Chapter 6: One and the Same

Cole

I look at the bitch who looks too peaceful. She shouldn't be allowed to sleep peacefully. She shouldn’t be free of nightmares. Not with how many lives she's ruined. Another side of her. Please. Her standing on two broken ankles and her eyes changing colors does raise questions. But, who's ever heard of someone having another side of them that they can't control? Sounds like utter bullshit. They might buy it, but not me. No. I'll prove Sienna and Asma are one and the same.

"Cole," Gina says hesitantly. Like a lot of people in this house, Gina's scared of me. She tries to hide it, but her wobbling lip betrays her.

I stare at her waiting for her to speak. Her brows furrow and she continues to stare.

"Her wrists and ankles are almost completely healed," she tells me. I stare at her unblinking, before getting up to check Asma's legs. She's right. The bruising is gone and except for some redness, you'd never know anything was wrong.

"It was almost as if as soon as I put the IV in, she magically healed," Gina continues. She looks at the woman in awe and I glare at her. This woman killed Gina's best friend. If Gina knew, she would've probably killed this woman in her sleep. I open my mouth to shatter whatever image she has of Asma, when she catches my glare and quickly leaves. Now, I’m left alone with the person I despise the most.

I sit back down and watch her breathing. Thinking about how much I want to stop it. Mia should be here. Not her. I hate her. So much that I will make sure I tell her every day until I'm given the green light to end her miserable life. Maybe then the sun will shine in my world.

One hour later

I wake up to the sound of metal hitting metal. Damn. I went to sleep. I look over to see Asma struggling against the restraints. Except her eyes are closed and tears are coming down her face.

I get up and walk over to her cautiously. She's shaking the whole bed, trying to get free. I get closer to the bed and go to put my hands on her torso, but stop. I don't want to touch the disgusting excuse of a human being. Instead, I wrap my hands in a small blanket and put them at her waist, trying to get her to settle down. However, this makes it worst and she starts kicking at me. I swing a leg over her, straddling her waist, and I grab ahold of her arms. The skin contact makes my skin crawl. She continues to struggle though, and I come up with a new idea. An idea that brings a smile to my face. I raise my left hand and bring it down with as much force as possible across her face.

She gasps and blinks her eyes open. The tears stop, but her face is drenched in sweat. She looks up at me with so much hopelessness and despair, I can't help but think am I looking in a mirror. But then, her face morphs into fear and she opens her mouth to yell.

I quickly cover her mouth with my hand, muffling her yell. "I'm not gonna hurt you," I hiss, "Yet." I slide off her body while keeping my hand over her mouth. I raise a brow, silently asking if she's going to yell, and she shakes her head no. I remove my hand slowly, and she glares at me.

"Your hand smells like butt," she says scornfully.

Alarmed, I smell my hand to find that it smells like...a hand.

At seeing me sniffing my hand, she laughs and the sound makes my hatred grow. It burns in my chest making me want to spit every slur and insult at her.

I seethe at her and point an accusing finger at her. "I hate you." I look at her, waiting for an offended look, but she just looks sad.

"Yeah I know," she sighs, "I hate me too."

"Then why do you do it?" I question.

She raises a brow at my question and then looks around. "Did you not watch the video? Did you not see Asma? I don't have any control."

I narrow my eyes and get closer to her. Her eyes follow me, and I lean down. "I don't believe the shit you spit. I'll kill you."

She flinches, and I think it's at the threat before she opens her mouth, "Don't curse."

I back up, surprised, but then I sit back down in my seat. I lean back and stare at the ceiling, content to be in silence.

She whispers after a couple of minutes. "So, what's the plan?"

"What plan?" I ask in a normal voice. Why is she whispering? No idea.

"To kill me,” she responds like it’s obvious. “You'd have to somehow override Asma 'cause she'd beat the daylights outta you before you can even blink. On top of that, Commander Dominic seems adamant about me staying alive. What you gonna do about him?"

Her words are unexpected. She really wants to die. Heck, she's giving me all the obstacles I have to pass through before I can kill her.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask in disbelief, finally looking at her.

She looks at me and sighs. "I'm tired. Tired of living. Tired of killing. Tired of hurting, myself and other people. Wanna help me sleep buddy?"

As I look at the sad, tired woman in the bed, I realize. Death wouldn't be a punishment for her. No. Living would torture her. She's suffocating in guilt. Swimming in it to the point that she's given up on trying to get out. Who am I to save her from that?

No one saved me from mine.

I close my eyes and settle against the chair. "Don't call me buddy."