Page 40 of Burn Like An Angel

FREEDOM – YOUNG LIONS

The shower sprayis freezing cold as it hits me square in the face. Whatever hot water remained when I woke up in the medical wing has petered out along with the electricity. We’re truly cut off now.

Scrubbing myself with my papaya body wash, I continue to survey my mental map of Harrowdean, considering possible places where Lennox, Raine and Langley could be hiding.

Xander and I searched until the sun rose and our exhaustion refused to be ignored any longer. He was already dead on his feet when we started looking. We had to stop and find somewhere to get some rest.

I turn off the cold spray, teeth chattering as I step out into the chilly bathroom. My bedroom has been turned over, much like everyone else’s on the fifth and sixth floors. The thieves didn’t find anything, though. I’d already retrieved my stash.

As I set the makeshift shank made from a toothbrush and razor blade on the bathroom sink, a low-pitched whimpering echoes from the adjacent room. I left the door open a crack in case any wayward patients decided to surprise us with another sweep.

The noise stops before I can figure out what it is.

After hurriedly drying off, wincing at the pain of my aching body, I stand poised. It’s silent. The floor is pretty much abandoned—during our searching, we found most still-lucid patients congregating in communal areas where light sources can be shared.

A smaller, almost incoherent group was attempting to break into the pharmacy to raid the medication stash when we passed. Unsuccessful, of course. The store is locked behind a reinforced steel cage that wouldn’t budge.

Everyone’s going cold turkey.

More fuel for the fire.

I pull clean leggings and my favourite oversized anime tee on, thankful to be back in my own clothes. The butter-soft, over washed fabric doesn’t irritate my lingering injuries. It feels so good to be clean.

“No… S-Stop… Please.”

My hands freeze while pulling the t-shirt down. The whispered pleading is barely audible. Confused, I glance around the bathroom, convinced my several missed doses of medication are taking effect.

It’s definitely coming from the bedroom where I left Xander resting alone. I wasn’t about to climb into the tiny, twin-sized bed with him, despite the kiss we shared. Surely, he isn’t the one crying out?

“No! Leave m-me alone!”

Oh, shit.

It is Xander.

The sheer terror in his voice seizes hold of my heart and wrings the blood from it. I creep into the bedroom, now bathed in late afternoon sunlight leaking through the barred window.

My bed is occupied by a sprawled out Xander, his legs sticking out from the twisted sheets and arms flailing blindly toward off something I can’t see. In his fist, he holds a familiar pocketknife.

I should remain at a safe distance, but his mouth is frozen open in a silent scream for mercy. I can’t just watch. He’s keening like a frightened child, thrashing and kicking.

The powerful iceman is battling invisible demons and crying out to be saved from his own mind. Equal parts fascination and reluctant empathy carry me towards him.

Beneath his whimpering, I can almost hear the fissures in my heart cracking wide open. Hatred spills out in a violent geyser, leaving space for something else. Something unnerving. Something a lot like… understanding.

Xander Beck isn’t only a monster.

He’s a survivor too.

Just like me.

Resting on the edge of the bed, I tentatively place a hand on his cold, bare shoulder. He stripped out of his shirt and jeans to sleep, exposing the pale, defined ridges of his packed abdominals and pectorals.

While ganglier than Lennox, he’s still wiry and muscular. His marble-like skin stretches tight across each chiselled tendon. The old, silvery scars that cover his arms and biceps also adorn his flat stomach and lower still.

“Xan,” I murmur gently. “You’re safe.”

At the sound of my voice, the tension drains from his posture. Xander slumps on the thin mattress, a sigh whistling from his nostrils. I trace circles on his skin with my thumb, whispering under my breath.

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