Chapter 42: Codename: Blackheart Chapter Forty-Two
I feel myself start coming to, but I can’t seem to open my eyes. The more alert my senses become the more aware I am of the pain and heaviness radiating through my body. I feel like I was thrown off a cliff and smashed against jagged rocks over and over and over again, but that’s just my body. My feet are another story. Tears prick my shut eyes as the excruciating sensation of raw nerve endings being exposed hits me. I want to scream; the only thing stopping me is how weak I feel.
I force my eyes open and thankfully am met by a dim light at the far end of the room. I can hear the sound of a heart monitor beeping its infuriating rhythm, but it reminds me I’m alive. I see several IV bags hung up, and as I attempt to glance down I notice the oxygen mask on my face. My body is wrapped up tight in shiny silver heat sheets and blankets like a little human burrito. Everything except my feet. My feet are suspended in harnesses, covered in some kind of cream. Even from here, I can see the disgusting blisters around the edges of my feet. I hate to think of what the soles of my feet look like.
A sudden bud of hope blooms inside me. Will this mean I can’t walk? If I can’t walk, then they’ll scrub me out and I won’t have to compete anymore, right? They’ll have to let me go in this condition, surely.
A nurse walks over, and I recognise her as the same woman who patched up my hands, which I just remembered that I re-injured. I carefully pull my hands out of the blankets to find them completely covered in bandages. I look like a fucking trauma victim, though I suppose that’s rather accurate.
“It’s good to see you awake, Miss Blackheart,” she says with a kind and sympathetic smile.
“How long was I out?” I croak, trying to clear my throat.
She puts down her clipboard, pours a cup of water from a nearby jug, and places a straw in it. She lowers my mask and offers me the straw which I eagerly sip and then regret it when it feels like I’m swallowing razor blades.
“Sip slowly. You inhaled a lot of water, and you have a lot of inflammation,” she says, putting the cup down, “You’ve been out for six hours. It took us a while to get your body temperature back up, but we were successful. You’re a fighter,” she says compassionately and glances at my feet sadly.
“How bad is it?”
She sighs, “Your stitches were torn open doing further damage to your hands, but we’ve re-stitched them. I’m sorry to say you have severe, third-degree burns to the soles of your feet. The burns have gone right through the nerves which is both a blessing and a curse, but the burns higher up the sides of your feet are not as severe, so they will cause you the most pain. We’ve removed the dead skin and material that was fused to your flesh, but you’ll need skin grafts to repair some of the damage. Your blood pressure is still very low, but that’s understandable given what happened,” she says, unable to conceal the disgust on her face. I really do wonder how someone who very clearly doesn’t fit into this world got roped into this. “How is the pain?”
“Excruciating,” I say, painfully coughing out the frog in my throat.
She frowns, “I see the morphine isn’t helping. I’ll give you some fentanyl, that should do the trick, but I’m afraid I can’t give it to you as frequently as the morphine, but it should make a significant difference,” she reassures me.
“If it stops the pain, I’ll take it,” I say tiredly, struggling to keep my eyes open.
She places the mask back on my face, “I’ll be right back,” she says, squeezing my shoulder.
I close my eyes, attempting to rest, when I hear the familiar sound of loafers tapping against tiles, and I feel my body instantly become on edge.
“Now that, was an incredible display of endurance,” Hexton praises. I force my eyes open and glare at the sick fuck. “Don’t give me that look, Heart, you know how this works. You know what you signed up for,” he says, as he walks over to the side of my hospital bed.
“I didn’t sign up for this. None of us did. We entered a profession, that is what we signed up for, we didn’t sign up to be lab rats for the amusement of sick fucks. We only do it because we know we’re dead if we don’t,” I spit in fury, each word burning my throat and lungs and soon I’m coughing uncontrollably.
Hexton grabs my cup and pulls my mask down, holding the straw to my lips. I narrow my eyes at him but sip the water all the same.
“You make some valid points,” he concedes, placing the cup down, “But this is tradition, and in a way, this is also karma. Each of you are paid handsome sums year after year to take the lives of others. Consider The Tournament a way to balance it out. We kill killers, simple as that. If you don’t wish to be part of this, perhaps rethink your career choices,” he shrugs.
“I hate you,” I seethe.
“This is a very fascinating side to you, Heart,” he says in amusement, “You’re always so reserved, so cold, but I can understand that’s hard to maintain when under the level of pain you must be feeling,” he says as he looks me over sympathetically. I don’t want sympathy from the fucker who did this to me. I’d rather show him what kind of a killer I really am.
“You here to tell me I’ve been eliminated?”
He laughs holding his chest, “Goodness, no. Actually, I came to announce that you and Whiro are the last competitors left. You’ll both be moving on to the final round,” he says with excitement as my stomach drops to my toes.
“How can you expect me to fight? I won’t even be able to walk!” I shout indignantly.
“I’ve already spoken with the doctors, and they’ve assured me you’ll be able to walk. Can’t guarantee you won’t be in pain when you do, but you’ll manage. You’re a strong fighter,” he says confidently. “Besides, Whiro is in just as bad a shape as you.”
I can’t believe this. After all that. After burning my feet down to the very nerve and destroying the nerves in my feet, that still doesn’t warrant my elimination. Of course not, I’m their champion, the one they can make the most money off of. Wouldn’t be fun to just send me home now, not when they can attempt to get more blood out of a stone.
“I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” I say bitterly.
“Afraid not. The doctors will tend to you and get you ready for the final round in two days’ time. A day of recovery should be enough,” he says before walking off leaving me stunned.
A day?! That’s all they’re giving us to recover?! How the fuck am I supposed to fight Whiro when both my hands are fucked, and I can’t even stand on my own two feet? I can hear the heart monitor beside me announce that my heart rate is rising as I become more enraged by the second.
Soon the sweet nurse rushes in and injects a syringe into my IV. “It’s okay, this should help you relax,” she says, gently rubbing my arm.
It doesn’t take long for a wave of ease to come over me, lifting my pain from my body. It’s such a relief to not feel the pain anymore, and I take the chance to drift back to sleep. I’m about to be forced into a death match that I probably won’t survive. I need all the rest I can get.