A little later, the two of us were crouched in the van's cramped dark, staring each other down. Thin blades of light pushed through the seams of the metal doors—just enough to pick out his face, his eyes.
Leaning back against the cartons, I checked my bandage. Pain flared. I looked at him—at that unblinking stare—and said, 'The Organisation dumped us into bloody hell and expects us to claw our own way out.'
I tightened the knot in the dressing, teeth set. I could feel his gaze like a weight. One knee drawn up, the other leg stretched long.
When he saw me watching him, he murmured, cold, eyes locked on mine, 'Why are you so angry with the Organisation? Y… you're meant to serve them. That's it.'
I gave a bitter little laugh. Part of me wanted to pull my gun and put a bullet in his skull—and save another for myself. Was he taking the piss? Serve?
For a second the pictures came back, raw and bright:
that cursed room… the butterflies painted on the wall… my wrists strapped to the bed…
the doctor who left a tiny doll by my pillow, stroking my hair while I sobbed and begged him to help me, to let me go.
I squeezed my eyes shut, fury rising; when I opened them again, I caught the quick flash in his. I let my head thump back against the box behind me, stretched my legs out like his, and said, smiling without warmth, eyes on his, 'They brought me into the world. The tailor said I shivered for hours without a blanket. Said I wouldn't feed.'
My voice dropped, unsteady. 'Maybe because I wasn't born by my own will… not even by God's. I was born because they wanted it.'
My fists tightened on my thighs. Through clenched teeth I growled, 'They sent me to a camp where eighty per cent were boys—so there'd be no "gendered gaze". They shaved our heads. We cleaned our faces with charcoal powder instead of soap. They put little kids to work. They brainwashed us. Built us an imaginary enemy… and later they made us beat our team-mates like animals—made us kill like animals.'
I stared at his calm, quiet face, hating the stillness in it. 'And then one day they dragged me to another site and told me I was to "serve" the Organisation.'
He tipped his head back against the wall of the bay, his eyes never leaving mine.
I pushed on, hard. 'For months they experimented on me. For months they filled me with drugs. I don't remember ninety per cent of it. I don't remember what they did. I don't remember why I was locked up. I remember lying in my own filth. I remember crying into the empty.'
My voice kept climbing. 'I was just a little girl who missed her only friend.'
Something twisted tight in my chest. With a ragged breath I said, barely above a whisper, 'The same boy this bloody mission took from me. He died in front of me—by my hand.'
He cocked his head, mocking; his voice was low and hoarse. 'Feels like you've mistaken this for therapy. Y… your traumas aren't my concern, little butterfly.'
I ground my teeth. 'All of that happened to you too. When are you going to open your eyes? You're brainwashed. You—'
He cut in, calm as winter, voice low but firm. 'Why do you think you can h… help me? Or, let me put it this way—' He let his gaze drag over my face, inch by inch, then pinned my eyes and growled, 'Why did you assume I need help? Hm?'
I was breathing hard. I blinked, stung—and only then felt the wet on my cheek. 'Because we could've had an ordinary life,' I said, voice breaking. 'We could've had paper and pens instead of machine guns. Dolls instead of magazines and rifles. They stole everything a child needs.'
My words shook the way the van did as it seemed to pick up speed, the bay rattling around us.
'Because if we'd had a choice—' I started, and he barged straight through:
'What? You'd have picked a pretty teddy?' He flicked a finger at the giant bear by my leg. 'Like that?'
His neat white teeth flashed in the dark. 'You wish to be weak,' he said, soft and cutting. 'You don't even know what you want.'