Cut by Rebecca Ethington

Author:Rebecca Ethington [Ethington, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Imdalind Press

August 3rd 10:22 a.m.

Bridget

Everything in my world was pain.

My body ached from where I had been shot, my face aching from where I had been punched. Everywhere the blood was being pumped in and out from the thick tubes felt like someone was yanking my spine out, one pulse at a time.

I didn’t know how much time had passed since Abran’s fist had intersected with my face. I had drifted in and out of consciousness for what felt like days. Each time I woke up everything hurt more, everything throbbed. Every time I woke up, I wanted to give in more and more.

This desperation that was growing in the pit of my stomach like some sort of disease wasn’t me. Perhaps this dratted emotion came from the blood that was dragging me down, that or the pain that spider webbed over my skull, but it was there, and it was driving me insane.

This feeling of hopelessness was one that I had felt only once before, when the skies had first gone black and I had watched my friends turn to ash, leaving me standing alone face-to-face with the creature I was now being forced to become. That hopelessness had permeated me as I stared into its dark eyes before the determination kicked in.

It was that determination that had guided me through seven years of torment. Seven years of fighting and pain. Even through all of that I had never thought about giving up before. I had never wanted to.

But lying here, strapped to this table, feeling the pulse of my heart speed up as it moved closer and closer to beating its last, the thought had returned.

I was not that person. I repeated the thought to myself like a mantra, willing it to be enough.

I wouldn’t give in.

I needed to get out of here.

Shifting my focus, I flexed my hands, wiggling my elbows and moving everything I could. It had been a few days since I had tried this, and everything felt stiffer, the motions adding to the pain I was already trapped in.

Everything ached as I twisted, but I kept at it, the pain dissipating the more I worked. The more I pulled against the straps.

Until one of them gave.

There was a strap around my ankle that wasn't quite as tight as the others, a strap that let me move.

My brain screamed at me in warning, knowing Abran well enough to know his tricks; to know that a loose strap was always something more. But why would it need to be tight? They thought I was paralyzed.

I could tell by the way that I was able to wiggle and move that if I pointed my toe, turned my knee out, and lifted my leg as I had in dance so many years ago - it would come free.

A pirouette to freedom.

Yes, it might only be one leg.

But one leg could lead to two, which could lead to an arm.

It may seem like bizarre logic to some, but I was flexible.

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