Unavailable. I hate that word. That means hidden. Hurt. Gone. My lips twitch.
“Brielle?” I ask.
“She is not feeling good today and is excused,” he tells me, and I fold my arms over my chest.
“I never feel good. Can I be excused?”
“No!” he deadpans, and I huff.
“And the others?” I ask as he watches me closely.
“What others?”
I laugh once. Small and empty. “Right,” I say as he folds his hands in his lap.
“Who are you looking for?”
I stare at him. I could say their names, I could scream until my throat bleeds, maybe even throw a chair. Instead, my voice comes out quiet.
“No one,” I say, and Jethro stirs.
“Liar,”he accuses as I press my nails into my palms. Dr. Petrova leans forward.
“Logan. I think we should talk about what you believe happened yesterday,” he states, and my eyes lift.
“What I believe?" I question as he lifts his pen and moves it over his paper.
“Yes,”
A laugh bubbles in my throat. This one is better. This one has an edge. “You mean what you erased?” I accuse, and his gaze flickers just a little, but I see it. But before I can speak, something crashes in the hall.Hard, violent, and beautiful.The room freezes and another crash followed by shouting. A deep voice roaring something I can’t make out. My heart stops then starts again.Hope is ugly when it comes back. It bites on the way in.
My head turns toward the door, and Dr. Petrova stands.
“Stay seated,” he orders, but I’m already smiling. I know that sound. That kind of rage. My fingers loosen from the chair as my smile stretches across my face.
“Jagger,” I whisper, and somewhere down the hall, the chaos answers.
The Room That Remembers
Jagger Holmes
I’ve been here for what feels like days. Wrists and ankles locked down. Chest strapped so tight my ribs have to fight for every breath. They think rage is simple, like a bad temper with fangs, but it isn’t. Rage is a house fire that started when you were too small to carry water. It’s years of smoke in your lungs. It’s the sound of someone screaming your name from a room you can’t reach, but what's worst of all is knowing the monster has a face and you were too young to break it.
The room is black. Not dark but fucking pitch black. My head rolls forward and my tongue tastes like metal. “Gross,” I rasp.
A speaker clicks on and my body tightens. ”Jagger Holmes,” Master D’s voice calls out, making my jaw lock.I hate this fucking guy.
“Open the door,” I growl.
“Not yet,” he states, and I laugh. It doesn’t sound right. It sounds hungry.
“You don’t want me awake in here,” I warn.
“That’s exactly what I want,” he says calmly, then a light turns on. Not overhead but in front of me. A screen. The room stays dark around it, but the screen glows white-blue, burning straight into my skull. Static rolls across it. Then… a woman crying. My whole body goes still.No. No. No. NO!
My hands pull against the restraints so hard the leather creaks, and the voice inside me wakes up violently.
“Break it,”it commands.
