[Chapter 15: Feels Like Mood Swings, and I'm Dizzy]

     I can't stop screaming. There's blood on the floor and walls from hitting my head and hands all over the place.
   

     Tate wouldn't kill me. He couldn't do that, could he?
   

     Blood and tears cover my face, and my throat is close to raw now.


     The voice hasn't talked to me for over two weeks, and I am starting to wonder if anything is real anymore. Maybe I am currently in a coma at some hospital in the capital. Maybe I'd gotten in a car accident while driving to school. Tate and Olivia are safe, at home, watching TV or playing Wii.


     I could settle with knowing that, if my body weren't on fire with pain. At least the red on the walls and floor add some color to the room.


     I wail and hit the wall again, my bloody hands screaming in pain.


     "That's enough!" Marcus' voice bellows from the alcove, but I ignore it and continue to batter myself.


     The cell door clangs open, and two men dressed in black barge in, followed by Marcus, who is dressed in red.


     Both men have surgical masks on, which is an instant red flag.


     Hit them, the voice tells me.


     Excited that the mysterious voice is back, I get up, poised to fight.


     The two men stop suddenly, hands up.


     I start toward them, but they back up. Huh... What's going on here?


     Don't worry about it. Just hit them.




     I shrug off previous ponderousness and launch myself at the men. Both gasp and shield their faces with their hands, so I aim for what they're protecting.


     The one I attack first stumbles to the floor, and his glasses fall off, revealing reflective gold eyes. I'm lulled into the gold again, only to be scolded by the voice.


     Face, now!


     I press my hands to his face to position myself, but I'm thrown off the masculine man by Marcus. He's barking at me, but the ringing in my ears drones out all the noise that seems to be going around the room.


     Ignoring Marcus' tomato-red face, I stare at the screaming guy on the floor. His face is smoking, and his fingers are clawing at it like an animal. My stomach threatens to burst when I see the burning flesh on his skull.


     The second man is clawing at the back of his head, hair and skin falling to the floor. His gold eyes scared, searching for help, but of course nobody is paying attention to him.


     Several men dressed in black rush into the room, not bothering with the masks this time. Two hold my arms, and two watch my legs. They watch my legs, as if I can't kick or something. But when I try, my legs don't budge. Nothing does. Not my toes, not my ankles, nothing.


     Marcus is flicking something, and a little "tink" noise is the only thing I hear. My heart rate instantly accelerates, and my eyes probably look like that of a wild animal in a trap. Fear attacks every single organ, tissue, cell in my body. And I have nowhere to go.


     The smile on Marcus' face is definitely one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. He wastes no time crossing the room, and the needle glints in the light.


     My mouth is in a thin line, but if I were able to move, it'd be gaping in horror. The liquid in the needle looks like a nasty, thick dark purple pile of gunk.


     The room smells like burning plastic and rotten eggs. I almost throw up, but sadly, nothing pertaining to my body is working. Nothing. My eyes are itching to blink, but they won't.


     My throat is burning, closing up. I don't know if I pass out or not before Marcus even has the chance to shove the nasty, think needle into my neck.




     I sit up, gasping. My breathing is fast, wild, and useless. I start clawing at my throat.


     "I'd stop that if I were you." Micah's sitting with his back against the wall. His legs look like he just threw them in random spots on the floor, his hands in his lap.


     His right eyebrow is split, dried and fresh blood smeared down his face. His gold eyes are watching me carefully.


     "Rue," his voice is hard. "Stop."


     I continue clawing at my throat, but the burning is only getting worse. A loud clanging sound doesn't even make me stop.


     A girl dressed in white scrubs struts in, a smirk on her face. A needle is in her right hand. Her eye makeup is thick and dark, her lips blood red. She sort of blends in with the walls and floor except for her lipstick.


     She admires the needle with a grin on her face. I hated her before I even saw what she was holding.


     "Come--"


     I stand up abruptly, and hit her in the face as hard as I possibly can. A loud crunch reverberates off the walls before she hits the ground, echoing in my head.


     Micah's eyes are wide, as I'm sure mine are too. My hand throbs violently; I don't know if I broke her nose or my hand.


     She doesn't get up after a couple of seconds, so I take the needle. The purple liquid is hard to force out of the needle and into her neck after I shove it into her skin. I only use a little bit, I have other plans for the rest.


     "Rue, what are you doing...?" Micah's eyes are darting around, still, if not more, wide as hell.


     The voice coming from my throat isn't my own, "Rue isn't here."


     Whatever was in the needle Marcus shoved in my neck; it's doing something to me. I feel faster, more aggressive, fearless.


     Another loud clang; men charge in with full-face masks and suits and gloves covering their skin. All of them wield a different weapon, but I don't see a gun.


     We sort of stand there like a Western showdown, staring. I probably look like some demon-chick off of a horror movie; I can tell blood is seeping from the scratches on my neck, and my face is sort of tilted down in a demented look.


     Out of the corner of my eye I see Micah stand up. That's when the first man charges at me with a taser.


     I move at an inhuman speed, twisting the man's wrist, snatching the taser from his hand and using it on his stomach.


     I block a hit from a baton, and tase the next guy in the throat. He joins the other man and woman on the floor. My elbows, fists, and knees connect with several other people, and by the time my rampage is done, Micah and I are the only ones standing in the room.


     "Thanks for helping," I squeak. It's my voice this time, scared.


     Micah looks scared and shakes his head, "I didn't help you."


     I look down at almost ten bodies on the floor. Some are bleeding, and some are just covered in blood. There's a knife in my hand.


     My breathing is stressed, panting. I want to sit down and cry. What have I become? First of all, how did I even manage this?


     My white clothes are splattered with blood, so much that the fabric is sticking to me in some places. I ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet.


     I can hear faint shouts from down the hallway. Fear seizes me.


     "Micah, they're coming," I choke on a sob. "They're gonna kill me, Micah. They're gonna kill me."


     He only shook his head and pointed to the needle, "Take a little. Not all of it. Obviously the effects on you are different than on us."


     I don't ask for an explanation. I don't ask him if it's safe, or if he's lying. The voices are coming, and I don't think twice before pushing the needle into a vein in my wrist and squeezing nasty purple into it.


     My wrist starts burning just like my neck, but I ignore it as best as I can. The people are getting close to the door, their footsteps echo and clang noisily.


     Fear is replaced with rage, and my vision goes red.