of blood and lies ; dystopian

30

Present

"Naga."

I did not move. The hairs on the back of my neck stood high. My limbs were tightly curled in, preserving any body heat under the thin blanket. It was getting colder; I couldn't sleep anymore.

"Naga," Karro repeated. Again, I ignored him. His voice was firm, no indication that I'd nearly sucked his face off hours before. He was most likely going to curse at me for using the little hot water we had.

"Come on." His hand came down on my bicep. I jumped feeling a jolt of energy rush through me. "The door is open."

I rubbed at my eyelids and twisted in his direction. Sure enough, behind him, the door was propped open. I squinted into the dawn-filled hallway. Guards lined the walls, as they had before.

I reached for my pillow. The scalpel was still hidden within the cheap cushion.

Karro grabbed my wrist before I could find the metal. "No," Karro warned.

I looked up at him, my eyes narrowed. I planned to spew how it was not his decision whether or not I brought the scalpel. His brushed lips distracted me from the thought; he looked as worn as I did.

"You said it yourself," I began, looking to the door. "The door opens at random. It could be our last chance for a year. Ten years."

I sat up, my hand still lingering beside the pillow.

Karro snaked his arm around my waist before I could grab it. His hold tightened like he was about to haul me from the bed.

I reacted in the only way I knew how. I tensed, pushing at him, trying to guard myself from whatever violent intention he had.

He didn't choke me to death or bash my skull in, as I expected. Instead, his lips brushed against my ear. "When we walk through, watch the soldiers. I don't think they are real." His voice was so low I almost missed what he said.

My lips parted and I shut my eyes. He felt so warm. It was not his intention to hold me in such a way, he was speaking of soldiers, not love. But it was his embrace that I focused on. I wanted to crawl inside of him.

Karro hauled me from the bed. I grunted when my chest hit his. If I were to straddle him, it'd put more distance between us.

He placed me on the floor. He did not move. I did not move. The door was open, we could leave the tense room. We needed to.

His eyes slipped down to the nonexistent space between us. His lips twitched for a blink of time.

I pushed past him and toward the door. I was going to die in the tight room. I was going to die because of Karro.

Karro made his way in front of me. I followed close behind, reminding myself to do as he said.

I stared at the soldiers that lined the hallway. It was the same as before. Hundreds of masked soldiers stood tall, pinned to the wall, assault rifles propped on their shoulders.

They held themselves stiff. Unmoving.

I don't think the soldiers are real. Karro's words rang through my head.

I looked down at their chests as we continued down the hall. When I'd been Commander, I had soldiers that were often more skilled than me. They would breathe; these soldiers did not appear to be breathing.

I frowned, continuing to wait for the rise of a single chest. The fall of an exhale.

I scanned the soldiers again. All blended in with the rest, statues amongst statues. But, despite it all, I could still feel their eyes. I could feel them watching me, waiting to pump my body full of lead.