The Transfer ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Three - Friends

I groan in annoyance, running a hand through my sweaty hair. My inner turmoil seems to be replicated by those around me. We're dying out here. Sinking, drowning, dying out in a sea of fighters. Why couldn't we fight back? I feel the responsibility settle over my shoulder as I watch another punch land right on target. I physically recoil at the sight, as if my body is feeling the pain as it happens.

Damien is angry and that is an understatement. Clearly my public victory over him has resulted in a more ferocious tactical approach. He's relentless. Whilst his opponent, a newbie fight from defense, squirms beneath him, he would smirk and meet my eye. His soulless eyes. I wasn't afraid of them – I knew I could take him down. I've done it before I can do it again.

However, before I could swipe the smug look off his face, I was matched against a girl from Oakwood. I took her down quickly, there was little competition between us. She wasn't ready and I was. Damien stood at the sidelines, waiting for an okay from another leader to say he could step in. He wasn't allowed and I took the victory.

But now, with a new fighter up front, there is no chance of us winning. Leonardo took a break this week to properly heal his shoulder – after the incident last time – so somebody from defense volunteered themselves. It was a stupid decision, one that was coming back to haunt him as he taps out on the floor, blood flowing from his eyebrow and lip.

"Victory!" Damien screams, raising his hands in the air and prancing back to the writhing crowd of Oakwood soldiers.

Technically, they didn't win – it was a tie like last time. Nobody mentioned this because it wasn't as if we had won either. We are both losers. Growling, I shoot a glare at the man on the floor and push out through the crowds. They look at me in concern, but my death stare scares them enough to let me through. Ripping open the door to the bus, I stalk in and sit down on the bench. I just want silence to stew in.

I don't get it.

The rest of Marchwood piles in quickly, obviously wanting to get out. Drawing doesn't have the same satisfaction as last time when you've been trained to only win. Leonardo's near the front of the crowd and breaks tradition, coming and sitting beside me instead of in front of me. With graceful movements, he sits down and lays his hand over my knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Needing more than that, I take his hand in my own, our hands intertwining without a word. He sighs and shifts closer to me, our legs touching.

"This isn't your fault." He says, turning his head to the side to watch me.

I don't meet his eye. I keep my eyes trained on the wall opposite. "It is, Leonardo. I train these people and they failed."

"Did you train that guy?" He asks. I shake my head in response. "Exactly. You can't be responsible all the time."

"I do. Somebody's got to lead them to victory. This camp is practically starved of it." I laugh humorlessly.

"We'll get there." He says softly, controlling his temper even though I know my criticism of the camp will of annoyed him.

"Why can't we win? What's going wrong?" I think out loud.

Leonardo shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe we've got to accept that they're the better camp."

I turn swiftly and glare at him, finally meeting his eye. "Never."

Leonardo chuckles quietly under his breath for a couple of seconds before squeezing my hand. "Okay," He admits. "Then we keep trying."

"Or give up on other sectors." I muse, wanting his passion to reach the same level as my own.

"I saw how well you did in Construction, Audrey, you need us." Leonardo smiles, his patience unbreakable.