Nova Rivers tried to stay out of trouble, to hide her face and shut her voice, but she never tried to stay away from Aaron Warner, a curse, an obsession, a downfall, whatever people named it, she was consumed by him, utterly ruined and destroyed.
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I'm only a man with a candle to guide me I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me A monster, a monster I've turned into a monster
Monster - Imagine Dragons
The sight of the Sector 45 soldiers gives me the chill even after a week of being in the same roof as them. Whenever I walk around the corridors with wary eyes, my skin itches from primitif survival mode, and I feel the itch of my powers just beneath it, powerful and alluring, a siren's call to unleash hell upon this viper's den.
I know, however, that blowing up here is synonym to a death sentence, and from what I assumed, Warner can make it pretty messed up, all blood and wrath, which isn't on my bucket list for the next few years, even decades.
Anya still follows my every step like a shadow, her blue eyes looking everywhere all at once, like she's looking for even the breeze of air that could ruin her quest of keeping an eye on me at all costs.
We haven't completely made up, but something made me go less sarcastic and sharp with her, maybe it's naive, but I can't just ignore her and stay mad, not when she sneaked me an old empty blocknote where I write the most random things in. Music Lyrics, movie and book quotes, ersonal thoughts, the snippets of memories I still have.
She's been spending every night sleeping on the other side of the room, watching, always watching, always watching.
Warner, oddly enough, hadn't spoken to me for the past few days, which only makes me dread his reaction even more. People like Warner, devils with pretty exteriors and the cruelest hearts are the ones to fear the most, their silence doesn't mean forgiveness or oblivion, it means that they are plotting to strike twice as bad.
So I try not to get any further from his good graces, to try and find a way out of here, with the handful of minutes I get to sneak out in every single night whenever the guard on my room's door is swapped for Anya to report my day to Warner.
Tonight though, I lay wide awake, trying to trap sleep into ending yet another miserable day, eyes wide open gazing at the ceiling, but then, the door gets unlocked, someone limping inside with muffled whimpers. I jolt up, squinting my eyes into the darkness.
Anya looks... brutalized.
Her bottom lip busted, bruises forming on the side of her head, she walks to the bathroom desperately, holding her hand over her mouth. I follow her in a rush, holding her hair back as she spits out blood on the sink.
"What happenned?" I ask, my heart twists at that sight "Anya... Who did this?"
Her chest heaves up and down as her hands have the sink on white-knuckled grip, she doesn't anwer, she just turns on the water and tries to clean up the blood from her face "Disciplinary orders." She grunts out.
Warner is punishing her for my refusal...
She is dying for my virtues...
My heart waches at it, a friend is getting punished for my choices.
