Page 45 of Misted
Goosebumps cover the back of my hands and my visible legs. Sensations start fading from my limbs as if I’m turning into a cripple. My vision doubles and triples the more I stare at my hands.
If this continues, I might have a seizure.
My head lies on the hard concrete floor, lids fluttering close. For some reason, I’m thrust back to that time I spent huddled by Hawk’s side in The Pit. Back then, even when the tremors plagued me, I had to talk to him and soak in his silent warmth.
They were dark days, but I never felt threatened whenever he sat beside me like an all-protective rock. I flex my clammy cuffed hands on the cold ground and pretend it’s his warm skin. Just like I pretended it was him every time I hugged a pillow to sleep.
“You okay?” A female voice drawls in a cockney accent.
My eyes snap to the source of the voice. Since it’s dim and my vision is blurry, I can’t even make out who’s here. I’m usually kept in solitary confinement. Well, apparently, not today.
“I I-m fine.” I try to say, hoping she would lose interest and go back to sleep.
“You don’t look fine, Luv.”
“I am.” I attempt to sit up, but it’s like bricks weigh my shoulders down. I remain on the ground, puffing long harsh breaths.
“Ye have grand red hair. Ye Irish?”
The throbbing in my head increases as my limbs continue to spasm. I curl into a ball, but the handcuffs stop me from hugging my legs properly.
“Hey.” The woman’s voice sounds near now like she’s standing over me but I don’t bother looking up.
She reaches out a hand lacerated with scars for me. Why isn’t she cuffed, too?
A small skull tattoo sits at the inside of her wrist with a ‘P’ written in a script font right at the skull’s forehead.
The tattoo all of Poison’s disciples wear.
Fuck.
Survival energy courses through me and I stagger on unsteady feet. I hate that I still can’t make out her face. Damn the withdrawal.
A rustle sounds to my right. I duck in time before she lands a blow.
“Whoever you are, back off. Don’t force me to kill you.” I speak in my loudest, clearest tone.
The shrill laugh is like nails scraping at my pounding head. “You can’t kill a fly right now, Mist. You think I didn’t choose your detention on purpose?”
Another jab comes from my right. I clutch her arm between my cuffed hands and rear-back with a high kick straight to her face.
Omega or not, I’m still a Zero and she’s a mere second generation.
“Get out of here,” I spit out, battling against the splitting headache. “Tell Poison we’ll get him out, but not before Ink.”
“You won’t get to decide that once you’re dead.”
The clink is the only warning I get before she lunges at me. I try to duck, but my reflexes fail me. Cold metal slices through my arm and the metallic stench fills the air.
“Bye Bye, Mist. Poison sends his regards.”