Bridge: Bridge & Sword: Apocalypse (Bridge & Sword Series Book 7)

by JC Andrijeski

  He’d been worse, really. Back then, he’d stubbornly gone out of his way to be emotionally unavailable to me.

  This didn’t feel like stubbornness, though. Not even remotely.

  “Revik,” I said. “Are you angry at me?”

  There was a silence. Then he shook his head, clicking softly.

  “Why would I be angry with you?” he said.

  Another silence filled the room.

  In it, he stared off to the side, this time focusing exclusively on the headboard of the bed. The headboard stood flush against a dark green wall that shimmered with organics.

  Looking up at his face, I felt completely at a loss.

  I weighed different things I could say.

  I even tried to decide if I should just go.

  I wondered if both of us would feel differently if we slept. Maybe I’d know how to reach him if I was less tired. Maybe he’d be able to hear me.

  More than anything, I felt myself reacting to what I felt on him.

  It confused me––bewildered me, really––but it also hurt.

  Those hardened darts of pain made my nausea worse, but I felt other things, too, the worst of which felt like a deep-seated defeat, something I couldn’t remember feeling on him in months. Years, maybe. The last time I remembered feeling anything remotely close was during those sessions in the first Tank. When he’d been a kid in his uncle’s house, he’d toyed with the idea of suicide for years––this felt almost like that.

  I felt flickers of that wanting to die on him now, like a scent that hadn’t yet dissipated from his light. I tried to imagine what he’d been through these last months.

  I remembered what it felt like, the last time I’d thought he was dead.

  I also tried to remember, what felt like a few weeks to me––half of it a distant dream, even if that dream was a nightmare––had been months of real time for him. It was months where he’d been alone, where he’d been fucked with by Shadow, by Cass, by Terian.

  Months where he’d thought he’d lost everything.

  As that much hit me, tears came to my eyes.

  “Gods, baby.” I reached up without thinking, touching his face.

  He let me, but still didn’t look at me.

  I could feel it now, though.

  I could feel that darker current in his light, especially around his chest. I felt the other thing, too, the lighter, softer part, the part of him that still wanted to believe… something. Maybe that everything really wasn’t like he’d thought. Maybe that the worst was finally over.

  I caressed his face until his eyes closed, until I felt his light starting to react to mine.

  Realizing again why this felt so familiar, why I remembered this so well, I stepped closer to him. He might be afraid of having me touch him, but he needed it, too. I could feel how badly he needed it––I just wasn’t sure exactly where that line stood in the sand.

  Either way, everything about the way I’d been thinking about this changed, once I recognized what I was dealing with.

  This wasn’t an angry, hurt spouse.

  This was a traumatized man.

  Well, a traumatized seer. In some ways, him being a seer would both simplify this, and make it a lot harder. In any case, I knew now that I couldn’t leave him alone.

  “Hey.” I tugged on his shirt. I guess I was still trying to get him to turn, to look at me, but I wasn’t frustrated that time when he didn’t. “Hey… take this off, okay?”

  I saw pain flicker across his features.

  He didn’t turn to look at me, but I saw him start to shake his head to tell me no, to back off. Feeling what lay behind the reaction, I gripped his shirt tighter.

  “Not for that,” I told him, soft. “Not for that, baby… not unless you want to. Just take off your clothes and lie down. I need you to trust me, okay?”

  There was another pause where he just stood there.

  In it, the silence felt dense, painfully so.

  Then he seemed to make up his mind.

  I just stood there, watching as he raised his hands to his shirt and began slowly unbuttoning the front. He continued to stare off to the side as he did, moving methodically, probably without really focusing on what he was doing at all, much less on me. I watched him finish with the front of his shirt and raise his wrists, unhooking the cuffs, one by one.

  “Do you want a shower?” I said.

  “I took one.”

  I nodded, biting my lip as I looked him over. “Do you want me to take off my clothes?”

  He shook his head, but it didn’t feel like a no.

  “It doesn’t matter to me, Allie,” he said.

  I nodded to that, too, trying not to react to the deadened sound of his voice.

  He finished taking off the rest of his clothes without looking at me, unbuckling his belt while his shirt still hung open on his shoulders. I watched him take off his pants a few moments later, and his underwear. The shirt came off after that, and I found myself avoiding looking down at most of his body, keeping my eyes on his face and shoulders, instead.

  What I could see was distracting enough.

  When he’d finished, he just stood there.

  I felt him shiver a little, and realized it was cold in the room. I considered using the controls to raise the temperature, then decided it wouldn’t matter, not once I got him down. Leading him over the side of the bed, I flipped back the covers, then stepped out of the way, motioning for him to get under.

  He did what I told him that time, too.

  He still hadn’t looked at me.

  I watched him as he lay there, on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes then, longer than a blink. I felt another coil of pain leave his light, right before he turned his head, more or less facing me, but still not looking at me directly. I watched him move further over on the bed, making space for me.

  Once he had, he held out his hand.

  “Don’t leave me, Allie,” he said. “Please.”

  His voice came out quiet, almost reluctant.

  Even so, I blinked.

  I hadn’t intended on leaving, not at that point.

  I’d been thinking I would sit on the couch while he slept––realistically, maybe doze on the couch, since I was exhausted, too.

  As my mind turned over his words, I felt my chest start to hurt, forcing me to realize that it hadn’t only been him shielding from me. I’d been shielding from him, too, only I’d been doing it out of fear of rejection.

  Which struck me as pretty stupid about now.

  “I’m not leaving, Revik.” I opened my light tentatively, closing my eyes once I could feel him. My throat closed, and for a second I only stood there. When I opened my eyes next, I could barely see him. “I won’t leave, Revik… I’ll never leave.”

  Before I let myself think about my choice of words, I slid into the bed next to him, in the space he’d left me when he shifted over. I barely let myself think about what I was doing, not until I had my hands on him.

  I touched him everywhere then, caressing his skin, massaging muscles that felt tight, warming him with my light and fingers. He didn’t move, the whole time I did it. I felt reactions in his light, and in his body. I felt him breathing harder a few times, especially when I got too intimate in touching him, or when I got too intimate with my light.

  For the most part he just lay there, though.

  Not quite enduring it, but allowing it, maybe.

  He’d been telling the truth. He didn’t feel angry at me at all. The whole concept felt alien to his current state of mind, to his light. He felt lost, like some part of him had broken since I’d seen him last. Forcing the thought out of my mind, I continued to touch him, fighting to tread that line between taking care of him and not being overly invasive.

  I was still touching him when he spoke.

  “I yelled at you once,” he said.

  I was massaging his feet when he said it, putting light into my hands, my fingers. His toes curled w
hile I touched him, maybe even cramping until I worked through the muscles patiently, keeping the comforter on his upper body as I worked.

  When I glanced up, he was looking at me, his expression taut, but somehow still not holding any feeling I recognized.

  “I yelled at you,” he repeated. “Then I fucked you, Allie.”

  I flinched.

  Then I nodded, swallowing as I looked at him, still rubbing his feet.

  He hadn’t sounded angry that time, either. He said it like a confession, like he hated himself for it. The feelings there felt cold though, almost distant.

  “I did it again,” he said. “…That night. You gave me head. The next morning, when we woke up, I had sex with you again.”

  Swallowing, he met my gaze, but only for a second before his eyes flickered away.

  “We did it again at the hotel. In New York. You undressed me and we fucked in that chair, by the bed in our room. I fucked you on the couch, too, not long after.” His face tightened. “I don’t mean that as an excuse, the undressing part. I just meant…”

  He trailed, as if unsure how to go on.

  I was having trouble seeing him again.

  My throat hurt. Light filled my eyes as I stared at his face, watching him avoid my gaze. That pain that started somewhere in my chest worsened as he talked, but I didn’t want to interrupt him. I wished I knew what to tell him, but there didn’t feel like anything to say to his words. When he seemed to be finished talking, I released his feet.

  Sliding up his body, I lay next to him, massaging his chest, feeling his skin tighten under my fingers and palm. He was hard. I’d noticed that before, too, but for the first time, I let myself look at him, and let him feel me doing it.

  His body was warm. It didn’t feel like the confession had turned him on… more the cumulative effect of me touching his bare skin had brought on the confession in the first place, along with his physical reaction. If anything, the confession turned those currents in his light into conflicting streams, hardening that other feeling in his chest, what felt more and more like shame.

  He felt me looking at his body.

  “Gods,” he said. “Allie, don’t. Please. Just… don’t.”

  He choked on my name.

  I clutched him, wrapping myself around him, even as his eyes filled with tears. I grabbed hold of the down comforter, pulling it tighter around his body before I curled myself around him even more. Sending light to his heart, I coiled mine deeper into his, fighting now to open him, to get him to open to me, just a little. I held his shoulder and neck, almost too tightly, pooling warmth in his chest as my fingers massaged the muscles there, too.

  “Baby, it’s okay,” I told him, kissing his neck. “Revik, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He gripped my arm in his fingers. “Allie––”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I repeated, firmly that time. I looked him in the face. “I promise you, Revik… you didn’t. Not even close. Not even a little.”

  He barely seemed to hear me.

  “I didn’t know what to do.” He shook his head. “…how to be close to you. You were in pain. I was so fucking confused, Allie.”

  I fought with my light, then with words, but in the end, I only nodded.

  Fighting to think, to decide what to do, I rested my head on his shoulder, still caressing his jaw before I reached back to grip his hair. I closed my eyes in that silence, fighting back my own pain, even as his arm snaked around me.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  He said it so low I barely heard him.

  Even so, my throat closed for real, making it impossible to speak. Gripping him tighter, I raised my head. Looking down at him, I felt my skin flush when he met my gaze. He looked at me directly that time.

  Looking him straight in the face, I gripped his hair in my fingers.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I repeated.

  He clicked at me softly, averting his gaze.

  Even so, something about it made me relax, feeling so much relief I closed my eyes. It sounded like him that time; I could feel him in his light more, too. Neither thing made me less emotional, but that emotion wound into a tentative relief that made my throat close.

  I swallowed past it before I blurted out more words.

  That time, my voice sounded almost angry.

  “Gods, Revik,” I managed. “I know what you did for me. I remember what you did. You took care of me. You gave up everything for me. You never wavered… not once. Even with everything they did to you, you never once let either one of us down.”

  His eyes changed again at my words, but not as if he agreed with me.

  Instead, I saw another, harder emotion there, something I couldn’t read, right before his gaze flickered away.

  “I wavered,” he said, gruff. I heard that shame creep back into his words. “Ask Jon.” His expression darkened. “…Or Wreg.”

  “I’m not going to ask Jon,” I said angrily. “I don’t need to ask them anything, Revik.”

  Wiping my eyes with the back of my hands, I felt my jaw tighten.

  “If this is some kind of apology, you can just keep it, okay? I thought you were going to be furious with me, for putting you through all of that… for making your life hell for so many months. You should be mad at me.”

  “Mad at you?” He stared at me, confusion coloring his light eyes. “Why?”

  I let out an involuntary laugh, wiping my face.

  “You’re impossible,” I said.

  His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look away from my face. Instead, confusion touched his irises again, as if he still doubted it was me, or maybe doubted that I wouldn’t disappear, or turn into something else, if he stared long enough.

  “Why would I be mad at you, Allie?” he said.

  “Revik!” I said. “I don’t know. Because I left you…”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know that,” I said, frustrated. “But I love you. Gods… I adore you beyond words. And I feel terrible about what you went through. Of all people, you should not be feeling guilty right now. I never would have found our daughter… I never would have gotten to Cass at all if it wasn’t for you. I didn’t rescue you. You defeated that construct, despite everything they put you through. You led them… our people… by yourself. For months, even after everything you’d lost. You came up with the shield, using me, Jon and Maygar––”

  “That was Balidor’s idea, Allie.”

  “And you implemented it. That’s what being a fucking leader means. You trained Maygar in telekinesis. You got us into New York. Why in the gods are you arguing with me about this? And why are you feeling guilty? What is it you think you could have done better, exactly?”

  He swallowed, not answering.

  I watched him stare up at the ceiling, his gaze turned inward.

  He seemed to be fighting through my words, arguing with them maybe. He winced when I started touching him again, even as I saw a tauter expression creeping over his face. Pain coiled off him then, a hard flush, right before his hands tightened on me.

  That time, I let out a low gasp.

  “Allie,” he said, gruff. “You’d better stop.”

  I nodded. Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to take my hands off him.

  I did stop massaging him, although it hurt to stop, and I ended up having to curl my hands into fists on his chest, biting my lip.

  Still half-lying on him, I watched his face.

  He looked beat up to me, or maybe just tired and sore. He had part of a black eye, too, although that looked like it might be older.

  When he looked at me that time, he must have seen something in my expression. Hesitantly, he reached up, caressing the hair out of my face, and I shivered, leaning into his fingers, and then his chest, maybe to avoid his eyes. I felt him hold his breath, even as another coil of pain left his light in a thick pulse.

  “Allie,” he said. “Gods. What are you trying to do to me…”
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br />   He trailed. Releasing my hair, he looked up at the ceiling. I felt him take a breath, as if deliberately calming his light.

  Guilt washed over my own light. I tried to keep that from him, too.

  “Do you want me to leave you alone?” I said, my voice smaller that time.

  “No.” A humorless smile touched his voice. “That’s not exactly what I was thinking, no.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, then just let the sentence trail.

  Frowning, I raised my head. When he still wouldn’t look at me, I touched his face.

  “If you were about to ask me––” I began.

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t.”

  I fell silent, swallowing.

  Fighting embarrassment out of my light, and reminding myself again not to be an asshole about this right now, whatever my light wanted, I looked away from his face. After a few more minutes of staring at nothing, controlling my light where it wanted to coil into his, I sighed, resting my chin on one of my balled up fists.

  Watching his eyes, I felt his skin warm when I didn’t look away.

  “Are you sure?” I said, after another pause.

  He looked at me. Then, he surprised me, bursting into an involuntary laugh.

  “Maybe I should be mad at you,” he said, his accent coming out stronger.

  “What for this time?”

  His eyes hardened when I looked at him, but I didn’t see any anger there. I felt pain slide off his light instead, a stronger wave that time. Fighting back my reaction, I closed my eyes.

  When I opened them next, his face had changed.

  Pain reached his eyes now. His skin was flushed. He looked down at my body, his throat moving in a swallow. I was still looking at him, feeling his light start to coil into mine, especially in the places where my body still rested on his, when his arm wrapped around me, his hand gripping my shoulder from behind.

  Before I could react, he rolled me over so that I was under him.

  “All right,” he said, once he had me there.

  My cheeks flushed as I looked up at him. My light reacted sharply to his weight on me, sliding abruptly out of my control. I fought to pull it back, even as I felt him suck in a breath, his eyes sliding out of focus where he stared down at my face.