EIGHT

~Kezi

The symptoms of the drug set in not long later.

It started with a very irritated tingling where it was applied. And then it seemed to heat up until it started burning. The pain has become so intense, it’s hard to keep still. Pacing only helps take my mind off it for a moment, but it always brings me back to that feeling. Like the inky brand is leeching from my skin, crawling out, digging sharps claws into my flesh.

With a stumbling gait, I find myself at the sink. Twisting the taps, nothing comes out. When I wander to the bath, I notice the catch is still wrapped around, keeping me from accessing it.

Those bastards.

After a while of attempting to reach behind myself to itch the constant burn, it finally become so intense, it turned numb, my entire back losing most of its feeling. Someone behind the camera must have seen me calm down, lying back across the seat, because Sermon reentered not long after.

“Up,” she prompts, to which I obliged begrudgingly. “We are leaving this room for dinner.”

I’m surprised. I’ve only received two meals while being here, and both were a frothy chicken soup that had no actual chicken pieces in it. Each time, I never left my room to eat. So, this is a new development.

Sermon walks ahead, while two guards trail behind me. We go a different direction to the other day, when we were meeting with Alden in his office. This way only reveals more rooms, each with the curtain drawn across. The ones who have an absence of this hold no one in them. Room for more travelers that Alden will surely capture.

“Where am I eating?” I question, the strange sandal like shoes I had been given with my track suit slapping on the linoleum.

“The cafeteria,” Sermon responds.

The cafeteria was quite large. Like any, it had an area to collect our foot, and metal benches scattered around, where many people in uniform sit, eating their dinners. Based upon the smell, I assume everyone is eating some kind of beef based meal. It’s all an intimidating sight, as a majority of people glance up from their food, staring at me.

All of them are female. Perhaps the males are sectioned off elsewhere. Instead of wearing a tracksuit like mine, most of the girls wear loose sweaters and leggings. And there is no discrimination. There has to be at least one from every Pack in here.

“Get in line. You’ll be escorted back later,” Sermon tells me, pushing the small of my back. I wince, feeling the lather of ointment on my brand continue to sting.

With everyone staring, I do so, picking up a tray on my way. I take my place in line behind another girl, much taller and broader than me. She turns.

“You’re the new girl, huh?”

I stare blankly at her, unsure of what to say. I’m unsure of what Pack she has come from, her sandy blonde hair, cropped to her shoulders, her eyes a dark brown. Everything about her seems sharp, from her nose, to her cheekbones. She must be a few years older than me, I assume.

“I guess so,” I say warily, as we shuffle forward in the line.

“Everyone is staring at you because you met the Alpha,” she tells me, taking a plate of steaming lasagna from the cook. “They want to know why.”

I frown. “How do they know?”

“Word travels quick around here,” the girl tells me, balancing her plate in one hand as she plucks some cutlery from a jar. I take my own plate, setting it down on the tray. It looks mildly appealing, which is a surprise. “Guards gossip, and girls overhear. Moments later, the whole institute knows.”

This is the first time I’ve heard it be referred to as that. An institute. I consider it more a hospital, or perhaps a prison.

“I’m Amilia, by the way,” she tells me, giving me a rather crooked smile. She nods to a table where two other girls wait. “Come sit with us.”

She doesn’t wait for me. It takes me a moment, as I watch her depart, to fathom this. Almost immediately, I’m being offered some extension of friendship. Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but knowing someone here is a relief. Perhaps loneliness won’t be something I will have to deal with.

The two other girls at the table are starkly different from Amilia.

One I sit besides, our trays almost touching on the small table. She turns to me, a very soft smile on her lips. Love Pack. It’s a deduction I’m absolutely certain I have made correctly. She has very gentle features, with deep blue eyes and light brown hair. They all look the same. Her hand resting on the table shows where Time has branded her. Right across her hand, to her knuckles.

“Kezziah right? I’m Etta,” she says warmly.

I blink a few times. She knows my name? They do find out things here quick. And with everyone still staring at me, not even trying to be inconspicuous, a feeling of discomfort settles deep in my stomach.

I smile in response, but my eyes drift over to the other girl sitting at the table. She’s eye catching for a variety of reasons.

She’s very beautiful. Her eyes are a very unique jade colour I have never seen before. She watches me warily, gaze drifting up and down my body. Her dark brown hair contrasts so magnificently to her eyes, while is compliments her smooth, lean features. But what truly draws my attention, is the brand Time left on her.

Her lips are stained black with it, the pattern bleeding down her chin, down her neck and beyond the collar of her shirt in a waterfall of spirals and swirls.

Before she notices the intensity of my stare, I glance back at Etta. “Yeah, I’m Kezziah.”

“Everyone has been saying you met Alpha Alden,” she says. Her words spark the interest of the table over, a very scruffy pair of girls quirking their heads in curiosity. “What’s he like?”

“Etta,” Amilia scolds.

The Love Pack girl shrugs her shoulders, but doesn’t say anything. I exchange my glance between the two of them, surveying the dynamic. Something tells me Amilia is the head of this table.

“He’s very intrusive,” I tell Etta, despite Amilia’s reprimand.

Etta grins, pushing her tray away, disregarding her allotted time to eat her meal. I’m curious why they are so interested in this. Despite her immediate disinterest, Amilia still stares at me, waiting for me to say another word. Has Alden never seen the subjects he has locked up in here? Of course not…I make a mental reminder to mention that to him next time.

“What does he look like?” Etta asks, resting her chin on her hand like a gushing school girl. That’s what she reminds me of. Perhaps she is much younger than me.

The girl with the jade eyes scowls at Etta. “Foolish questions. We should be asking you why he wanted to talk to you.”

I’m a little taken aback by her irritable tone, but at least I can assume what Pack she is from. Independence Pack. Her accent is as hardened as the mountains they dwell between. Time surely had quite a reach.

“He has very searching, navy eyes. And black hair. And…he’s tall,” I tell Etta.

It’s the best account I can give without seeming silly - like a sappy girl. Should I tell him there isn’t a flaw on that face of his. How smooth his skin is, and how well built he remains despite the lack of physical altercations he must get in.

“And he just wanted to know how I met Time,” I tell the other girl with a careless shrug, hoping to dismiss any more questions.

I’m anxious to admit anything about Alden’s true intentions. Not with everyone around our table listening in. Plus, I’m not even sure if these girls have intentions as pure as they may appear. They can believe the pattern on my body is just like theirs.

“That’s it?” Amilia questions. “He didn’t ask us that.”

Acting as uninterested as I possibly can, I dig my fork into my lasagna. Can they see through my lies? Really, it’s not a lie, since he did want to know what Time had said to me. However, the other part of our conversation will remain buried within my own mind. Especially since these girls might now know everyone has different brands.

“Maybe it was like a random draw,” I tell her, that excuse suddenly blooming in my mind.

“I don’t think so,” the girl with the jade eyes says curtly, completely dismissing that option. “We all know you escaped him for a long time. The longest anyone has. It’s all the guards ever talk about around here.”

I set my fork down gently. “He wanted to know how I did it, yes. It’s not that big of a deal guys. Seriously.”

Etta clears her throat. “Forgetting that, we always tell each other how we met Time, and how we managed to get our brands. Why don’t you share your story?”

I freeze.

My mouth falls open, then closes again, as I think of how to get out of this. I can’t repeat the story. I won’t remember the night it happened.

Because thinking about him makes it all real again.