The Hunt ⋆ Young Justice (o.h.)

eight : of blood and bone

( CHAPTER EIGHT : OF BLOOD AND BONE )

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HEARNE SAT HER DUFFEL BAG DOWN ON THE FOOT OF THE BED, HER SKIN PRICKLING AS THE COLD AIR HIT IT. Each room had an individual heating and air unit, meaning that once Hearne turned hers off, it was colder than she'd like to imagine. With the lack of stuff in her room besides the things that were there when she arrived, it was even colder.

Athena's words from that morning still hung heavy over her shoulders.

"You aren't living," she'd said, "next time you say something, don't think about the repercussions of the rules, just do it."

How did she know what 'living' was? And how did she know what to say? It was impossible for her to tell Hearne how she was supposed to act. Athena lived a normal, middle class American life, something vastly different from Hearne's. How would she know what it was like? How did she know how she was supposed to act?

Despite her mentally warning herself that if she didn't go to the gym now, she would have to later, she still laid down on her bed. How weak was she now, that the comfortableness of a bed was enough to subdue her will? Her mother would strike her across the face for such foolishness.

Still, despite the thoughts clawing at her mind, screaming at her to be better, to just stop doing this, she remained in the same stiffly comfortable position, the blanket clutched in one fist. This was nice, maybe not as good as the feeling of splitting her knuckles open again on the rough leather of the punching bag, but it was close. 

For the first time in months, Hearne dug her earbuds out of the bottom of her bag, plugged them into her iPod, and selected a song. The loud, nearly-hurtful noise hit her ears, filled with screams that sounded like it tore the person's throat raw, and slashes of the guitar that would reverberate in your chest when your fingers hit the instrument. Music loud enough to cancel out some thoughts, only partially, but enough to feel like euphoria.

Her ears were starting to hurt when she felt the bed shake. For a moment, through the haze of what she hated to call self-hatred, she didn't react. For those few, foolish, weak moments, her body didn't move. But instantly after, she bolted upward. Except it was too late.

The door burst off the hinges and hit her square in the chest, knocking the breath out of her as her back collided into the wall. Pain shot up her spine, but she ignored it as she saw what was unfolding in front of her. Water was filling her room, rapidly, rising past her ankles within seconds.

With a deep, calculated breath, her tattoos grew hot, smoldering, as the water reached her waist. Quickly, her eyes darkened, until their was nothing but a black chasm left, and she focused as the water began to reach her nose. She swam forward, but her heart dropped into her stomach as her feet were yanked downward, her back slamming into the floor until it cracked.

Hearne squirmed, trying to pull her way out of the current that pushed her to the bottom, but the pressure continued as the aching in her lungs intensified. Her eyes caught sight of a short-bladed knife drifting in the water and she craned her arm, the muscles burning as her fingers desperately clawed in the water to reach the weapon.

Her fingers grasped the hilt and--

Her torso shot upward, an involuntary convulse, as her hands flew to her neck desperately. Her eyes were wide--terrified, even--as she tried to pull the knife free from her neck, writhing as pain seemed to overload her system.

This can't be it, this can't be it--

As the water started to recede, Hearne's body went limp, fingers still clenched fleetingly around the knife impaled in her.