Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

My palms start to sweat, my heart beating so loud with each step he takes that I’m sure every person here can hear it.

No. Not another one. Please don’t be for—

“It’s for you,” Tris says, handing me the package.

I stand up, my shaky legs feeling like they’re going to give way at any second when I see the same writing on top of the box along with the “fragile” sticker on the side.

My hands reach forward before I grasp it and bring it closer, clutching it to my chest as I stare down at it with wide, frightened eyes.

“Everything okay, A?”

I swallow, willing my voice to come out even. “Erm… yeah, sure.” I lift my lips up into a smile before spinning around and walking over to the pool house.

The click of the door shutting behind me has silence surrounding me. I manage to make it two steps inside before my legs give way. I hit the edge of the sofa, placing the box down carefully on the coffee table, staring at it for minutes that feel like hours.

My gaze flits to under my bed where the first package sits. What if it’s worse than that one? What does it mean to get a second one?

My knee bobs up and down as I look back at the package and continue to stare at it. Bringing my thumb up to my mouth, I bite the edge of my nail—I don’t think I can open it… but I know I have to.

I could take a leaf out of Tristan’s book and pretend it never came. No, I can’t.

I have to open it.

I have to know.

Working on autopilot, I go into the kitchen and pull a knife out of the block. I’m here in body, but my mind is somewhere far away. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m plunging the knife into the cardboard and ripping through the tape. This box is smaller than the last, but I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

I take a deep, calming breath, trying to keep my emotions under control as I gingerly lift up the flaps.

Pulling the black tissue paper out, I hold my breath, my fingers clutching onto something soft. I squeak, having not expected it.

Closing my eyes, I try to steady my heartbeat and slow my racing pulse before pulling the object completely out of the box. Opening my eyes slowly, I take in what I’ve been sent this time.

“What the—” My hand immediately drops it before I skitter back, trying my hardest to get away from it.

The beady eyes stare at me—taunting me.

My gaze flits down, seeing the stuffing coming out of the teddy bear’s neck—no body, just a decapitated head.

My hand flutters up to my throat, almost as if I’m checking my head is still attached.

Are they trying to tell me something?

Why now after all this time?

I slowly move forward, my shaking hand hanging in the air as tears stream down my cheeks. I try my hardest to push back the sob that wants to escape but I’m not successful. It rips through me like a bullet to the chest.

I can’t do this.

Vomit rises up my throat and I run to the bathroom, dispelling the breakfast I ate hours ago. My head hangs over the cold toilet bowl as I clutch it, trying to ground myself.

Once the dry heaving stops and my cries are under relative control, I flush it all away, standing up and throwing cold water on my face. I avoid

the mirror, scared to look at myself right now—frightened at what I might see reflected back at me.

I walk back into the main area, steeling myself before grabbing the box and flattening it, throwing it by the trash can in the kitchen before going back for the head.

Bending down, I pick it up before pulling the box from under the bed and opening it up.