt more alone, my chest tightening. My head spins as I gasp for breath. I hate being trapped. I hate being helpless. I hate feeling weak. The darkness is closing its fists around my throat, and I can barely breathe.

I try to summon the fire again and again, but nothing happens. I can only see a faint spark in the metal before I'm left in the darkness again. I tug at the restraints again and again, but they don't budge.

"Please!" I scream again. "I'm sorry!"

At last, I collapse to the ground, too worn out to struggle anymore. Every bone in my body aches as I put my head down, forcing myself to take in a breathe slowly. I focus on the pinpricks of light coming in from the blocked off window and the door frame. Breathe. The darkness starts to loosen its hold as it slinks away slowly.

I'm not sure how much time passes before the door opens, light flooding into the room. I blink groggily as several people enter the room. Mr. Styles kneels down in front of me, taking my face in his hand as he examines it, a small smile on his face.

"Have you learned your lesson?" He asks.

I find myself nodding. Yes. Anything to get me out of here.

"Will you disobey us again?"

I shake my head. No. I won't. I'll be a good subject. I'll do what I'm told to. Anything, anything to keep me from being thrown back here again.

"Good." He smiles at me. "We'll start again tomorrow."

I let out a hiss of pain as they pull off the shackles. I can barely stand as they haul me to my feet, practically dragging me down the hallway to my room.

Jaime looks up, shocked as I'm thrown in. I know I must look terrible, my eyes red and puffy from crying, my wrists rubbed raw. He waits until the door is closed before wrapping me in his arms.

"I was so scared," I sob, burying my face in his shoulder. "I hated it. It's terrible. I was so scared."

"It's okay," Jaime says, but it's not. It's really not. It will never be okay. He takes my hands, shaking his head at the sight as my wrists rubbed raw by the shackles. "Does it hurt?" he asks, probing the skin gently.

I suck in a breath, yanking my wrists away. "Yes," I reply simply, letting my hands drop into my lap.

He crosses the room to his bunk, kneeling beside it. I watch him curiously as he fishes around underneath it, pulling out a small red box. I recognize it to be a first aid kit from the Study rooms.

"How did you get that?" I ask as he pulls out bandages from it.

"Stole it when they weren't looking," he replies. "Thought it might come useful at some point."

"Won't they be suspicious when they see my hands are bandaged?"

"They won't care," Jaime says. He wraps the bandages around my wrists. I try not to wince at the pain.

"Thanks," I say when he's done. He simply nods, crossing the room and sitting on his own bed.

"I miss being a normal kid," I sigh, leaning back against the wall. "I miss my old life."

"We both do," he says. "I'd give anything to be free again."