Swapped Luna part 16: The face-off

Previously…

“She said she saw…herself? The nurse and guard saw nothing. She must have hallucinated this.”

In the background, I hear shouts and sobbing. It’s Maeve. She’s having some sort of episode.

“Sedate her. Calm her down before she hurts herself. I’m on my way.”

PRESENTLY…

VICTORIA

I shake from head to toe as I cry. Haunted by the empty eyes that I saw by the tree line. Dead eyes. My eyes.

Maeve is alive. She didn’t die when our bodies swapped. The cancer somehow didn’t kill her. And she’s back for her bloody revenge.

I didn’t stop to think of my reaction when I saw her. I screamed, and she disappeared right on time for the nurse and guard not to see her. Now they think I’m insane. That I’m hallucinating.

And I keep telling them I’m not crazy, but being unheard is making me question my sanity. Speaking words that fall on deaf ears is making me wonder if I’m truly imagining all this.

I look at my trembling hands and wonder if I’m strong enough to survive this. If Maeve will eventually break me without laying a single hand on me.

And Thorne…he will never know what hit him.

I sob and tremble and utterly lose my senses as someone speaks on the phone with Thorne and tells him of my breakdown. Telling him all the wrong words that make me scream even louder.

I have no one. Not even Fang. Not even the moon goddess that did this to me.

I feel the sting of a needle, and I’m instantly flooded by drowsiness. They drugged me. The Alpha gave them the permission to muzzle me.

– –

When I awake, I have no idea what time it is. My body feels twenty pounds heavier and my mouth is dry. I sit up, my blurred vision focusing on a figure sitting on a chair in front of my bed.

A giant silhouette no other male in this pack could achieve.

I blink. “Thorne?”

“Stay seated. The drugs are still wearing off.”

I rub my eyes and swallow, trying to return to my senses.

“I heard about what happened, Maeve. About the hallucination. This is getting more serious than I thought. You need to start speaking to the psychologist and accepting his help.”

“Here we go again,” I rasp and stare at the white ceiling. “The disbelief.”

“Do you expect me to believe that you saw your old body lurking by the woods? And no one else saw this figure? Let’s take a second and assume it happened, Maeve. How would this person have snuck past my territory line that’s heavily guarded? How could they have hid their scent?”

I don’t know. I don’t know, but it’s happening! Maeve is out there.

“Why are you here if you don’t believe me? If you have nothing new to tell me?” I ask him. “I’ve had enough people calling me crazy.”

I remain on my back, fearing that I’ll get sick if I try to stand.

“To encourage you to seek help. Whatever is happening isn’t healthy. I don’t want to keep sedating you.” He grunts, frustrated. “Do you think I like seeing you in this condition? No matter our past, I don’t wish you ill.”

“Thanks, Alpha,” I say dryly. Because there’s nothing else to tell Thorne when he hears nothing I say. He refuses to tune into the mate bond between us and see what’s written there.

He rises from his seat, and stares at me for a few seconds. “Get well soon.”

Then he leaves.

And I don’t see him again over the next week. Only these white fucking walls and the ocassional nurse that comes in to bring me food or offer me sessions with the psychologist.

There are no more strolls around the pack for fresh air, as if they’re afraid I’ll have another breakdown upon seeing the nearest tree.

I spend most of my time wondering what Maeve is doing. Where she’s hiding and when she’s making her next move. It’s terrifying. Late at night, when I hear lone footsteps approaching down the hall, I instantly awake with my heart pounding.

I stare at the door with wide eyes, waiting for her–for me–to appear and attack me. To strangle the life out of me one last time. So thoroughly that there’s no chance of another reincarnation.

The nightmares are getting more intense, to the point that I evade falling asleep. But I can’t speak with anyone about how this fear of falling asleep is becoming amnesia and paranoia. I don’t trust these nurses and doctors, so eager to dope me up with sedatives.

It feels like I’m back in the hospital in Europe, although this time I’m not dying from cancer. I’m dying from my deteriorating mental health.

I wonder if Thorne keeps track of me. If he cares. And then this wave of self-hate washes over me. Because I should be shutting him out. Stop waiting for him to come to my rescue.

No one rescued me from cancer. I was tossed from one hell to the next. So why do I expect anything to change now? I’m a fool.

There’s a knock on the door as a nurse brings me lunch. There’s the familiar click of the lock, and then the nurse rolls in the same cart I’ve seen over the past week.

The plates are covered with metal cloches, there’s a freshly picked lily in a miniature vase, and a white tablecloth is draped over the tray. As if I’m in a five-star hotel.

The nurse smiles at me before leaving me with my plastic fork, knife, plates, and every insultingly child-proofed object in this room. As if they think I’m one meal away from unaliving myself. That’s the thing, though. I will never take my life.

Cancer could’t convince me to do it. Neither will heartbreak. Neither will fear.

As I clear the plates, eating the pasta that was cooked for me, I examine the cart a little closer. And then…then I’m enlightened.

This cart…is my way out.

The tablecloth drapes over it neatly, concealing the lower compartment. I could easily hide underneath it.

I glance at my bed, and then lunge at it. Re-arranging the sheets and pillow to make it seem like my body is sleeping on the bed and facing the wall. I take the pile of plates on the lower compartment of the cart and hide them under my bed. Then I replace the plates by sitting on the cart.

My heart is thundering so loudly that I know they’ll hear it. So as I hide myself beneath the tablecloth and sit on the cart, I focus on the hardest part: becoming invincible.

I take deep breaths as I await for the door to open and the cart to be rolled out of the room. I think back to what calms me: my childhood. When I was poor in resources, but rich in health. When the cancer hadn’t begun to poison my body. When my parents didn’t have to decide between feeding the family and paying the doctor for seeing me.

I think back to the days I baked with my mother. The same recipes I lovingly made for Thorne.

The door opens, and I keep my breathing steady and my heart rate calm. Attuned to memories of the past instead of sensations of the present.

The cart is rolled out as the nurse falls for the act, shutting the door behind her.

 And I’m free.

The wheels squeak loudly as I’m carted to what I assume is the kitchen. The nurse is distracted by her coworkers, greeting them on her journey and chatting about some upcoming holiday party. My back aches from the awkward position I’m bent in, but the freedom is worth it.

Even if I’ll only have a few hours before another nurse comes to bring me dinner and realizes there are only pillows and sheets on the bed.

I should have enough time…enough time to get the fuck out of here. Away from Thorne and his coldness. From Maeve and her creepiness. I will run for hours from this asylum, toward the next fucking ship that will sail me back home.

I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired of not being heard. Of the looks of pity, distrust, and concern. I’m tired of being a caged animal.

Thorne will be just fine. After all, his beloved mate is back to keep him warm.

This mate bond between us…it was a mistake. An oversight of his moon goddess that clearly has no affection for me since she never gave me anything short of a nod. A hint that she exists and is looking over me. An explanation for why all this fucked up twists and turns have happened.

I should be dead right now. Cold and at peace. Not reincarnated. Not hospitalized all over again, in a gilded prison so much worse than the broken down hospital in Europe.

I arrive in the kitchen, the square tiles on the floor a strange red color, but pristine. It smells strongly of food in here, but thankfully, I don’t hear anyone bustling around. The chefs must have taken a break after preparing lunch.

The nurse retreats, and the door closes. I listen closely for any more movement before stepping off the cart and planning my next action.

First, I run to the nearest stove and run the gas to mask my scent. Then I rummage through a nearby closet and yank out an apron. Upon digging deeper, I find a maid’s uniform too large for me but perfect to replace the blue scrubs I’m wearing. 

 I change into the grey uniform and tuck the apron under my arm. I turn the gas off, grab a plastic bag and stuff it with the nearest knife, a condiment bottle, and pears and apples left on a cutting board. Then I burst out of the back door.

I scan the area quickly. Seeing no one, I run for the cover of the tree line and I don’t look back.

My slippers are not the best choice of footwear, but they’ll have to do. They’ll have to carry me far enough.

I run as fast as I can. Maeve’s body is fit enough to keep up a consistent pace.

I’m not sure how big this territory is, but I know that the river is connected to another pack. If I can just follow it far enough, I’ll be home free. I’ll figure out the next step once I’m close to the next pack. Whatever it is.

I’ve been running for fifteen minutes when my slippers come to a stumbling halt.

“Hi, Maeve.”

I pant, staring at the woman in front of me as my blood runs cold and the heat from the excersize evaporates.

 “M…Maeve…”

She’s standing a yard away, in my body. But her eyes…I’ve never known my eyes to look so dead. I’ve seen myself in the mirror many times. I’m staring at myself right now. But I dont’ recognize my image.

“You’ve made my job a lot easier by running out here,” she says in a voice that’s identical to mine.

She smiles and sets her hands on her hips–a stance I don’t think I’ve ever taken. Her clothes are ragged around her. A long t-shirt ruined with dirt and holes, and sweatpants dripping wet at the bottom. Her hair is cropped short, but not patchy like it used to be when I had cancer.

“Please…I didn’t want this…”

“It’s alright. I’ll revert everything.”

Her eyes narrow. “You just have to die first.”

A/N: oooohhh shit ya'll. Grab your bibles!