Torn

by Natasha Knight

  My door opens, and Sebastian enters. His face is unreadable, as if made of stone. His jaw is tight. He’s struggling against this.

  “Is it time already?” I ask.

  He gives a short nod.

  “Don’t do this, Helena,” he finally says. “Don’t make me do this to you.”

  I push the covers off and climb out of the bed. I’m naked but it hardly matters.

  Walking past him, I pull that hated sheath off its hanger and slide it over my head. Ceremony. I have to wear this rotting thing again.

  I look at the stain of pig’s blood on the front. It was supposed to save me.

  Maybe in a way, it did.

  I look up at him, touch his face.

  “I love you.”

  He takes my wrist but doesn’t pull my hand away.

  “I don’t know how you can.”

  “Where will it be?” I begin to tremble.

  He knows what I’m asking. He reaches behind my neck and a little to the side to touch a spot. “Here.”

  I nod.

  “Take these,” he says, holding out two pills.

  “What are they?”

  “They’ll knock you out. You won’t feel it, not when it’s happening.”

  “How?”

  “Sedative. Same stuff they gave you after Lucinda. You have to take them now and walk out with me. If you pass out at the post, Gregory will think you passed out from fear.”

  I nod, take the pills. Swallow them dry.

  “What about when I wake up?”

  “I have pain medication already. Strong stuff. You can take it until it heals. Until you don’t feel any pain.”

  I nod again. What can I say that won’t make him feel worse than he already does?

  “I’m sorry, Helena. I’m so sorry.”

  It takes all I have to force the smallest smile. “Let’s get this over with.” I’m already feeling the pills.

  Sebastian holds onto me as we descend the stairs. The scent of the fire outside makes my stomach heave and I think I’d throw up if I had eaten anything more than the two crackers I managed earlier. The patio doors are open, as usual, and I shudder at the cool air when we walk outside.

  “You can change your mind,” Sebastian says as we walk toward the post where a second fire is burning. Where, in the light of that second fire, Gregory stands waiting.

  “No, I can’t.” My knees buckle once, and Sebastian catches me.

  “Steady.”

  “I’m okay.” I stop before we’ll be in earshot of Gregory and turn to him. “Thank you.”

  “You have nothing to thank me for. Not a goddamn thing.”

  I put my hands on either side of his face and he has to hold me up because it’s taking all I have not to fall down and I don’t think it’s the pills. It’s fear.

  “Please don’t do this,” he tries once more.

  “I’m glad it’ll be you to do it, not him.”

  “It’s going to kill me.”

  I shake my head, kiss his mouth. Then kiss it again.

  “I love you. I love you so much,” I say.

  He pulls me tight to him and for a moment, I’m not sure if he isn’t going to carry me off the island, run away with me, but instead, he lifts me up and carries me to the post. My head bobs against his chest and my eyes are closing, so I have to struggle to keep them open.

  Gregory comes into view a few minutes later. He’s dressed in black from head to toe and I realize Sebastian is too.

  Behind Greg, the fire sparks and hisses angrily, and I turn my head into Sebastian’s chest when I see the branding iron inside it.

  “Tell me to stop.” He sounds tortured, like he’s the one about to be branded. “Tell me to fucking stop this.”

  I shake my head no, try to squirm out of his arms.

  But he won’t let me go, not even when we’re at the post, where Gregory stands watching like that angel over the mausoleum. Dark and beautiful and constant and scary as fuck.

  He doesn’t say anything, nothing cocky or arrogant or anything at all. And his expression is somber, and he won’t stop looking at me.

  “It’s okay,” I say to Sebastian, whose eyes are burning into his brother, murdering him with just a look. “I can stand.”

  He looks down at me and I’ve never seen him like this. His eyes, like this. Full of anxiety and hate and pity and remorse and everything all at once.

  Gregory moves, taking hold of one of my arms as Sebastian sets me down. He raises it over my head and I think if he let it go, it’d flop down to my side. I think if Sebastian lets me go and if I’m not bound, I will drop to the ground.

  Sebastian raises my other arm and secures me and it takes all I have to straighten my legs, to stand on them.

  I rest my forehead on the post. Even though it’s cool, I’m sweating and I hear them talking behind me but I must be going in and out of consciousness because I can’t follow what they say. I just hear them argue before I feel something wrap around my middle and I scream.

  “Shh,” It’s Sebastian. “It’s not it. Not yet.”

  He pushes the hair from my face to make me look at him and I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open but I’m not sure why I’m struggling against the pills. I want to be knocked out cold when they do it. When he burns his mark into my skin.

  I look down and watch him tie the belt around me and the post, hugging me to it.

  “So you don’t move. So we only do it once.”

  I don’t understand but I don’t care.

  “Did you give her something?” I hear Gregory ask. “She’s out of it.”

  “She’s fucking terrified, you asshole. How with it would you be if it was you tied to the damn post?”

  “Fuck you.”

  I hear the scuffle and I turn my head, rest my cheek against the post.

  “I’m scared,” I manage, my eyes closing again. The last image I see is Gregory’s face, his eyes on me, the look inside them that tells me this isn’t what he wants. Not how he wants it.

  But then he steps behind me and picks up my hair and puts the length of it over my shoulder and I scream when I feel him rip the sheath in two, the sound jarring as he bares my back, prepares it for the iron.

  And then his hands that can be so cruel, so merciless, are warm and soft on my neck and he cups the back of my head and just before I pass out, he says something. I feel the whisper of his breath. Just a few words before I’m out, the pills doing their work, saving me from the heat of the fast approaching iron.

  26

  Sebastian

  Helena’s passed out. The belt binding her to the post takes some of the pressure off her wrists, but her knees are bent and Gregory’s holding her head against the post or it would flop to the side.

  I look at my brother.

  His eyes are dark, burning as intensely as the fire.

  I didn’t hear what he whispered to her. I wonder if she did or if she was already gone. But now he turns to me.

  “You gave her something,” he says again.

  “Yeah, I did. She’s fucking terrified. You need her awake so you can hear her scream? That’s not anywhere in the rules.”

  He swallows. I see his throat work.

  “You can still change your mind,” I say. “Not for me, but for her.”

  He shakes his head once.

  I pick up the iron, even the wooden handle feels hot, but I grip it, hold it tight. I want it to burn me. Burn me and not her.

  Fuck.

  Not her.

  Gregory pushes the torn sheath from her shoulder, exposing most of her back, and I step closer.

  There’s a flash of electric light in the distance, and a moment later, thunder breaks the silence of the night.

  It’s going to rain.

  It’s going to pour.

  I step closer, touch her skin, touch the smooth flesh I will scar.

  She doesn’t move at all, not even when I push my fingernail into her skin, testing. And I raise the bra
nding iron and its bright orange glow sickens me.

  Gregory shifts his grip on her and I think for a minute I’d love to shove it in his face. I’d love to burn it into him. Mark him with it. Destroy him.

  And just when I think I will, just when I’m inches from her and him, he shoots out his arm and closes his hand over the hottest part of the iron and squeezes his fist and I hear his pain, hear it through his gritted teeth as the iron loudly sears the skin of his hand.

  Time stops.

  I don’t do anything.

  I can’t.

  It takes me a full minute to register what he’s done.

  What he’s doing.

  I drag my gaze from his hand to his face and I see his pain, I see the torment on his face and finally, I tug the brand away and he pulls his hand free and when he stumbles backward, he knocks the fire basket over scattering the fire, sending flaming wood toppling downhill.

  For a moment, I think he’s caught fire. But then he looks at me again and he looks at her again and I wonder if he’d planned this all along. If he’d never intended on letting me brand her. If this was his test for me. I wonder if he’d planned on saving her from it at the last second.

  Like a pardon just before the ax falls.

  I drop the iron to the ground.

  “Brother.”

  But he doesn’t answer. He’s gripping his arm, smoke coming from the injured hand. I only see it for a second, only glimpse the damage for one second before he walks away. Walks back to the house.

  I don’t go after him.

  I let him go.

  And I watch him disappear before turning my attention back to Helena and undoing the bonds at her wrists, supporting her as I unbuckle the belt—Gregory’s belt—and lift her in my arms.

  She’s unconscious, the drug will keep her out for a while. I carry her back into the house and upstairs to my room and lay her on my bed. I tear that sheath from her and I think I want to burn it in that fire too. I want it gone. I want everything that has anything to do with the Willow Girls gone. Gone from my life. Gone from hers. Gone from my brother’s.

  And when I look at her lying naked in my bed, I lie down beside her, and I hold her, and I don’t think I’ll ever let her go again.

  27

  Helena

  I expect pain when I begin to wake. I anticipate it, even through the black fog of the drug. But what I feel when I open my eyes is nauseous.

  I stumble out of bed and I’m naked, but I hardly pay attention as I run to the bathroom.

  Sebastian is behind me in a heartbeat but when I get there, nothing happens. I haven’t eaten anything in too long for there to be anything to throw up.

  When the wave passes, I collapse onto the floor, my back to the wall.

  Sebastian looks like a ghost. His face is white, his eyes ringed with shadows like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He’s still wearing the same clothes as last night and I can smell the smoke of the fire on him.

  And I don’t feel anything. No pain.

  I reach back, touch the space where I should have been branded, but there’s nothing there.

  Sebastian leans back, puts his hand to his forehead.

  I touch him. Pull his hand away.

  He looks broken.

  “What happened?”

  He doesn’t answer. I’ve never seen him like this.

  “Where’s Gregory?”

  Oh God. Did he hurt him? Kill him? Because no matter what he believes, he won’t survive injuring another brother. And not this one. It’ll destroy him.

  “Sebastian?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “He left. A few hours after.”

  “What happened?”

  He’s looking off in the distance, and he’s got his hand covering his mouth, then his throat.

  “He closed his hand over the brand.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Fuck. Helena, he...”

  I go to him, wrap my arms around him, hug him to me.

  “I gave him every chance to stop it, but he refused. And when I was holding the iron just inches from you, he reached out and grabbed it.”

  “He burnt himself on purpose?”

  Sebastian nods. “He didn’t have to. If he wanted it stopped, all he had to do was say the word.”

  “Jesus.”

  “What did I do?” He’s got his face in his hands. “How in hell did we get to this place?”

  I peel his hands away, cup mine on either cheek to make him look at me.

  “You didn’t do anything,” I say. “He did this. He wanted it. He chose it. He did this. This isn’t your fault.”

  He studies me, leans his head back against the wall.

  “I didn’t know him.” He stands up, goes to the sink and runs the water, splashes some on his face, then turns off the taps and looks at his reflection. “Not at all,” he says.

  I get to my feet, go to him, put my hand on his shoulder.

  But he shoves me away and in the next instant, smashes his fist into the mirror, shattering it, swearing, cursing God and his family and mine.

  I jump backward, sharp pieces of the mirror falling almost in slow motion around my bare feet, the sound almost musical as slivers cut into my legs.

  Sebastian’s hand is bleeding when I go to him, stepping over shards like knives. I take his hand in both of mine, pull out the pieces.

  I feel his other hand close around the back of my head, caress my hair.

  “It’s not your fault,” I say to him as I clean his hand.

  When I look up at him, he’s watching me, and his face, he just looks like a little boy. Like Gregory sometimes did.

  Lost.

  He cups the back of my head, pulls me to him, kisses me hard. It’s not erotic, it’s something wholly different and he doesn’t stop as he lifts me up and carries me into the bedroom.

  He pulls off his shirt as he climbs on the bed. The cuts from his hand leave smears of blood on my skin. He kisses me again, and this, what we’re doing, it’s not sensual or lustful or any of those things. It’s need. Pure need.

  Sebastian’s full weight on me makes it hard to breathe. He shifts onto one elbow, still kissing me, still watching me as he reaches to undo his jeans and push my legs wider. I cling to him and I’m not ready when he pushes into me but he doesn’t care and neither do I and once he’s fully inside me, he cups the top of my head and thrusts and never takes his eyes off me.

  He doesn’t kiss me again. He doesn’t say a word. He just fucks me hard and deep and maybe this is him reclaiming me. Or claiming me fully for the first time. Making me his. Only his. More so than any brand would have done.

  I don’t come, and I know that’s not the point. But I take him, take his painful thrusts, his weight, his bloodied hand gripping my hair, nails digging into my scalp. I take him and I feel him come, I hear his release and I feel him fill me up and all I can think is I want all of him, all of him. I want to keep him inside me, always. As twisted and wrong as this is, as it’s been from day one, I want him.

  When he’s finished and slides out of me, I feel the warmth of cum on my thigh.

  He doesn’t move though. He stays on top of me, petting my hair, expression as intense as ever.

  “It’s done,” he says. “It’s over. But he deserved better than he got.”

  He sits up, looks me over once. I sit up too, draw my knees in and hug them.

  His gaze settles at my hand and his eyes narrow.

  I know what he’s looking at.

  “Time to bury that, Helena.”

  I look at the skull ring and he’s right. It’s past time to bury it. I can’t stand having it on my finger anymore. I can’t stand the feel of it and I want it off. I need it off.

  Sebastian takes my hand and tugs it off and I think I want to scour my skin, scrub away any traces of it, like that will scrub clean the past. Like it will purify it.

  Purify us.

  He walks out of the room w
ithout a word. I watch him go and lay my head against the headboard and think about Gregory, about what he did. And I think I hate myself a little for it.

  What happened to him, it’s at least partly my fault. I knew what we were doing, the three of us, it was wrong for him. It hurt him. I knew it would. Inside, I always knew it would.

  I don’t think he knew that what he demanded of us, that it would break him. I didn’t.

  But it did.

  Last night broke him.

  28

  Sebastian

  I buried that damned ring.

  I put it in the ground where it belongs with the rest of Cain Scafoni.

  It’s been two weeks since that night. Since Gregory left. I haven’t heard anything from him. I’ve got Gallo looking for him, but I know my brother well enough to know he won’t be found until he wants to be.

  What he did, I can’t get the memory out of my head. Can’t stop smelling the smell. Can’t stop hearing the sound of his pain.

  And I bear the responsibility of it.

  It wasn’t my intention to hurt him. Sharing Helena was my way of controlling him. I wonder if any of us realized the extent of the damage we were doing all along.

  I take a deep breath in, drink a sip of my steaming coffee and look out over the water, watching the boat approach. The wind is blustery today and the sand like granules of ice under my bare feet.

  Amelia Willow is still missing too, which is worrying. A young girl disappearing is different than a man.

  I keep tabs on Lucinda, but I’m not worried about her. I control the money which means I control her.

  Ethan is still in Philadelphia. Helena’s not ready to have him here with us and quite frankly, neither am I.

  But she’s still not keeping food down and although she was pissed, she’s seeing a doctor today.

  I swallow the last of my coffee as the boat docks and I climb up to help Dr. price out. Dr. Price was my mother’s doctor as well as her friend and she’s the one I want tending to Helena.

  “Dr. Price, thanks for coming on such short notice,” I say, shaking her hand.