Judaean | The Darkest Minds Fanfic

Chapter 2

It is definitely not easy, coming back down here, but I much rather not let him starve. Not that I feel some moral obligation to not make him suffer, but that keeping him happy is probably better than driving him mad and trying to escape.

　　He had a book over his face when I opened the door and saw him. He appeared to be sleeping, so I allowed myself a relaxed breath out, now that I don't have to worry about him jumping onto my mind again.

　　I wanted to dump his dinner in like usual, but on second thought, opened his cell door as quietly as humanly possible, and put the food there. Since he's sleeping, it's best not to risk waking him up.

　　...and my plan went only as far as I gingerly bolted the door, and turned away.

　　"You know, if you focus on a single thought at a time, it will be harder for me to get through." His voice came, and I stopped where I was.

　　Fuck. I didn't know whether I was more annoyed by that he was not actually asleep the whole time, or that he knew what I was thinking. I blew out a harsh breath through my nose, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes out of their sockets, and turned around.

　　"Got enough beauty sleep yet?" I said, "now that you finally wake up, maybe you can grace me with some more of the information you have?"

　　He lifted the book—Watership Down, I've no idea why he would want a book about a bunch of bunnies, but he did request that book specifically—off his face, and rolled off bed.

　　He stooped to pick up his dinner, and opened the bag, "Oh, this is an upgrade." He took the sandwich from the bag—a sub with meatballs, cheese, and fresh tomatoes—and commented. "Not what I'm used to, but definitely an improvement."

　　I was a touch beyond angry, I actually wanted to laugh. "You're lucky you're getting anything more than scrapes." I sneered.

　　"Do I need to start earning my keep now?" He looked up, contempt in his eyes, but however hard he tried to hide it, his body had already gave him out—the simple motion of slacking shoulders, the tiny curve on his lips when he opened that bag and got a whiff of that food... he's hungry. Rich kids like him can't stand it, not in the least, because they never had to. He is in a state of deprivation, and it's not just affecting his body, but his mind, too.

　　And he hates it.

　　I can't tell you how much it pleases me to see this.

　　"Let's just say, it doesn't hurt if you try a little harder." I said, keeping my face placid. "Now would be a good time to start."

　　He sighed. "Fine." He took a bite into the sandwich, "Do you want to take a seat?"

　　　　+++

"Stewart," He said as I went over to swept the paper bag off the floor, ready to leave.

　　"Yeah?" I answered, annoyance seeping into my voice. He's trying that again. Catching me off guard so he can slip into my mind. It's getting old.

　　"You should know, whatever we turned out to be, has nothing to do with the genetics." He said, and my eyes shot up to meet his. What is this?

　　"How would you know?" I deadpanned.

　　He frowned, and for the first time since I've met him, seems... troubled? "I've read the results of Leda Corp's research on the cause. You know, before dear old dad had the chance to get rid of it." He said slowly, hesitant, and I realized that he was like this because he didn't know how best to put it, but I didn't even understand why he was bringing it up, let along what it was that is so hard for him to tell me. "They couldn't be sure what makes each of us carry a certain ability—there are signs that suggests even within the same category, the power doesn't manifest in the same way, but that's beside the point. What they can make sure of, is that it has nothing to do with genes." He concluded, not looking at me.

　　"Do you have a point in all this?" I snapped.

　　He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. "What I'm trying to tell you is, it's not because of where we come from." He sighed again, like he was trying to explain algebra to a six-year-old. I, on the other hand, was waiting for him to make sense, with my patience being eaten up like a fused bomb.

　　"I used to think that." But when he finally did, he sounded... tired. "I used to believe that I turned out like this, because my parents are such pathological liars. But the Leda Corp research told me otherwise."

　　I saw it now... In a roundabout way, he was trying to tell me that my father didn't give this to me. The realization settled in me like a drop of cold sweat dripping down the length of my spine, making my teeth clench.

　　"So you're saying it's not their fault?" I gritted.

　　"Oh, no, it's absolutely their fault." Clancy shrugged, lightness coming back into his voice, "I'm just saying, we don't carry a part of them with us."

　　So what? I wanted to ask, but I didn't know why the question just stuck in my throat, and I couldn't cough it out, nor swallow it down. He knows. In that single glimpse into the memory of my father, he saw the fear that man instilled into my heart, and the hatred that spread from one pair of blue eyes to another.

　　What else does he know?

　　"But we do." I said eventually, calmer than I expected. "Whether we like it or not."

　　He shook, letting out a breath. "Cole," he said, voice prickling my skin, "what you have, it's not a curse. It makes you stronger and better than all the other adults. Surely after all these years in the Children's League, you've seen it now—"

　　"Stop," I snapped, "before you say something I'll break your neck for."

　　His mouth clamped shut, but none of the usual contempt came up to chase it down. I was fully prepared for the taunt, for him to tell me that I couldn't possibly beat him before he got a hold of my mind, but that didn't come out of him, either. Instead, it was radio silence behind a deep frown and a set of tightly pressed lips.

　　"Go, then." He shook again, after a long silence. "Find my mother if you must. If that's really what you want."