Rosabelle 5 #2
“This is a rehabilitation facility,” I explain, speaking only in truths.
“You’re not in an ordinary prison, though you will remain in solitary confinement, without access to the rest of the facility.
Meals will continue to be delivered to you.
This was the compromise I was able to secure on your behalf. ”
“The compromise you secured for me?” Sebastian says, looking around. His eyes linger on the door, which he knows is being guarded.
We’re in my old room.
Sebastian has been sleeping in my old twin bed.
“Yes,” I say. “I specifically requested they put you in this facility because it’s poorly surveilled. I’d hoped we would have a chance to talk.” I hesitate, letting this settle. Then I take a breath. “I’m not armed.”
An array of emotions scatter and fade across his face, leaving only confusion behind.
Then, after a beat: understanding.
Realization dawns behind his eyes, and with it, a soft amazement. “You earned their trust.”
“They’re very stupid,” I say quietly.
He takes a step toward me, and I hold steady. “You’ve double-crossed them.”
“I did what I had to do to survive.”
He stares at me, his eyes nearly bright blue. Klaus must be keenly interested. His father must be keenly interested.
Sebastian hesitates. “Why did you say you never thought I’d step foot on the mainland?”
This gives me pause.
I keep my face placid as I consider how to respond, racking my mind for an honest answer. “Because,” I say to him. “It’s beneath you to be here.”
“Beneath me?”
“You’re overqualified for this work,” I explain. “These people are easily killed.”
This is half true.
Not only are the rebels more complex adversaries than I expected, but I’m not stupid enough to believe someone of Sebastian’s distinction would be deployed to execute simple directives. If he’s here, he must be overseeing an elaborate operation.
I want to know his plans.
He crosses the room to me then, clearing the remaining distance between us in unhurried strides before coming to a halt before me.
He assesses me in silence.
Deep beneath this death, my heart pounds harder.
I can tell he wants to believe me, but I know it’ll take a great deal more than a few dubious explanations for Sebastian to let down his guard.
His mind is visibly working, his brow pinching in concentration.
I can’t know who’s talking to him. What he’s hearing.
What he’s seeing.
I’ve hardly completed the thought when he moves, striking me in the face so hard the crack is like a gunshot.
My head slams into the wall behind me.
The impact reverberates through my jaw, my temple, my eyes. The pain is violent enough that it penetrates my dim mind: brutal and electric; an explosion under my skin. I taste blood in my mouth. My eyes nearly roll back in my head, light streaking across my vision.
My lips part, but I don’t make a sound.
I can’t.
I knew this would happen; I was counting on this to happen; but I’d been hoping he wouldn’t use a closed fist to hit me.
This kind of damage will take longer to heal.
I sense subtle movement beyond the door, but I can’t alert the soldiers outside.
I imagine they’re waiting for audible sounds of distress before barging in, and I warned them not to enter the room unless absolutely necessary.
I blink slowly.
The room sways.
Sebastian evinces no remorse in the silent aftermath; he merely stands there, watching me.
Waiting.
I track the movement of his throat as he swallows, cryptic emotion flashing across his eyes. When it becomes clear no one will be rushing into the room to save me, he strikes me again.
My head snaps straight back this time, nearly giving me whiplash as my skull cracks against the wall. An explosion of pain radiates up my neck, into my teeth.
Despite my best efforts, a faint gasp escapes my lips.
I never realized how deeply I used to die around Sebastian.
I never realized, not until I met James, that I’d always lived under a skin of death, even in my sleep.
Never had I fully broken the surface of my own mind.
Never had I touched anything and truly felt it.
Never had I seen anything and truly perceived it.
I thought I had.
The juxtaposition, now more evident than ever, reminds me how right I was to cut James out of my life. I couldn’t do this if I saw him every day. A low dose of James is still enough to tilt my world off its axis, and I can’t afford an ounce of vulnerability anymore.
I never want Sebastian to look at James again.
I’m beginning to feel the chair beneath me, the shape of my feet in these shoes, the starched cotton against my skin.
My face is pulsing; hot with diffuse pain.
The shock of his fist nearly unseated me from myself, and it’s a struggle to pull my shields back up around me.
Distantly, I can feel my right arm trembling again.
I still don’t know why it does this.
No matter how many times I’m revived, it’s the one part of me that never heals. Will never heal.
I look up at Sebastian as if through a haze, the sight of him slowly clearing.
I’ve never known the full scope of what they did to me back on the island; I was heavily deadened during their many experimentations.
When I was younger I didn’t know how to regulate these small, protective deaths, and sometimes I’d push so deeply into the dark of my mind I was rendered nearly comatose.
But in the early days, connection to the Nexus was established through the veining in the right forearm.
That tech, of course, is long outdated. Ancient.
Now, the Nexus is activated directly in the brain.
Sebastian steps closer to me.
I have to try to retrieve myself from myself. I can’t find my edges for a long moment, driven so far inside my head I can’t make sense of my own texture. I won’t be able to catalog the full extent of this damage until I’m alone, until I can draw back these shields.
His eyes track my face.
I blink slowly, my head vibrating.
“No one is coming,” I manage to whisper, blood seeping at the seam of my mouth. “They’re not watching.”
“Then it’ll help,” he says, his eyes softening, “when they see that you’re injured.”
There was very little time to form a plan.
My injuries from the warehouse were so dire that the healing process took longer than I expected. I spent three days recovering in the hospital, either unconscious or half out of my head. I wouldn’t let them heal me right away, not until I spoke with Warner.
I felt I’d lost my mind; lost all control.
I’d demanded they deliver him to me, and when Warner arrived I’d grabbed him by the shirt as if I were disturbed, shotgunning information at him in a ragged voice I didn’t recognize.
I told him it was a trap, that to interrogate Sebastian would be a mistake.
I warned him never to personally interact with Sebastian, and to keep all high-profile personnel away from him.
I told him Sebastian should not be allowed to see anything in this world; that he should be forcibly blinded during any transfers—
“Whatever he sees, he shares with Klaus,” I said frantically. “What Klaus can see, he can analyze—”
“Rosabelle—”
“—and Klaus can generate sophisticated intelligence for Sebastian beyond anything he’d be able to come up with on his own—”
“I need you to slow down—”
“You’re not fighting one man,” I said, trying not to choke on my own blood. “Sebastian is not a single person—”
“Rosabelle,” Warner said sharply. “Who’s Klaus?”