Spark, стр. 12

“No one can help me,” I muttered, my eyes lingering on the water that danced

in the dark, almost reminding me of a certain pair of eyes I loathed.

“You’re not alone in this, Jaden. You have help—”

“Sid,” I said cutting him off sharply. “I am more alone now than I ever was

before. Please don’t insult me by telling me otherwise because I won’t believe you.”

“Jaden, come on—”

“Just go,” I clipped, turning my head back to the window to hide the tear that

slipped through.

Sid sighed heavily as he stood; his gaze heated as he stood over me, but I was

done with this conversation.

“You’re better than this, Jaden,” he said forcefully. “You can choose to be a

victim, or you can choose to be something else entirely. Stop being a little bitch

about it and stand up.”

I turned to him, almost ready to kick him right in the dick. “Get out,” I spat.

Sid groaned, threw his hands up in the air, and stormed out of the room,

slamming the door behind him.

Fuck him. Fuck all of them.

5

WORTHLESS

My wrists burned in agony. Chains rattled above me. Dirt and sweat covered my

body.

Where was I?

“Look at me, slave.”

My heart stopped in its tracks. Slave …

My eyes snapped to find him, and then I immediately regretted it.

“There is no escaping this, and there is no escaping me. I am four times your

size and over twice your weight. My strength and speed will always exceed yours.

Always. Whatever hope you have left of beating me in this little game is false as

well as foolish. In what world do you ever imagine escaping me and your future?”

“FUCK!” I screamed as I jolted from my hospital bed.

My heart was pounding out of my chest, my face was sweaty, and my breath was

coming in and out of my lungs like I might die if I didn’t take my next breath that

very second. I was back in my hospital bed; the last thing I remembered was

passing out on my reading nook, so I didn’t know how I got there. Hank probably.

Snagging the hair tie from my wrist, I bunched my hair back into a messy knot

just to get it out of my face and ignored the ache in my wrist. When my hair was

secure, I pulled my knees to my chest, rested my temple against my knee, and

looked out the window. The sun was rising, and the birds were already awake. I

closed my eyes and tried to focus on their songs, hoping to calm the storm raging

inside me. I stayed like that until Ginsby finally entered my room unannounced.

“Oh, good, you’re up,” she said, surprised. “I brought your breakfast.”

“Not hungry,” I said without moving from my position.

“Jaden, please!” she shrieked, and I immediately snapped my head toward her

in shock and concern, scowling in her direction. She quickly backtracked. “I’m

sorry,” she said in a huff, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’ve just become so

difficult these last two days.”

For some reason, that was enough to make me feel bad. So I released a deep

breath and traded my bed for the table, sat down, and attempted to eat my

breakfast. Ginsby smiled and sat down to make sure I ate enough for Darren’s

approval. I silently picked at my egg white omelet and sipped on my orange juice

until I was full, which consisted of only three-quarters of it, but whatever. Valiant

effort and all.

After breakfast, I took a shower and changed into a flowing teal blue sundress,

allowing my hair to air dry. I practiced my jaw and wrist exercises under Ginsby’s

instructions, took my medications without complaint, and was rewarded with a trip

to the pool. Escorted by Hank and Benito, who were still pissed off from yesterday, I

lounged in the shade with my tablet and tried to read for a while, but my thoughts

kept lingering back to my conversation with Sid.

“You can choose to be a victim, or you can choose to be something else

entirely.”

The question was, what was that something else? What did it make me if I chose

not to be a victim? I didn’t know. Was there even another choice of status? I was the

stolen, and as of a few weeks ago, officially the forgotten. I was gone, but I was still

here … barely a survivor, but a survivor nonetheless. Yeah, I was wallowing in my

self-pity; so much so, I probably deserved an Oscar for it. I was only depressed

because my body was useless. End of. Once my strength returned, so would the rest

of my fire-breathing antics. For some reason, it was just hard to find the mental

motivation.

After a while, my lunch was brought out and placed on the table