TFS: Burnt Earth

Molly – 15 years ago

It’s arrived, the most glorious of times. Fuck yeah, I’ve made it to the top of the coveted intake list. All energy rations are handed out in order. Objectively, the process is very efficient. Everyone gets their turn. It’s finally mine, and I’m literally getting twat tingles thinking about it. I’ve avoided obsessively monitoring the list. It bothers me to see Connor’s name riding the bottom. While my excitement should be diminished at the prospect of his suffering, I refuse to focus on that. It’s his choice, so he’s free to make it. Being his sister means supporting him. Not telling him what to do. I’m a great many things—killer, antagonizer, genuinely horrible person—but I’m certainly not a hypocrite. Anyway, the list. I memorized it. I’ve been watching. Waiting. Patiently-ish.

Sumairs can go months without needing to refuel, yet they all seem to have one thing in common. Close to the end of the waiting, they all go a tad mad with want. They’re short-tempered, unruly, and generally disagreeable. My temperament? No change. Of course, I was all those things for the duration. As far as berserk-inducing pain, I’m not having that either. I’m fairly uncomfortable, which is somewhat new since Sheelin typically offsets my craving, but it’s manageable. She must be busy being awesome for other people.

Obviously, I’m rocking an uncharacteristically good mood. So good in fact, I even smile authentically at Phelan when he sits across from me at breakfast.

“What do you want?” he grumbles.

“Sweet fuck all from you, Cuntface,” I retort.

His eye twitches, and I realize every time it does, a little light of hope ignites in my chest. I might unleash his inner beast after all. It’s somewhat cruel to want to see him blow a gasket, especially knowing the steps he’s taken to manage his anger, but it’s for the best. If he keeps holding everything in, he’ll explode despite his efforts to contain it. Giving him a target is a kindness. Yeah, okay, I’m bullshitting you. I just want to torture him since I hate him with a passion rivalling my hatred of Solathairs. Fuck, you know what? I hate him more than I hate my energy addiction. That’s really saying something.

“At the top, are you?” He’s referring to my position on the intake list.

“So?”

He smirks and leaves the table.

A week passes. They don’t call me in. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve seen weeks where there was no movement. Not concerned. Mostly, I’m just growing anxious to get it over with. The waiting is worse than the withdrawal symptoms.

I’m not withdrawal symptom free. The desire is always there, under the surface like an itch that never subsides no matter how much scratching I do. Scraping myself bloody won’t help. Trust me on this. The stomach cramps are the worst of it, as though something caught fire in my guts and is trying to burn its way out. Still, it’s tolerable. It in no way mirrors the pain I’ve seen in Connor’s eyes when he’s fighting the addiction.

A month passes. They don’t call me in. People are starting to look at me funny. Some of the expressions indicate a joke I’m not privy to, but those aren’t the ones that bother me. It’s the sympathetic gazes that shake me to my core. I don’t want or need their sympathy. I’m fine. My time will come. I’m next.

It takes another two weeks before the discomfort transforms into raw throbbing. I have a hard time eating. Nothing wants to stay down. My body is betraying me, twitching and convulsing in the midst of normal movements. I can’t even hold a utensil without it flying out of my fingers. Sheelin continues to ignore me. Reckon I pissed her off somehow. She’ll get over it. Eventually.

“It’s getting bad,” Connor notices.

“I’m fit as fuck,” I lie.

At the close of another week, I begrudgingly make my way to the mighty list hanging triumphantly on the entryway wall to the room I still haven’t been invited into. I realize what the looks were all about. I see with my own eyes what no one wanted to be the one to tell me. My name isn’t on it anymore.

Now I see a rainbow of colours. The most vivid of them all is red. I’m channelling Phelan hard. Phelan…the prick who’s responsible for my suffering. He has to be. I reckon he’ll be at the pit, so I stomp my way there, eager to get this shit show on the road. Yep, he’s there. Front row. Sitting back. Totally relaxed. Not a care in the world. “You passive aggressive piece of shit,” I hiss. “You think withholding energy from me will get me to bend to your will? You’re sorely mistaken.”

“No?” The jackass actually flutters his eyelashes at me, then proceeds to sit with a smug smile plastered on his cunt face.

“I will not beg you.”

“Alright, Molly,” he accedes. “How about we fight for it then?”

“Finally.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Something we agree on.”

He motions to the pit, and I can’t be bothered with formality. I lung at him, bringing the bench crashing down on top us both. We roll and wrestle on the ground for an impressive length of time. Neither is letting the other get to our feet. Quite a crowd has gathered by the time he manages to pin me under him. I can’t move. Fucker bested me.

“Beg,” he demands.

“Eat a bag of dicks,” I volley.

He hauls his fist back and brings it down like a hammer against the side of my head. I see stars but remain conscious.

“Beg,” he repeats.

“Fuck all the way off!” I holler.

The fury fist comes down again, this time connecting with my face directly. My cheek splits open, blood spilling onto the ground below me.

“Beg,” he demands a third time. Look at this asshole, trying to make a play for a hat trick.

“I’ll never beg you, Phelan. I’ll never give you that satisfaction.”

My left eye is swollen shut, and I’m having a hard time keeping the right one open. When he punches me again, a river of fresh blood pours down from my eyebrow, blinding me. He takes hold of my shoulders and starts shaking me, my head beating against the floor below me.

“Beg,” he chants, until the words became a blur. He leans closer to whisper in my ear. “You’ll beg, or you’ll die.”

I use the last of my energy to turn my head, biting into the first thing my mouth comes in contact with. I hope it’s his jugular, but I have no way of knowing if I hit my mark. That doesn’t stop me from clamping down and tearing through whatever flesh I’ve connected with. He screams out in pain. The last thing I remember before blacking out is the feeling of his boot kicking me repeatedly in the ribs.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” claims a voice from the other end of a tunnel.

“No such thing,” I remark, but my voice doesn’t sound like my voice. It’s raspy and broken, akin to my body. I still can’t open my left eye. My vision from my right eye is blurry. I squint to see who’s with me.

“You put on quite a show of determination,” he continues. “I’ve had lots of requests from team leaders to transfer you in.”

I smile, realizing too late what a mistake it is. Smiling burns like the sun. My lips must be busted all to fuck too.

“If you could put that determination into working with your own team leader, I think you’d be unstoppable.”

“He’s—” I stop short when I realize the person I’m talking to is Tyler.

“Respect is mutual,” he states.

“Respect is fucking earned.”

“Do you feel as though I need to earn your respect, Molly?” Tyler prods.

“No.”

“Then respect me enough to make this work.”

I sigh, and the movement sends the fire from my lips straight to my ribs. I wince.

“You broke a few,” he informs me.

“I didn’t break a damn thing.”

“Didn’t you?”

He’s right. I brought it on myself. “Reckon I did.”

“You’ll heal soon enough,” he offers. “This’ll help.”

He hands me a cylinder much like the one we used to drain Oliver.

“Solathair Shot?” I reach forward, the rib fire migrating down my arm.

“Broken wrist,” he explains.

I nod. “Oliver?” This could very well be my last meal. Oliver was a Water Solathair. I’ll slurp that fucker down, regardless. I give absolutely zero fucks at this point.

He shakes his head. “Something more fitting for your element.”

I down the shot, letting the warmth trail through my body, soaking up the compact energy offered in the tiny container. It’s moving through my blood, dancing through my limbs with carefree abandon, and I close my eyes as the immediate relief works its magic like nothing I’ve ever known before.

“Make it function, Molly,” Tyler orders me as he leaves me to enjoy my euphoria. “I have big plans for you. Stop trying to ruin them.”

I’m nodding in agreement, or at least I think I am. He shuts the door behind him, and I don’t move a muscle. Not for two straight days.