The Numbers on Her Wrist

4

A/N Whoa! When did I get so many views!? I really appreciate the patience y'all had this week, I was extremely busy! Here's an overdue chapter! (Don't worry, the schedule is still to update at least 1-2 a week, I just was late this week!) Don't forget to vote, comment, and share! Every bit makes me feel more awesome! xD Love you all.

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I turn around a few times, confused as the darkness seems to follow me as I run closer towards the small circle of light only meters away. I can't seem to figure out where I am, much less, who I am. For some strange, unknown reason, I look to my wrist.

564.

I tilt my head to the side, again, my head swimming for an answer for the black inked tattoo that is engraved into my skin. Then, I remember. This is my name. This is what they have called me, this is what they have branded me to be.

"564!"

I flinch visibly at the shout, recognizing the voice as a room appears around me.

I am still shrouded in darkness, a single stream of light blazing into my eyes. I blink rapidly, attempting to clear my vision from the blinding light, an inhuman scream sounding from in front of me. But, despite the chills that run down my spine, I know it is human because I have heard it before.

Someone hits me across the face, sending me spiralling backwards.

"Focus! Pay attention!" I take a breath and wipe a cold hand across my nose and cheek, my fighting instinct kicking in. "Defend yourself, 564!" Another punch slams into me, my side this time, and I throw a hand forward in response. I feel a surge of pain and agony, a feeling of electricity sent through me.

"What's going on?!" I sob, falling to my knees as the man, the shadow, approaches me with clenched fists and a bloodied nose. "You will pay for hitting me! You do not hit your betters!" I shake my head reverting to my old ways of cowering and shivering as he leans over to strike me. "I didn't mean to! I was defending myself!"

My mind kicks into action for the second and I recall his previous order, causing me to grit my teeth as a wave of rebellion and stubbornness kicks in. "I was defending myself like you told me to!" He growls angrily and sends his elbow into my face before I cannot stop it; I am not in control of this fight; I am too weak; I am no match for the man before me.

There is mocking laughter from all around me and my surroundings are suddenly lit, revealing the orphanage and all the children who wait to take my place when I fall. They will receive the punishment if I am weak; my friends will suffer if I do not win. I run my eyes over the men who have raised us, their jeering faces and rude gestures causing my head to spin. I force myself up and my fists to my chin, keeping my face protected, but it is in vain.

I am struck once again.

I crumble before my opponent, his foot dug into my side over and over again without mercy, and I know it will not stop until I get up. I let out a noise between a sob and a scream of anger, throwing myself to my feet and pouncing on him.

I hit him.

I hit him.

I hit him.

He cries as I see red, telling him- showing him- that I will not let him hurt me or my friends anytime soon. I will be punished for it; I will be rewarded for it. As he begins to reach unconsciousness, a thousand shadows from the ring gather around me, the men who are monsters, the men who run the orphanage, throw themselves at me, piling on me and squeezing the air from my lungs. Black dots at my vision as they taunt me, screaming my worthlessness, shouting names to humiliate me.

I cannot think.

I cannot breathe.

I fall into the darkness below.

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I sit up with sweat dripping down my back, my feet hanging over the edge of the apartment's roof, and my fingers clenched so tight that they have drawn blood in my palms. I let out a shaky breath and begin running a hand over my hair to calm myself.

It was just a dream. Just a dream- just a nightmare. I rub my eyes carefully to rid myself of the feeling of fear and pain, the sick and bile that rises in my throat forced away with a hard swallow.

Thunder and lightning crashes nearby, making me jump, the first splatters of rain falling onto my skin. I slide down the shingles, avoiding the spots that are loose or missing, and grab onto the ledge at the last moment, swinging myself inside the open window of my apartment.

I slam the window shut, locking it and closing to curtains to keep my privacy from the neighbors. With a second glance to make sure my door is locked and the rest of the windows are shut and covered, I slip the tattered coat from my shoulders, tossing it onto one of the three sofas in my large family room. A table sits in front of them, a small TV set there- I'm the only tenant to have one- which sometimes turns to static in bad weather.

I glance at the digital clock that glares red and the time of 1:27 causes me to feel more tired instantly. For a moment, I think of skipping a shower and heading straight to bed, but the grime and blood that stains my knuckles and other body parts cause me to quickly dismiss the idea. I pull my shorts off, leaving me in my under clothes.

Quietly, I reach into my closet and pull out a pair of sweats, a loose top, and a pair of clean underwear, retreating deeper into the enlarged bedroom and to the bathroom. I peel off the remainder of my clothing, groaning softly as I lift my sore legs over the edge of the bathtub and pull the curtain closed. I pull the braid from my hair and allow it to cover my back as I switch on the water.

The water is warm and steam rises from my skin. I shiver and start wash the dirt that has worked its way onto my arms, legs, and parts of my stomach and back. Then, without warning, a sharp bolt of hot pain shoots through my lower back. I glance over my shoulder, notices the blood that drips from the wounds there.

The man who threw me caused more damage than I had expected.

Hesitantly, I squeeze some soap into my hands and press my fingers to the scraps, making me wince in agony. The scratches on my knees and elbows, and the cut on my cheekbone, only smart slightly, but by the time I am finished washing my body, the water below is tainted pink with my blood. I hurry to wash my hair and turn off the water.

I step out and snatch a towel from the rack, drying myself off and squeezing excess water from my hair;I am careful to pat my back gently. I hurry into my makeshift pyjamas, the night's chill sliding into the bathroom through the crack under the door, and causes me to shiver.

As I exit the bathroom, I observe my apartment from the edge of my bedroom door, the darkness and stillness comforting in the late hours. I smile and shut the door, climbing into my bed and closing my eyes tightly.

This time, I sleep soundly and dreamless.

There are no nightmares to hurt me now.