Centre of the Storm

Chapter Eight: Trapped

A/N: yeah not really a lot going on in this one either, other then just seeing how Damira feels about everything. Also, Beatrix is back

I was used to not being able to sleep until at least midnight, but it was now approximately two in the morning and I was still wide awake. It was like my brain was working overtime, going through every possible scenario of what could happen over the next few days.

I sat up in my bed, setting the pillow behind me so I wouldn't have to lean up against the hard wall. I ran my hand through my hair, pushing it away from my face, and slumped against my pillow. I wasn't physically tired, but the past few days had been mentally exhausting.

The day before yesterday, which had been Monday, Alyssa's blood had been found in the woods and given to the authorities. They were currently testing it, trying to find out if it was hers.

I didn't understand why they hadn't already, it shouldn't be too hard to test a blood sample. But the police were underfunded and never seemed to do any actual work when crimes were committed, so I wasn't surprised.

Cashlin had pulled me aside yesterday. "I just want you to know that I don't blame you," she had said. "So please, don't blame yourself. Whatever happened to Alyssa, isn't your fault. There's nothing you could have done."

And that was probably the worst thing she could have ever said to me.

Unable to just sit there, I got out of my bed and started pacing my room, something that had become a habit in the past week. Sometimes when I did it, my bookshelf would start to rattle slightly, and I would panic and hurry back to bed, scared that if I let it happen for too long, it would crash to the floor or explode or something.

Maybe I should just turn myself in. My DNA was probably on the tree anyway, and given the speed of the investigation I had tops a month before the police found it. Then it was all over.

But how could I possibly explain what had happened? No one would believe it. I would be labeled a crazy bitch, a jealous psychopath who killed my friend out of anger, a delusional liar, and a threat to society. I would be shipped to another continent and locked up in a mental hospital for the rest of my life.

But them believing me would be worse. It probably wouldn't happen, but they are would ask for proof of my unexplainable abilities. And if I gave it, if I made a pen float through the air, or a window break, or anything like that, I would be locked up too.

In a probably very illegal lab, where they would take blood samples and chain me to my bed in a tiny, windowless room, where they would photograph me and write notes on my behaviour, and run tests on me.

Then they would either label me to dangerous to live, or they would make me into a government weapon. And at that point I would probably be too defeated, too emotionally weak, to resist either of those things.

I was trapped.

No matter what I did, my life was over in some aspect. Even if I didn't confess, my DNA would be found, and there would be no way I could explain that. Then they would go looking for Alyssa's body, and even if they didn't find it, I would probably break down and confess to killing her.

There was no way out.

After about ten minutes of pacing around my room I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take being in here, in this tiny, cold room, knowing my life would be over in less then a month. I picked my jacket up off the floor, hoisting it over my shoulders, without bothering to zip it up, and picked up my hairbrush from my bedside table.