13. AURORA #2
I look him dead in the eye then spit on his Persian rug. “I’m fine in the bowels of this place. At least the Diggers don’t pretend to be something they’re not.”
The Warden’s eyes drop to his rug, then back to me.
“You still carry yourself with that tiresome Elite arrogance,” he says, leaning back and lacing his fingers over his stomach.
“You act as if there is still a rescue party coming. As if Cosmo Drakeward is currently filing injunctions to bring his precious sister home.”
What? Is Cosmo doing that? Will that work?
Even though I know my father is gone, I’ve got to admit I’ve been holding onto the hope that Cosmo’s name still carries enough weight to crush a man like Voss.
The warden shakes his head, smiling like an alligator.
“But your brother has his own problems, Aurora. I’m afraid there is no one left to save you.
” He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “And you think that Bevan, and his hoodrats can keep you safe? You’re in for a rude awakening.
That boy is playing out of his league. You are a girl that the world no longer cares about, but one that I still see so much… potential in.”
He presses a button on his desk. “I think you need a lesson in reality.”
Peek enters once more.
“Let’s see how much that legacy is worth when you finally realize you’re truly alone. Take her to the North Gym, Peek.”
The North Gym?
Have I heard anything about the North Gym? I don’t think so. I have no idea what I’m about to face but don’t let a second of fear show.
Tindall joins Peek, and the three of us exit the administration block and climb a set of metal stairs. The air may be cooler, but it still smells of stale sweat, urine and hopelessness.
“Taking me off for a stint in the chokey, Ms. Trunchbull?” I ask, my voice steadier than my knees.
Peek coughs, a sound I’m half-sure smothers a laugh.
“What did you say, Drakeward?” Tindall stops, looming over me.
“Just asking about the destination, Officer Tindall,” I reply, flashing a sharp, Elite smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. I’m an idiot for poking the bear, but I won’t let the bitch see me sweat.
Stopping in front of a set of double doors, Tindall puts her hand up to a heavy sliding bolt.
Fear opens my mouth before I can stop it. “What’s in there?”
“Every little girl’s nightmare,” she chuckles. “And remember, these walls are thick. No one is going to hear you scream.”
No.
I swivel around, looking for escape, but her hand holds me hard. “We’ll be back later to pick up the pieces.”
My eyes implore the new guard, Peek. For a second I’m sure I see a flicker of remorse, but then it’s gone again.
The door opens and I’m shoved onto the gymnasium floor. I hit the concrete hard, the impact sending jarring pain through my already bruised kneecaps.
Quickly, I scramble to my feet, and look around.
Shit. This place is obviously the “home” of the no-men.
They don’t have cells or beds, just ragged blankets heaped around the edges of the room.
And a line of stinking buckets. The men look up, faces pale and worn and their stained red scrubs give off a stench so potent I can taste it on the back of my tongue.
Behind me the door closes, and I hear the sound of a bolt being slid across.
OK. So these guys are the ones who didn’t make it on to either the Diggers or the Guild. The misfits, the downtrodden, the abandoned.
They look like ghosts, too hollowed out to care about a Digger girl getting thrown into their midst. Hopefully.
But when the men turn in my direction, I see it instantly. Fuck. I’m wrong.
What I see is cruel delight. Finally they can take out their pain on someone smaller and weaker.
“The Warden must want us to have a little fun,” one of them rasps. He’s short, with a twisted nose and a missing front tooth. “I guess the bitch needs to learn what it’s like at the bottom.”
“You ever been forced to take whatever anyone else wants to give you?” another calls out, grabbing his crotch. “Because you’re in no-man’s land now, and that’s your fucking initiation.”
They begin to converge, circling me, breathing heavily.
“Stay the fuck back,” I growl, bringing my fists up. My ballet-trained muscles tense for a fight I know I can’t win.
Gods. All I can do is try.
The men don’t wait. The first lunges—a clumsy grab from one who still looks like a child. His face is gaunt, but his eyes are filled with malice.
Scrawny though he is, he expects me to cower and scream.
Instead, I find my center. My weight shifts onto the balls of my feet, and as he reaches for my throat, I drop into a deep full knee bend, slipping under his outstretched arms. I don’t punch; I’m aware my knuckles are feeble, instead, I drive the heel of my palm upward, catching him squarely under the chin.
The crack of his teeth snapping together echoes in the hollow gym.
"Fuck!" he screeches, stumbling back into the others, who jeer at the boy’s failure.
Not much camaraderie in this bunch, apparently. The man with the twisted nose lets out a guttural roar, and comes at me.
I spin, whipping my leg out, catching him on the temple. But it’s not enough, just a passing blow at best.
A third no-man joins the attack.
“Stay the fuck back!” I scream, but arms grab me from behind, their grip like iron. I kick out again, but the combined weight pulls me down.
The scent of unwashed bodies and foul breath fills my lungs. Fingers claw and paw. It’s like being drowned in a sea of rats. My back arches as I try to buck them off, but the pressure is too much.
I can’t breathe.
“Look at those blue eyes,” one of them rasps. “Think they’ll fill with tears as I fuck your ass?”
A hand fumbles with the zipper of my jumpsuit. I twist my head, trying to bite, trying to scratch, but I’m being pulled apart.
Each limb is being attacked, spread, pinned.
My hair is yanked back with a violent jerk and as my throat is exposed, the man with the twisted nose leans down. His breath is sour and hot against my skin.
Then a thick gob of spit lands on my cheek, sliding down toward my ear. I can’t move my hands to wipe it away. I’m splayed out like a dead butterfly in a framed collection.
My vision narrows and blurs.
There is nothing I can do.
So I look up at the high, shadowed rafters of the gym, and envision myself hanging from a rope. Anything but this. As the fabric of my jumpsuit is ripped away, I imagine my neck snapping and everything awful just…turning to dust.
One of them grinds a heavy foot into my inner thigh to keep my legs apart, and the pain is a white-hot spike that pierces through my dreams of death.
I can bleed into my shoes and still smile.
That was the lie my instructors told me while they taped my bleeding toes.
But that was for beauty’s sake, and here there is only ugly. No Prokofiev or Tchaikovsky to drown out the wet, eager sounds of the men above me.
I wish with everything I have, I could float away, leaving my body behind for them to ruin.
The air in my lungs is gone. I’m not just breaking; I’m dissolving into the grit of the floor.
My heart is freaking out.
Wump-ppp.
Wump-ppp.