Page 53 of Arrogant and Merciless

“What superpower would you want?”

“To fly, Dad.”

Yes, I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to fly.

What does a bird experience when it spreads its wings and feels the wind rushing across its body?

Freedom, probably. That must be it.

But in order to know what it is to be free, it has to risk that first flight.

There’s the fear of falling, of dying, of the unknown.

There’s also the possibility of a reward—of becoming unreachable.

Doubts remain if you don’t take the risk.

It’s a terrifying decision for a human, but for a bird, it’s destiny.

In my case, there’s no choice.

Either I fly or I die, because I refuse to go back there. I won’t let him capture me again.

I have no wings. The fall is certain, but I will never surrender without a fight.

So I close my eyes, I pray, and I jump.

* * *

One Year Later

“I can’t go any faster than this.”

“I know, my dear, but please try. You’re doing so well!”

I drop onto the sand, frustrated. “I don’t know how you have so much patience with me, Mr. William.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re mine to protect. And stop calling me ‘Mister.’ We’ve had this conversation.”

Not for the first time, I feel uneasy hearing him say that. I like my protector, I owe him my life, but I don’t think our feelings run in the same direction.

When I came out of the coma eleven months ago, he was by my side. Even though I couldn’t remember my name, let alone him, I accepted his care because I was terrified of being alone in the world.

But now, as I get better, I feel more and more suffocated. It’s like he lives and breathes for me, because of me.

And there’s also the fact that, even though he claims to know me, he won’t tell me anything about my past. He says he’s respecting the medical team’s instructions.

What medical team? Since leaving the hospital, I’ve never been back to one. I don’t know who I am or how I ended up in a coma with two broken legs. I don’t know why I must live on an island, far from everyone, or above all, why he’s taking care of me.

He says he was my protector in the past, that we were close—but if that’s so, how come I don’t feel safe around him?

“I don’t want to be useless forever. What did I do before the incident?” I ask irritably, referring to the “incident,” as he calls it, that forced me into daily physical therapy.

“Don’t say that; you’re not useless.”

“Then when can I go back to the mainland?”

“Is that what you want? To leave me?”

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