While I’m lost in thought, thinking of the way Bunny’s eyes would sparkle like the seas my mother dreamed about, Clara continues, “I told her about us, about what we went through that night.”
“Why?” I ask, with a bit of a bite in my tone. I don’t mean to snap at Clara, but why can’t that night die? It’s bad enough I have to relive it every time I close my eyes. I don’t need Bunny to know about one of the worst moments of my life.
Sensing my frustration, Clara offers a pleading look, silently asking me to understand. “I’m protective of you, Cade, and she just wanted to know why.”
Clara and I didn’t have much of a relationship in the beginning, but as time went on, her friendship became one of the few comforts in my life. Now, though, after everything, I don’t see Clara as my friend. She really is the only family I’ve ever had.
And I hurt her.
“And?” I choke, that emotion fresh as the day of.
“And—” Clara draws out, out of breath and determined. “If she could have gutted every last one of those guards with just a look, I’m sure she would have.”
My mind goes to all the different ways she could have revolted. After all, look at what I do in the ring—look at what I did to my best friend.
Clara reassures, “She just wanted to know you were okay.”
Knowing I’m completely undeserving of that, I let my head fall, welcoming the ache that spreads across my skull when it collides with the wall. It’s weird. I went my entire life wanting someone to care—begging for anyone to want me. I fought for the attention I’d never receive at home, and it brought me nothing but pain. But here, stuck in prison, knowing what waits for me outside this door, I finally have what I’ve desired. People who care. Clara and Bunny.
And I don’t deserve either of them.
She just wanted to know that you were okay.“Is she okay?” I ask once again, raking my gaze over her condition. Clara’s on the verge of collapse. I have to know, is Bunny?
Glancing away, Clara sucks in a painful breath before muttering, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since yesterday evening. But…”
“But what?”
“She got violent with one of the members,” Clara exhales, suddenly weary. “They took her to a room, and I didn’t see her after that…”
Clara pauses, but her recount doesn’t feel final. Something is lingering in her eyes, with more details hanging on the tip of her tongue. “What, Clara?” I snap, “What else do you know?”
More silence.
“Clara.”
“Sometime later, behind the closed door,” she whispers, finally braving me with her eyes, “all we heard were screams, and then eventually, we heard nothing at all.”
“You got your blades ready? There’s supposed to be a big crowd tonight.” Vince continues to talk about numbers—money or people—I’m not sure.
I hardly hear a single thing word, replaying Clara’s voice in my head over and over.
Eventually, we heard nothing at all.But I do. I can hear it now—the same way I heard it when the guards stormed into our room not too long ago. I picture the terror in her eyes and the physical tearing of her muscles as her vocal cords strained for someone to save her. I picture Clara’s bruises and open wounds; the patches missing from her scalp and the shadow of blood between her thighs.
The image of Bunny in her place consumes my thoughts. I can’t think, hear, or see anything other than her—defiled, ravaged, and dead before me. My brain is unable to separate the fact that this may not be real; these are just ideas sprouting into my mind, but my brain doesn’t know that, so my body doesn’t either.
At some point, I entered the ring.
At some point, so did my opponent, but his mind wasn’t plagued with fear like mine was. His body didn’t forget to work.
Somewhere, stuck inside the thick, cloying haze, I hear his voice echo, “Blade? Come on! Fight!”
But I can’t. I can’t move. I can’t think. There’s only Bunny, but she’s not here either. They hurt Clara. They tore her apart. What about Bunny?
There’s an invisible noose tied around my neck, squeezing ever so gently until I can’t breathe at all. Is my pulse poundinginside me? Or is that Axel beating against my flesh? It’s indistinguishable, as are the screams surrounding me. Are they mine? Are they spectators?
Or are they hers?
Maybe they’re not real at all, I start to believe when my back hits the floor. Punch after punch whacks against my skull. Perhaps it’s finally cracked. Maybe my blood is pooling around my brain, creating screams, creating dreams—conjuring nightmares.
