The Prince and the Punk [EDITING]

Chapter 15

Janice

I don't have a gun.

It's all I can think: I don't have a gun. Carnage surrounds me, bullets fly past me, and I don't have a gun.

Without a way to defend myself, I stagger towards the nearest shelter I can find—a metal barricade—and crouch behind it, covering my ears in a futile attempt to protect them from the loud, incessant sound of gunfire. I hear shouts and yells, but I can't see anyone. I'm alone.

Still, projectiles fly over my head, fired from unseen weapons with intent to kill. I throw my arms over my head, terrified and needing more cover. Bullets bounce off of my barrier, slamming against the metal with a deafening clang like a baseball bat hitting a dumpster.

I don't know where I am or how I got here, and fear keeps me frozen in place. Through blurry eyes, I glimpse a man falling few feet to my left. I can't make out his face, but I see the black frame of a gun in his hand.

I bite my lip, trying to build up my courage. Finally, I crawl on all fours over to the weapon, trying to stay as low as I can. Blood pools around the dead man, gushing from two huge wounds in his torso. The gun is coated in the stuff, and my hands slip as I pry it from his grasp.

I turn to fire, but see no one to shoot at despite the bullets on every side of me. Before I can dive back behind the metal barricade, I'm bleeding from the stomach. Feeling no pain, I stare down in disbelief at the hole now puncturing my flesh.

- - - -

I wake with a jolt, and my eyes shoot open. It takes me a moment to realize where I am, and another to slow my breathing down.

"It was just a dream," I whisper, trying to calm myself. "Just a dream..."

I take a deep, shaky breath, covering my face with my hands. Tears start to pool in my eyes and stream silently down my face, and I clasp a hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing out loud. I've been trying so hard all week to stay strong, to be optimistic, but I can't anymore. It's just too much. In just a few mere hours, I have to leave the relative comfort I've found here, and then it's only a matter of time before I'm killed. It's inevitable, I realize. I'm not the kind of person that could survive a war. Once I start, I can't stop thinking about it, and the thought of my own demise hijacks my brain.

I must cry myself to sleep, because the next thing I know, Xavier is shaking my arm to wake me. I get up, exhausted due to the ungodly hour, and start getting dressed. No one speaks all morning, and an air of dread hangs over the room. I can't bring myself to look at Xavier as I rush to pack the last of my belongings.

Finally, he shows me a passage down the hall from his room that leads just outside the palace. Incognito, he walks me in silence to the recruiting center, which, luckily, isn't too far away.

There are news vans parked in front of the center, and to avoid them, Xavier pulls me around a corner and into a hug. I bury my face in his shoulder, like keeping it there can make everything bad in the world go away.

But of course that's not the case.

Xavier breaks the hug and takes my chin in his hand, pointing my face up to meet his eyes.

"Listen to me," he says with conviction. "You're going to survive this, okay? You're the strongest person I've ever met. You've survived on your own in a place that shouldn't be able to sustain life, you've fought off men twice your size, and you've come out as yourself through it all. Janice Elliot does not back down, ever, and I want you to fight as hard as you can—if not for yourself, then for me."