𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓
HERE'S THE BULK OF THE IRONY: for having a surname like Lovelace, Chantara had never understood the feeling of love. To care for another human without any strings attached. It was something she never seemed to grasp, becau...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
SHE REMEMBERED THE SOUND HE made when she suffocated him. The way his body moved underneath hers as she pressed the pillow firmly against his face. The way his movement became weaker for each passing second, as the boy was slowly dying. She remembered it so clearly that if she closed her eyes, she could relive the moment her brother's life ended.
Tara was making the same noises as she woke up with a pillow pressed against her face.
Her first thought of who might be murdering her was Ben. He had barely been able to look her in the eyes ever since she almost ended his twin brother's life. He survived — thankfully — but spent the next twenty-four hours in the medbay. He came close to being cut from Dauntless entirely, due to his injuries he might not have been able to continue training. But Adrian showed up the following day, — face swollen, eyes bloodshot and with a seriously buckled nose. Tara wanted to believe she made him look tougher, but she did not like to think about what she had done to him.
She lost control and became someone she feared.
As her thoughts drifted towards Ben, she knew it was a dead-end and decided to throw that idea out the window. Tara knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't choose death-by-pillow as his way to bring her to her demise. No, he was much smarter than that.
Her thoughts never got the chance to suspect another person because she realized she was quickly running out of oxygen. Her lungs began to ache in an almost unbearable pain, like thick ropes were wrapped around them and tightening every second. The only comprehensible sound was the pounding of her heart in her ears, a panicked beat of her organ trying (andfailing) to transport oxygen around her body. Tara never thought she would meet the same fate as Frederick and Father did. Oh, how the world loved to prove her wrong sometimes.
What a pathetic way to die, she couldn't stop herself from thinking.
Just as she felt her lungs explode and her eyes roll to the back of her head, the weight of the pillow was removed and a deep breath surged its way into her lungs, filling the silent room with the sound of her hoarse throat. Tara's hands grasped the sheets of her bed and she tried to sit up, but she couldn't. She had barely noticed the weight of the person on top of her until then. Tara opened her eyes and for a second she wondered if they really were open, or if something was covering them. She could not see anything. The room was filled with the kind of noir darkness which made it impossible to see your hand even if it was inches away from your face, and the silence was deafening. She couldn't see the killer, but felt their presence close to her face as their hot breath batted against her face.
"Get the fuck—" she raised her voice but a hand was messily placed over her mouth, almost missing it entirely. She grimaced at the taste of their sweaty hand as it came in contact with her lips. A boy, she thought. Definitely a boy.
