Chapter 15

Sevina

“Move, move!” Aida’s voice echoes at the end of the corridor. “No one’s going to wait for you!”

From the blinding darkness I rush into the hideout, past Aida and the makeshift walls. She falls into a sprint after me, catching up just as I enter the main open circle.

“Incoming!”

I pivot, lifting my hands and blocking her punch, but she smashes my stomach with her knee. I gasp, doubling over.

“Come on! What do you expect to find on the streets?” Her elbow dives into my back.

I screech, plunging to my knees and to my memories. “Aida, stop!”

Punches stop, but her green eyes stay trained on me with utmost superiority as she leans to my face. “At least have the courage to say it to my face, princess.”

I suck in a breath as I raise my head. For the third time her life is somewhat familiar. I let it flow, let it engulf me.

“I’m done.” I tell her in the rough tone of her own voice. Heavily, her essence washes over me and remains of my energy spill away, leaving me shivering and lightheaded. Yet major events are already engraved into my head; her dead brother, her abusive stepmother, and an alcoholic father. She ran away from all the horrors when she was seven, met Terrel and his little sister on the streets. They’ve been together ever since; lived through the foster care and Aida’s parents, who tried to take their daughter back, and through Aida’s first kill and Terrel’s sister’s death.

Aida had it difficult. Everyone here had it difficult, but no matter what each human being endured, each of them is alive and kicking.

So fear of the past is pointless?

And five seconds of person’s present state I can take. I’ve been taking it for two weeks since Aida beat me up for the first time.

Aida smiles a sort of a genuine smile, her ginger hair sticking in every direction. “Well, at least I’ll teach you to look someone in the eye. But don’t even dream of seeing the daylight until you’re fit, princess. You’re pathetic.” She flings her hand in the air and being Aida, adds a juicy insult. “A pathetic, little princess.” It’s not hate on her mind when she taunts me. It’s a dare, to make me prove myself. It would work on Corrin; he’d jump straight up, eager to prove her wrong. I don’t care how she views me, even if I agree with her. In foster care, before I got kicked out for cowering, me and my kid gang used to bolt the streets. Some of them would get into brawls with the street kids, but I didn’t. I stood aside, never supported them, never learned to throw a punch. But all the same, I loathe fighting. I’d much rather do some extra laundry...

Lenore’s high-pitched voice calls my name from the second level. It’s time for my stealing lesson. Aida sighs. “Try to survive till tomorrow.” She walks away. At least once a day she forces me to fight with her, usually in the morning before she leaves for work and when all the kids are sleeping. Every time I leave with a new bruise and honestly, Aida isn’t a good teacher. But despite her ruthless training method I understand her. If I had someone on my shoulders, taking my time instead of searching for able-bodied people, I’d be angry too.

Following Aida’s instructions, I should do pushups and sit-ups to build muscle. I haven’t done a single one. Corrin says my eyes is far from enough, that they’ll never give me strength. He’s right. But no matter what all of them say I don’t want to be strong, because I’m afraid that if I look too long, if I’m too immersed… I’ll lose myself in their existence’s and hurt people by accident. I’m petrified to explore that area.

I dust myself off before Lenore and Corrin see me.

Corrin has been teaching me to steal, carry and draw a weapon for two weeks now since we arrived here. I got to shoot into some wooden wall deep in the tunnels. Lenore was my instructor since Corrin hardly managed to stay between the makeshift walls, least the tunnels.

Half an hour into the stealing lesson Lenore shrugs with exhaustion. “Seriously, how are you not getting it? It’s simple.” She makes her way around Corrin, swiftly easing out her phone from his back pocket; we still didn’t get ours back.

Corrin nods. “You can do it.” Though he explained the tactics for a dozen of times I still can’t do it. In the foster care I would nag some food from the plates while other kids distracted the victim, but that was about it. Perhaps, it’s the sore hands after the yesterday’s shooting?

“Keep your hands close, don’t panic and watch your vict… opponent,” Corrin repeats. He makes it sound easy, but it’s far from it. Yet his patience amuses me. He explains it again and again without a single nag or sigh of annoyance. For the hours he teaches, long after Lenore quits, he also cracks a smile or two, a rare sight on his face.

…

Corrin’s shuffles and murmurs behind the wall make me glad I don’t dream. I could kick the wall to shut him up, if only more jerking and jarring would help. I’ve kicked that wall nine times over two weeks. He doesn’t look better and I still can’t sleep. What do I do with him? Hate him? Forgive him? I know he wouldn’t have shot. Call it venial accident then? My pained side draws me away from him, though I should be hating on his father, which I do, but it’s harder when Corrin is the one with me.

I exit my room. I’ll wait till he falls asleep, I guess.

At the edge of the level I lean against the pillar. The place sinks in dim shadows, lamps gassed during the nights to conserve the power. We’re lucky half of the rooms on this level are empty and Corrin’s sounds don’t piss off the working guys. Most of them reside above and show no interest in us. I rarely see them talking to Terrel either. They leave in the morning and come late. The men and a few women range from ages eighteen to mid-twenties, or so they look like. Their rooms are more spacious and well-kept too. Kids often clean the entire level, fix whatever needs fixing, bring food or provide general support service.

As I stand, holding Rovy’s bracelet in my hands, the noises stand out from the silence—the whizzing of lamps, the low humming of generators deep within the walls, the distant rattle of subways—above us the life goes on.

I slide the bracelet back on my wrist. Despite refusing to build muscle and failing at stealing I’m trying— key word being trying— to will myself into becoming stronger and more resourceful, even if mentally. All the blue beaded trinket does, is brings me back into the past and to who I truly am— a useless girl with a useless desire in her chest. Well, at least I’m in this place, so there’s that.

It’s quiet when I near my room. To make sure Corrin’s asleep I peek into his room. He sits on the ground, his back against the wall and chin on his chest.

So, he fell asleep… in a weird position. From what I remember from his life I never saw him sleep like this before. He’s always flinching and his breathing is never this even, never this calm.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I turn on the dim light on the wall and squat beside him, thinking of my next move. If he attacks me I gotta find something other than the crackers to scream out. Any good memories? He has those I know, but perhaps I should ready a tab to hit him with.

I decide against it and smoothly touch his hand so I could grab it if he grabs me. Nothing. I squeeze his cold fingers. “Hey, can you hear me?” I shake his arm with more force. His head sways from side to side, but he doesn’t wake. I realize he’s unconscious.

A wave of cold rushes along my back. I knew he was hiding his weaknesses but I never thought he was so good at it. This is more serious than I imagined. If he passes out somewhere in a dire situation it might cause serious trouble. Me fainting from the overload of lives is enough.

“Hey?” I lift his head by his chin and put my palm to his sweaty forehead. It burns under my palm. “Shit, come on.” I slap his cheek. Don’t scare me like that, please.

He inhales and shifts with his whole body, all but trying to shuffle away from me in panic. “It’s me, man… Corrin. It’s me!” I give his arms a shake, getting his attention and his eyes—

The room contracts into a tiny space of a trunk and I can’t inhale. Mingled bodies appear in the shadows and hands reach for me from behind.

My fingers dig into his arms and we stare at each other. “Listen to my breathing. In and out.” I finally catch my own breath and break the eye contact. It’s as if his half-conscious state paralyzed me. I looked far longer than three seconds.

“Good,” shivering, I say to myself more than him. “Breathe with me, come on.”

His life is surging though my head. For the third time. No, forth, or fifth? I haven’t seen the same life that many times after Rovy’s. He and I shared long looks five times over the two years we’ve known each other. Despite the pain of his father’s loss Rovy’s life had so much kindness in it, so much love. Mrs. Brice’s was even more wholehearted, even more maternal.

Corrin’s story is like a hurricane to a light rain. It’s hard to admit it to myself but I respect him for his courage and his cause. Once Dan saved him he could’ve spat on what’s right and left the city. Yet he didn’t.

Ashamed, he topples his forehead on my shoulder and squeezes my forearms, holding onto me as if I’m all that keeps him together. “Thanks,” he bites out, probably sensing I have no pleasure in babysitting him either. “I just… it was…”

“You don’t have to tell me.” He had a panic attack, then breathed shallowly for a long time. His body and mind were fatigued to the point they shut off.

“I’m sorry, Sevina,” he rasps. “I’m sorry for what I did.” He jerks his head to the side, his eyes widening, hearing something I don’t. His fingers find and clutch my wrist.

I swallow, rubbing his shoulder with one hand. “Corrin. No one’s after you.”

His breathing slows and he slackens by the wall, drenched in sweat. I slump my shoulders, exhausted as well. What is he thinking, trying to return into his family, trying to do good when he’s so broken?

When he seems to ease I whisper, “do you want to quit?”

Alertness surges into his face.

“Let’s quit. Let’s just stay here, help the people here. Keep this gang together. Will’s right. We’re too weak.” The words leave my mouth with more effort that I thought they would. “We’re trying to pretend to be people we’re not, that’s why we are failing.”

Corrin shakes his head. “No. We’re not failing nor quitting.” I keep glancing at his face and he stares me straight in the eye. “I know what I have to do, even if I think I can’t. It’s the only way for me to redeem myself. Sev… Sevina, don’t you understand it? Would it seem right to you to live next to the man who—” he gestures at himself, words catching in his throat “—who’s a murderer?”

It feels right to deny it, but I don’t. The blame may not fall on him directly, but a murderer he is.

A weird nagging in my chest surfaces again— the hunger to do something, my desire. How is it I want to quit again?

“This is the way to atone myself. For my mother, for Will, for you…” His voice seeps of remorse, and resolve. “I’ll risk my life to do it. Quitting would be finding another hole to sit in. Day to day. Looking at the things that happen and being unable to change them when we’re the only people that can. Would you want to do that again?”

Not a second passes before I shoot out the answer. “Never.”

“But Sevina, I…” he averts his gaze. “I need you.”

I recoil. “You just said you’re gonna face your father whether I’m in our out.”

A deep flush settles into his cheeks. “I know. It’s just not… that scary when, you know, you already know it all. I don’t have such an urge to talk to anybody.”

We cross our eyes awkwardly. We depend on each other whether we like it or not. I need him to protect and teach me, he needs me to ease his load. Eye for an eye. But I’m not easing his load, am I? I’m making it harder, by ignoring him every time he tries to make conversation, by kicking his wall, by using him for nothing more than shooting and stealing lessons.

“I can stay.” I don’t want to, but I have to keep my eye on him, have to do something about his mental state. “Come on, lay down.”

“I’ll stay on the floor.” Clumsily, he succumbs on his back and I settle on his cot. Silent, he lifts his hand to me, pleading with his expression. I extend mine so it hangs from the cot. His fingers tangle around mine, rough and chafed. He drifts off into a flinching dream. I lie, my hand sweating in his, watching him quiver and jerk on the ground.

For the first time I feel bad for this man. He won’t last in the hideout for long. How do I make him feel better? Because if we’re truly embarking on this crusade I need him on his feet.

…

The following morning, in exchange for a huge bruise on my hurting stomach, I take note of all the hideout exits from Aida’s life. I recite them in my mind until I memorize each and every one.

Corrin and I still don’t have permission to leave the place, but after seeing Corrin’s turmoil I knew I couldn’t take the aftereffects if I didn’t breathe some fresh air.

When the hideout falls silent for the night I lace my boots. I follow the corridor past the kitchen and the bathrooms into dark halls, using a little LED light I peeled off the wall in my room for illumination. Two more exits they didn’t show us lead out of the building. One through the underbuilt sky-scrapper above and the garages, another through a narrow corridor without the motion scanners. Not even kids know about it.

I walk the corridor, my baggy clothing making me feel weird and exposed. As per Corrin’s note two weeks ago I changed into baggy clothes and try to act like a street kid which I find just as weird and unnatural.

I make a few turns until I reach bristly stairs, leading half a floor up to a door with an old lock. From one of my airy pockets I pull a few lock picks, a fair exchange with one of the kids for some extra work. And thanks to Corrin I know how to use them.

I pick and shoulder open the door. A heavy panel shields it and I slip through the crack and fall into a crouch in case someone sees me. A half-wall with a few dumpsters surround the door; one would never be able to tell it’s there.

It’s not until I take a sip of fresh, yet foul air I fully, without using my powers, realize how Corrin must feel.

An engine roars in the distance and I curl into myself, shuffling to the bags of thrash. The moonless night swallows the details in the unlit alley but for its openings, contoured by the flicking streetlights in the wider street.

A black van passes the street; must be our members returning back from the job. This gang, probably as any, has cars, and vans, and stashes of weapons, though not many. All the jobs are arranged and scheduled in the tech room, behind the door in Terrel’s little reception room.

I listen for a few minutes before I emerge into the street. I walk in large steps, doing my best at swinging my shoulders like Aida does, but no one glances at me as I look like scruffy boy with dark short hair sticking out of the hood. I have a gun tucked behind the waistband of my pants, same one I tossed to Corrin when the men attacked us. Corrin refuses to touch it, though all the adults are armed, and I snatched it from under his cot while he did the chores.

Enjoying the air, I cross Coats to my apartment. The keys cling in my pocket as I stop by my door, feeling alienated.

Someone curses behind the door and a loud thin voice responds. The foster care couldn’t reach me on my phone or e-mail so they must’ve reported me as a missing person and written me off. Two new kids must’ve moved in.

What am I clinging to? There’s nothing here for me.

Quietly, I put my keys on the doorstep, stuff my hands into my pockets and leave.

I end up at the railing under the black sky and shining bridges where Will and I stood almost three months ago, where she gracelessly scattered the ashes of our loved ones.

Who knew I’d wind up like the runaway girl from my apartment. I wonder where she went. Who took her in if anybody…

I lean over the railing, gazing into the dirty ocean water. Blue beads on my wrist gleam in the streetlights.

I miss you. I would’ve left with you, I would.

I slip Rovy’s bracelet off and bring it to my lips.

Thank you for being here for me when no one else was. Your deaths will not be in vain.

I swing it into the water as far as I can and darkness swallows it before it reaches the ocean.

I clutch onto the rusty railing with my both hands, holding it like Corrin held me after I woke him from his unconsciousness. A mix of sadness and relief creeps into my chest and my eyes water, yet I keep them straight; on Clare’s island, a shimmering mountain of lights reflecting in the ocean below, on boats, slicing that reflection like Corrin sliced my life. No. Like his father did.

The water ripples and becomes whole and calm again.

Feeling a tear slide across my cheek, I scoff.