My vision turns red as I slash my gaze in Sapphire’s direction.
“I won’t need to do that,” she says absently, watching the stage get set up with racks of dull, stained weapons.
“I know it doesn’t sound very scary, but inmates die here. They lose limbs or are gutted on the spot. We’re safer in the Black Widow’s Room,” Sophia begs, touching Sapphire’s elbow.
They do lose limbs here. We know this devasting fact quite well.
“I can defend myself.”
Sophia steps back. “You can fight with a weapon?”
“She can do more than defend herself. Sapphire is a skilled fighter,” I say, keeping my voice even so the surge of pride stays buried in my chest.
“That’s incredible.” Jack looks her over with raised eyebrows.
“Sapphire? That’s your name? How beautiful.” Sophia’s warm brown eyes light up. “If I have children one day like you say I will, I do hope they will be skilled fighters too. It’s a monstrous world we live in, isn’t it? How wonderful that you have learned how to protect yourself.”
Sapphire’s forehead wrinkles as her eyebrows pull together. Her lips get pulled behind her teeth as she struggles to hold information in.
“Thank you, Sophia.”
The Ringmaster’s animated voice echoes across the overstimulating colosseum. The inmates quiet down to listen, being shoved together as the last lines of us are jam-packed around the stage.
“Goodluck. I’ll see you both back in our cages.” Sophia rubs a warm hand on the back of my arm and Sapphire’s, smiling reassuringly at us. I don’t know how that one smile manages to calm my nerves, but it does.
Sapphire steps toward her, ready to stop her from having to go to the Black Widow Room. But my hand catches the inside of her elbow, and she bulldozes me with the fiery eyes.
“Let her go,” I whisper, leaning into her ear so Jack can’t hear me. “If that’s what she normally does, then we cannot change it. Imagine if we changed the course of her life to end before she can give birth to your father.”
Sapphire doesn’t move as she plays that scenario out in her head. Then, with a frustrated breath, she pulls away from me and faces the stage again.
“You still mad at me?” My breath flutters a few strands of loose copper hair on the back of her head.
“You still an idiot for saying I can’t save my dad?”
I roll my eyes. “Still an idiot.”
“Then yes, still mad at you. Still hate you.”
Sapphire straightens her upper back as I move so close, my chest grazes her hair.
“Now what if I get called up on that stage to fight and get myself killed?” I taunt.
“I doubt you’d have a mark on you.”
I smirk. “Is that a compliment?”
“Absolutely not.” She crosses her arms, and the movement pushes her heavy breasts together under those shreds of dark red fabric. “It’s just a fact.”
I’m fucking confused as hell being this close to her as she compliments me, whether she meant it or not. She has this natural scent at the top of her head that I’ve always noticed. Every time our parents forced us to hug, I would close my arms around her reluctantly, and even though I would grimace at the insufferable act—I’d always breathe in her scent.
That paired with these muddled, disordered, inexplicable thoughts I’ve been having toward Sapphire. There are these knots in my stomach that just won’t go away when I’m around her. It’s a physical exertion not to look at her. Maybe it’s a mental illness or trauma response I’ve developed since being thrown into these fucked up situations with her. Maybe when we return home, I’ll be able to look at her and only feel that cool indifference or hatred again—no in-between.
“And if I get hurt? You going to feel sorry for me?” I ask, low and hoarse in her ear. I see the skin on the back of her arms pebble and raise.
“I already feel sorry for you,” she bites back.
I grin.
