Saving Kitty | OLD | ✔

Twelve | How to Save a Life

"Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend, somewhere along in the bitterness."

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"You can do this." She whispered to herself, wringing her hands as she stood in front of the metallic door. "You just need to open the door." For the last ten minutes, she'd been standing in front of the unguarded door, trying to get herself to open it. She needed to do this – for her sake, and Brandon's. She needed him to know that she'd never meant for him to be banished, never meant for him to be put in the running for The Culling. And sadly, she needed him to know that there was no way Kitty could get him out of the barbaric event or to help him escape. It just couldn't be done.

Her hand reached out, and touched the cold handle before she wrenched it back. To an outsider, it would have looked like the handle had burned her hand. But that wasn't the reason why she retracted it. No. She was still too afraid to go in. She was tempted to give up, to just go another day. But in her heart, she knew it had to be that moment. Kitty couldn't imagine how Brandon was feeling – was he feeling like everyone had abandoned him? Like he was a stranger to everyone he once knew?

Guilt creeped up on her, and she sighed. It's my fault he's had to be alone for the past two years. Why couldn't she just get over the invisible force holding her back? Why did she have to be such a coward – why couldn't she just face Brandon? It was what she'd wanted, but now that there was the real possibility that she could try and amend her wrongs. Instead of running towards the opportunity, she was frozen, wanting to flee from it.

Shaking her head, she took in a deep breath and tried to swallow her fear. Closing her eyes tightly, she stuck her hand out and gripped onto the handle for dear life before pushing it down and letting the door swing open. After hearing it 'bang' loudly, and the echoes dancing around her and down the dark tunnel, her eyes opened and she took in a deep breath. This was it. No turning back.

Descending the stairs, her footsteps broke the silence. She couldn't hear anything else, at least not yet. And she wasn't looking forward to it either – she hoped that most of the prisoners (if there were any, aside from Brandon) would be sleeping. If she'd been taken hostage, she'd sleep the entire time – dreaming would surely be better than the harsh reality?

With the lights non-existent (and Kitty refused to turn them on, for fear of what she would see marking the broken brick walls), Kitty was moving slowly and cautiously. With every step, her paranoia grew. What if Brandon didn't want to see her? He wouldn't be the same boy who left – what if he hated her with everything in him? What if he turned into a true rogue, one with no feeling? What if he tried to attack her? She knew there were guards hidden, lurking in the shadows, but it wouldn't make it hurt any less if Brandon really did despise her.

Not that I would blame him, she thought resentfully.

As much as she wanted to avoid looking into the cells, afraid of the sight that might have greeted her, she wasn't sure which one her father had shoved Brandon into. So, she'd been forced to stand in the centre of the room and glance into each cell as she turned on the spot. And she wished she hadn't had to – while the majority of the cells were empty (or at least seemed to be in the dim lighting), there was still evidence of those who had stayed in them. A shiver rolled down her spine, and she was finally glad to spy Brandon's cell. However 'glad' was the furthest thing she felt when she saw him.

Curled into himself, tears rolled down Kitty's cheek as his bare back was exposed to her. What was once a blank canvas now was stained with deep gashes imbedded into his back, dried blood sticking to his back. If there wasn't red staining his back, ugly black discoloured what was once skin kissed by the sun. And that was only the back of him – she couldn't imagine what the guards had done to his face or his stomach and chest. Maybe it was a mistake to come down here. He'd probably look at her, and see her father, see his tormentor.