162 Sorry (2/2)

”Mia?” I heard the person call out. I looked straight ahead. ”Ma'am?” I heard the man say again.

There was no way he could recognize me.

The doctors had shaved all my hair because of the injuries to my head. I had just kept it short, letting one side grow out. I knew that without my hair, it was impossible to recognize me.

I heard cursing and saw the man cutting through people to reach me. I panicked, briefly, but regained my composure.

”Mia, is that you?” the man said. He was standing right beside me, staring at me expectantly. I turned to look at him. I kept my face void of any emotions. I willed my eyes to show no signs of recognition.

I recognized the man.

It was the IT guy who had helped me out when Luke's men had attacked the base.

Curiosity tried to make it be known, but I pushed it back.

”Urm...” like any other woman my age, I answered awkwardly. ”Do I know you?” I gave him a nervous smile. He seemed to be thrown off. His cheek flushed as he looked at his feet.

”I'm so sorry. I thought I knew you-” The light turned green and I walked away, maintaining a steady pace. When I turned again, I saw him standing on the other side of the road, dumbfounded.

I sighed in relief and did not turn back.

.

Black roses covered the surface of my bed. Open letters beckoned me to read them.

Jasper.

It had to be him.

Being the m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t that I was, I picked up a letter and read through it.

'I'm sorry, Mia.' One said.

The next: ”Your mother loved you, Mia. I wish I could have told you when I had the time. I'm sorry you found out about Cain like you did.”

My eyes widened as I read over the words again. He had been there or had to have found out somehow.

'I failed, Mia. It was my job to protect you.'

I s.h.i.+vered.

I dream of you every night. You're slipping away. I wish I were the Messiah. I wish you were Lazarus. I want to resuscitate you. The roses will die, too. Be kind to my soul, dear Mia. Be gentle.

I gulped as I crumbled the papers and threw them across the room. I tore the roses to bits. The cuts on my fingers sang songs of my victory against my demons. They bled onto the floor, mixing with the dark petals of the flowers. I picked them all up—the letters and the organic remains and incinerated them.

The list only grew.

Names were added to it.

Jasper, I thought to myself. He will have to die, too.

But first, I would have to find him.

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