I Have A Proposition For You

Jason is not speaking to me.

Maybe it's for the best. Maybe there was no point in hoping he and I could be friends, maybe it's better he thinks I don't like him than that I like him too much. He's hiding a lot of things that might be painful, but his secrets scare me. He won't tell me why he's here. Though I don't tell him much, either.

And yet; and yet and yet.

Last night the memory of his arms around me was enough to scare away the screams. The warmth of a kind embrace, the strength of firm hands holding all of my pieces together, the relief and release of so many years' loneliness. This gift he's given me I can't repay.

Being close to Loralie Kensington is nearly impossible.

My parents never wanted me. I was a hybrid. Their child was a monster.

Maybe the world is safer with me locked in a cell. Maybe Jason is safer if he hates me. He's sitting in the corner with his fists in his face.

I never wanted to hurt him.

I never wanted to hurt the only person who never wanted to hurt me.

The door crashes open and 5 people swarm into the room, rifles pointed at our chests.

Jason is on his feet and I'm made of stone. I've forgotten to inhale. I haven't seen so many people in so long I'm momentarily stupefied. I should be screaming.

"HANDS UP, FEET APART, MOUTHS SHUT. DON'T MOVE AND WE WON'T SHOOT YOU."

I'm still frozen in place. I should move, I should lift my arms, I should spread my feet, I should remember to breathe. Someone is cutting off my neck.

The one barking orders slams the butt of his gun into my back and my knees crack as they hit the floor. I finally taste oxygen and a side of blood. I think Jason is yelling but there is an acute agony ripping through my body, unlike anything I've experienced before. I'm utterly immobilized.

"What don't you understand about keeping your mouth SHUT?" I squint sideways to see the barrel of the gun 2 inches away from Jason's face.

"GET UP." A steel-toed boot kicks me in the ribs, fast, hard, hollow. I'm swallowing nothing but the strangled gasps choking my body. "I said GET UP." Harder, faster, stronger, another boot in my gut. I can't even cry out.

Get up, Loralie. Get up. If you don't, they'll shoot Jason.

I heave myself up to my knees and fall back on the wall behind me, stumbling forward to catch my balance. Lifting my hands is more torture than

I knew I could endure. My organs are dead, my bones are cracked, my skin is a sieve, punctured by pins and needles of pain. They've finally come to kill me.

That's why they put Jason in my cell.

Because I'm leaving. Jason is here because I'm leaving because they forgot to kill me on time, because my moments are over because my years were too many for this world. They're going to kill me.

I always wondered how it would happen. I wonder if this will make my parents happy.

Someone is laughing. "Well aren't you a little shit?"

I don't even know if they're talking to me. I can hardly focus on keeping my arms upright.

"She's not even crying," someone adds. "The girls are usually begging for mercy by now."

The walls are beginning to bleed into the ceiling. I wonder how long I can hold my breath. I can't distinguish words I can't understand the sounds I'm hearing. The blood is rushing through my head and my lips are 2 blocks of concrete I can't crack open. There's a gun in my back and I'm tripping forward. The floors are falling up. My feet are dragging in a direction I can't decipher.

I hope they kill me soon.

***

It takes me 2 days to open my eyes.

Why haven't they fucking killed me yet? Get me out of this hell?

There's a tin of water and a tin of food set off to the side and I inhale the cold contents with trembling hands, a dull ache creaking through my bones, a desperate drought suffocating my throat. Nothing seems to be broken, but one glance under my shirt proves the pain was real. The bruises are discoloured blossoms of blue and yellow, torture to touch and slow to heal.

Jason is nowhere.

I am alone in a block of solitude, 4 walls no more than 10 feet in every direction, the only air creeping in through a small slot in the door. I've just begun to terrorize myself with my imagination when the heavy metal door slams open. A guard with 2 rifles strung across his chest looks me up and down.

"Get up."

This time I don't hesitate.

I hope Jason, at least, is safe. I hope he doesn't come to the same end I do.

"Follow me." The guard's voice is thick and deep, his grey eyes unreadable. He looks about 25 years old, blond hair cropped close to the crown, shirtsleeves rolled up to his shoulders, military tattoos snaking up his forearms just like Jason's.

Oh.

God.

No.

Jason steps into the doorway beside the blond and gestures with his weapon toward a narrow hallway. "Move."

Jason is pointing a gun at my chest.

Jason is pointing a gun at my chest.

Jason is fucking pointing a gun at my chest.

His eyes are foreign to me, glassy and distant, far, far away.

I am nothing but novocaine. I am numb, a world of nothing, all feeling and emotion gone forever. I am a whisper that never was.

Jason is one of Death's minions. Jason wants me to die.

I stare at him openly now, every sensation amputated, my pain a distant scream disconnected from my body. My feet move forward of their own accord; my lips remain shut because there will never be words for this moment.

Dying would be a welcome release from these earthly joys I've known.

I don't know how long I've been walking before another blow to my back cripples me. I blink against the brightness of light I haven't seen in so long. My eyes begin to tear and I'm squinting against the fluorescent bulbs illuminating the large space. I can hardly see anything.

"Loralie Esther Kensington." A voice detonates my name. There's a heavy boot pressed into my back and I can't lift my head to distinguish who's speaking to me.

"Shawn, dim the lights and release her. I want to see her face." The command is cool and strong like steel, dangerously calm, effortlessly powerful.

The brightness is reduced to a level I'm able to tolerate. The imprint of a boot is carved into my back but no longer settled on my skin. I lift my head and look up.

I'm immediately struck by the person.

It's obvious he's in charge of something, though I have no idea what. His skin is flawless, unblemished, his jawline sharp and strong. His eyes are the palest shade of emerald I've ever seen.

He's beautiful.

His crooked smile is calculated evil.

He's sitting on what he imagines to be a throne but is nothing more than a chair at the front of an empty room. His suit is perfectly pressed, his brown- almost chestnut hair expertly combed, his soldiers the ideal bodyguards.

Death.

I hate him.

I hate him with every single molecule inside my body, with every last drop of my blood.

"You're so stubborn." His green eyes are almost translucent. "You never want to cooperate. You wouldn't even play nice with your cellmate."

I flinch without intending to. The burn of betrayal blushes up my neck. Death looks unexpectedly amused and I'm suddenly mortified. "Well isn't that interesting." He snaps his fingers. "Desano, would you step forward, please."

My heart stops beating when Jason comes into view. Desano. His name is

Jason Desano.

I am aflame from head to toe. Jason flanks Death in an instant, but only offers a curt nod of his head as a salute. Perhaps the leader isn't nearly as important as he thinks.

"Sir," he says.

So many thoughts are tangling in my head I can't untie the insanity knotting itself together. I should've known. I'd heard rumours of soldiers living among the public in secret, reporting to the authorities if things seemed suspicious.

Every day people disappeared. No one ever came back.

Though I still can't understand why Jason was sent to spy on me.

"It seems you made quite an impression on her."

Jason says nothing. He doesn't look in my direction. His body is erect, 6 feet of gorgeous lean muscle, his profile strong and steady. The same arms that held my body are now holsters for lethal weapons.

"You have nothing to say about that?" Death glances at Jason only to tilt his head in my direction, his eyes dancing in the light, clearly entertained.

Jason clenches his jaw. "Sir."

"Of course." Death is suddenly bored. "Why should I expect you to have something to say?"

"Are you going to kill me?" The words escape my lips before I have a chance to think them through and someone's gun slams into my spine all over again. I fall to the floor with a broken whimper, wheezing into the filthy floor.

"That wasn't necessary, Hitch." Death's voice is saturated with mock disappointment. "I suppose I'd be wondering the same thing if I were in her position." A pause. "Loralie?"

I manage to lift my head.

"I have a proposition for you."