The First

15.1

A/N: How's the week going for you all? So far I've not been very productive with writing, but I'm hoping to get more done this week! However, I did do one cool thing! I opened an Etsy shop this last week :D It's called BookishAdventures, and I have some cool book inspired jewelry in it!

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02 - 16 - 2089

Days pass uneventfully. I stay in bed at Cade's request as my wrist heals, even though the pain has long since passed. The headache has finally left me alone, and last night was the first time I slept through the whole night. When I awoke refreshed and headache-free, I almost cried.

It hadn't been the pain that I couldn't deal with. Oh no, I was used to the pain. But it was the memories that threatened to drag me down. The memories of Doctor Acosta and all she did to me that suffocated me night after night.

Two nights ago, I awoke from a fresh nightmare to find Cade leaning over the bed, his face ragged as he tried to calm my panic. I had dreamed I was back in the facility and Doctor Acosta was cutting me open while I was frozen, at her mercy. I clung to him that night, unable to close my eyes for fear of seeing the image marked into my brain.

Years ago, Doctor Acosta had given me some medicine for a cold I had. But the headaches that came as a result made the cold feel like a relief. Now that I reflect on that particular memory, I realize it was probably another test. Another way to treat me like the "it" she believes me to be.

I told myself that after each nightmare.

This morning, bright and cheery even in the recently fallen snow, I don't feel the need to say it out loud. I climb out of bed, the chill of the morning curling around my bare legs and squeezing. I pull at the hem of my sleep shorts, willing them to be longer.

My gaze crawls to the window across the room, the sun peeking through the thin curtains. I approach the window silently and pull the curtain aside. The light is blinding, and I have to blink for several minutes before I can see clearly. The street outside the window is covered in fresh snow, only a few tire tracks marring the pure sight. Everything is white, and it sparkles like millions of diamonds.

In fact, I do believe this picture is far more beautiful than millions of diamonds. This color, I decide then, isn't so bad after all. Yes, it used to represent pain and the life I lived before this. But now? I do believe I am growing to like it.

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Breakfast is quiet. Once I showered and left my room to find life elsewhere, I discovered a covered plate of pancakes (which are delicious, by the way). Cade is nowhere to be found, but the couple who has been hosting us in the next room, chatting.

I finish the pancakes quickly, starting to wonder where Cade is. As I wash off the plate at the kitchen sink, a snippet of conversation from the next room reaches my ears.

"They can't stay here forever. You know we can't support them as well as our own expenses."

With a start, I realize they are talking about Cade and I. And from the tone of Paul's voice, I know I shouldn't be listening. But I can't help it, even as I set down the plate and turn off the water. Their voices float out of the room easily now, and I don't have to strain to hear them.

"We can't just throw them out, Paul. The poor things have nowhere to go."

"We can't feed them and us. I'm sorry. I'm afraid my salary just isn't enough."

Footsteps click across the wood floor, and I scramble out of the kitchen and down the narrow hallway towards the bedrooms. Shame fills my cheeks at my eavesdropping, but in some ways I'm glad I heard their conversation.