His sharp inhale shatters another part of my worldview.
I let out a strangled laugh. It’s funny. I thought I had the entire world figured out.
I knew the rules of the universe, I knew how to avoid punishment, I knew how to keep myself safe.
And then I messed everything up and got sold here. Where nothing makes sense.
The rules back at the facility were supposed to keep us safe.The rules here don’t care at all about my safety or the safety of anyone else here.
“Tell me,” I whisper. “I need to know.”
“They’re used to make the enhancement drugs,” he says, his head buried in his hands.
“The ones—the ones they use on the fighters?” The one they all seem to hate because it drives them crazy? “N—No, that’s not right.”
“It’s true. I’m sorry, Sugar.”
Horror dawns on me as I stare down at my hands.
My blood has hurt people. Something frommybody is used to ruin people’s lives.
I take a lot of pride in helping people. It’s what I did at the facility with the other girls, and it’s my entire purpose here. But is any of that enough to balance out the weight of all the hurt something frommehas caused?
“S—so my blood—it’s turned into a drug that makes people crazy?” I croak out. “That’s—that’s insane!”
“There’s—there’s more,” he croaks out.
“What—what do you mean by more?” How can there be more? How can it get worse than this?
He lifts his head and his expression falls as he witnesses me falling apart.
“I take it too.” The words come spilling out from him, heavy with guilt and shame and so much self-loathing, my heart hurts at the sight.
“Wh—what? Why would you do that to yourself?” I shake my head in confusion. I don’t understand the way this drug works. All I know is that the fighters hate it. Why would Rowan take it willingly?
“Because I’m a fucking pathetic loser,” he spits with so much vitriol I jerk backwards. “I’ve been taking them for years now and I just can’t fucking stop. You don’t—you don’t know what my life was like before you got here. How fucking miserable I was?—”
His voice cracks and he lets out a noise of frustration that sounds an awful lot like a sob. Curled in a ball in my nest, one built of all the pretty pastel fabrics he bought for me, he looks so young.
I sometimes forget how young he is.
He’s been thrust into this position where he’s basically in charge of the fighters and I, but he’s the youngest out of all of us.
“You’re right,” I murmur softly. “I don’t know what it was like. What I do know is... is how much this seems to hurt you right now.”
He shifts, scooting towards the opening of my nest, and a flare of panic hits my chest.
“Don’t leave,” I say, reaching out and grabbing the hem of his t-shirt. “Please don’t go.”
“I don’t deserve to be in your nest,” he says, his voice tight. “Don’t you get it? Can’t you see that?”
“I mean, it’s technically my nest, right? So don’t I get to choose who I want in here?”
His expression crumples before he buries his face in his hands again.
“You don’t get it,” he says, shaking his head. “The only reason you’re not kicking me out or yelling and screaming at me is ‘cause you don’t understand how fucked up I am.”
“I think I just don’t see what you see.”
