Meaner too.
“You got anything to say for yourself, girl?” he snarled as he shoved away from the kitchen table.
There was no answer she could give that would stop the inevitable from happening.
If she answered, she was an insolent little brat who talked back when she should keep quiet, and he’d hit her for it.
If she didn't answer, she was an insolent little brat who had no manners and didn't answer a direct question when asked one, and he’d hit her for it.
Even at five, she knew there was no way she could avoid the coming pain.
Worse, there was no way she could hold in her tears as his fists connected with her tiny, fragile body.
“Answer me, girl,” her father snarled as his fist connected with her cheek, the force of the blow sending her flying out of her chair and sprawling onto the floor. A moment later, his boot connected with her ribs, and pain splintered through her body, making her scream.
Through teary eyes, Indigo saw her mommy sitting at the table, calmly finishing up her dinner like her husband didn't have their daughter on the floor, assaulting her.
The blows kept coming. His boots and his fists, hitting her over and over again until darkness started to fill her mind.
Didn't matter that she was only five years old, Indigo was old enough, experienced enough, to know that death was coming for her, and she wasn't even sad or scared about it.
“Come on, Indy, stay with me, honey.”
More coolness dotted her skin as the voice spoke, but it didn't even come close to easing the heat consuming her from the inside out.
Infection.
Some distant part of her mind was still cognizant enough to remember that.
Remember that the voice was Voodoo’s. A man who was supposed to be able to heal people. Only it didn't seem like he was able to heal her.
If she had the strength to do it, she would assure him that she didn't mind, that it was okay, that maybe it was just her time to go, and given that her life hadn't been pleasant, she wasn't all that unhappy about it.
Death couldn’t be worse than life, that she knew for certain.
But the reassurances that tried to come out got lost somewhere along the way, and she didn't have the energy left to summon to try to force them out.
Just holding onto a thought was almost more than she could manage.
“Here, drink this.”
An arm slipped around her shoulders, lifting her slightly. There was no pain at the movement, just a feeling like her skin was too tight for her body, and she was quite literally burning up.
Water sloshed against her lips, but she choked on it as it tried to dribble down her throat.
“Drink, Indy. You need the water, it’ll help cool you down,” Voodoo’s voice urged, but she didn't know how to tell him that she didn't have enough control left over her body to do as he asked.
How could she swallow water when it was like she’d forgotten how to breathe?
“Come on, honey. Hold on for me. Fight,” Voodoo urged, but the thing was, she didn't want to hold on, didn't want to fight anymore.
Didn't he understand she was tired?
Exhausted.
Every single day of her life from birth until now, twenty-nine years in total, had been a struggle just to survive. There was nothing wrong with wanting a break, with reaching the end of her rope and being ready for it all just to be over.
Maybe she should still have some fight left in her, especially now that Voodoo and his team had gotten her out of that hellhole of a lab. But that didn't mean she expected anything better out of her future than she’d gotten in the past. Maybe she wasn't the prisoner of a psychotic and sadistic scientist, but what happened next? It was hard to believe there wasn't someone else, equally as horrible, waiting in the wings to become the new villain of her life.
