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...
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BREATHING DID NOT COME EASY that night as Tara shuffled and turned in her bed, the ice cold air crawling over her skin as she tried to get the images out of her head. The pictures of him. His blood. Everywhere. She could not rid the image from her mind, however what brought her back to reality was the warm hand that had been placed so gently on her shoulder, as if it had been scared to break her.
As she awoke that morning, Tara immediately went looking for that hand, choosing to ignore her growling stomach. She was determined to get to the bottom of the problem that had been troubling her sleep, to punish the one who was guilty, and hurt them just as much — if not more — as they had hurt (her) Edward. Tara's hands were clenched at her sides as she passed the infirmary, refusing to take a look inside at the wounded boy. She knew he was there and she knew she would break if she caught sight of him again. Instead she continued forward, to a place she knew he would be at this hour.
She found Four in the compound, skin glazed with sweat, knuckles red from hitting the bag, eyes hollow from a loss of sleep. He leaned against the wall, a small white towel hanging from his shoulder as he drank water from a bottle. His face wore a similar expression to hers, twisted in a soft discomfort. He noticed her presence immediately, but refused to give her his attention.
"You there," she initiated, pointing a finger, forcing him to look at her. "We need to talk."
"Tara." We're the first word he spoke as he pushed himself of the wall. His voice sounded as tired as he looked. It took him a few seconds of scanning her face for him to find the words in his throat. "How are you?"
"That doesn't matter," she replied, waving a hand in front of her face. She tried to keep her gaze focused on his eyes as she neared him. But it was all to distracting as he stood there, chest heaving up an down, droplets of sweat trickling down his dampened skin and his shirt clutching to his body. Tara cleared her throat. "We — uhm — we need to get to the bottom of this."
"To what?"
She deadpanned. "What do you think?"
"Well there's a lot of things I can come up with," Four replied. Was that a smile?
Tara placed her hands on either hip, leaning her weight on her left foot. "Well I'm referring to the thing that happened last night, the knife-in-the-eye-incident, if you haven't forgotten already?" Her jaw clenched, infuriated by the unreadable look plastered on his face.
Four took a long drag of air. "And how'd you like to get to the bottom of that?"
"Well for starters; punish the guilty one," she said with a 'duh' tone. "Well maybe the first thing would be to find them... And then kick their asses a little, maybe even take their eye. You know; an eye for an eye, isn't that what you're all about here?"
