Fable of Happiness Book Two

by Pepper Winters

  My friend would never imprison me. She knew better than to tie up an already captured soul.

  The woman pushed the plate closer to me, careful not to come too close herself.

  She was wise in that.

  Smart not to put herself in grabbing distance because I honestly didn’t know what I’d do if I got my hands on her. Most of me buckled beneath the habituate programming I’d grown up with, but other parts of me—parts I didn’t recognize or remember—howled with commands to end her.

  Sitting on her knees, she didn’t look relaxed. Her muscles stayed locked and ready to leap and flee at any moment. But her hazel eyes were kind. Far kinder than any eyes I’d ever seen.

  It made the chaos inside me pause.

  Just for a second.

  Emptiness filled me.

  Confusion. Disorientation. I couldn’t get a grip on this new existence.

  “Here.” She rolled a water bottle into my legs, getting tangled in the blanket she’d given me. What sort of master went out of her way to make a bed with all creature comforts I could want? I was warm and clean. My wounds were tended to. Wounds I didn’t remember earning, but then again, I didn’t remember anything it seemed.

  Nothing right, at least.

  My new life was full of turbulence.

  “Take these too.” She tossed a packet of pills into my lap. “They’re high strength anti-inflammatories. You need to take down the swelling on your brain...or at least, I think that’s what’s causing the hallucinations. Plus, they’ll help with your headache.”

  Swelling on my brain?

  Hallucinations?

  What the hell is happening to me?

  I snatched up the pills, popping them from the packet with tingling fingers thanks to being tightly bound. “How do you know I have a headache?” I decided against telling her about the ringing in my ears, the odd taste in my mouth, the weakness in my left side, and the constant nausea. I also suspected my left arm was broken, made worse with her rope tying me tight. I knew the dull ache of a bone injury and recognized the symptoms.

  How I’d broken my arm was yet another mystery.

  One I needed to figure out before any other shit could happen to me.

  Ignoring my pain, I glared at the woman.

  I wouldn’t let on that I hurt.

  No way.

  The least pathetic I looked, the better. If she still feared me, even with my hands in ropes, then I might stand a chance of getting free. Of scaring her enough that she didn’t hurt me further.

  “I watched you fall.” She ducked her head, biting her lip before admitting with a wince. “I made you fall.”

  “Fall?” I scowled and tossed back the pills with the entire bottle of water, blindly trusting and not caring if they were poison. I was suddenly thirsty. Epically thirsty. Once the bottle was empty, I threw it back toward her, then grabbed the plate of random food. It wasn’t roast beef, but it would patch up some of the gnawing hunger inside me. “Where’s the chef? You give him a night off?”

  She blinked. “There was a chef?”

  I rolled my eyes but stopped with a hiss, cursing the rock and roll of the room and the spearing pain in my head. “How else do you think Storymaker entertains in style?”

  “Storymaker?”

  Honestly? Who the fuck was this woman? She wasn’t a member of my family. Therefore, she had to be a guest. I’d never met her, but she couldn’t be here if she hadn’t been given exclusive membership.

  Ignoring her, I chewed on a strawberry.

  My stomach roiled.

  My body rejected it.

  I barely made it in time to twist to the side before I wretched.

  All the water came up.

  The room turned upside down.

  My nervous system chose that exact moment to turn me into a furnace, blur my eyes, and turn up the screeching in my ears until I couldn’t breathe.

  I convulsed.

  I screamed.

  It went dark.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I’D NEVER WISHED FOR someone to survive and die in equal measure.

  I wanted him to survive because the thought of him dying after the past he’d endured was unthinkable. No wonder he was the way he was. No wonder he’d attacked me. Didn’t trust me. And had such a complicated relationship with sex.

  Each time he woke, blinked at me as if he’d never met me, let alone had his tongue between my legs, I wept inside. I struggled not to break and cry in front of him. I did my best to answer his repetitive questions about where his family was, where the guests were, who I was, and ensured I managed to get as many anti-inflammatories, liquids, and food into him as possible.

  But then...there were moments where I wished he would die.

  Not because I wanted to be free of him but because I couldn’t stand the agony he was in. The torture of his mind. The screams of his nightmares. The catatonic slave who bowed over his knees and implored me to hurt him but no one else. Who trembled and begged me to release the others, and in return, he promised to do whatever I wanted.

  It shattered me. Sickened me.

  His own mind was killing him.

  For eight long, unendurable days, I walked that tightrope of wanting my treatment to succeed and the god-awful admission of holding my breath in hope when he wouldn’t wake.

  Of sitting by his bruised and scarred body while he slept, of stroking his hair, of whispering sweet nothings in his ear, praying that his mind would let him rest.

  He deserved to rest. To feel peace.

  But each time I believed his pulse had slowed and he was fading in my arms, he’d twitch awake, disorientated and unbalanced, and I’d have a few precious moments when I could guide him from his blankets, brace him with my body to the bathroom, and let him relieve himself.

  I’d hurry and watch the clock, my jumpy anxiety justified because the sleepy, stumbling man using me as a crutch could, at any moment, snap back into his delusions and try to kill me.

  On the third day, I made the decision to undo the rope from around his wrists. Rightly or wrongly, I’d had no choice. I’d been watching him. Monitoring his pain levels and growing intimately aware of his flinches and wariness.

  His left wrist and arm had blown up with swelling, despite the drugs I fed him. The rope had grown too tight, cutting off the circulation to his fingers. I’d cut him free while he’d slept.

  With no protection from his potential aggression, I’d pilfered a knife from the kitchen and kept it tucked down my waistband ready, just in case he woke and launched himself at me.

  However, when he did wake, he remembered nothing.

  Not our previous conversations. Not his past. Not his present.

  He blinked at me with pure innocence, a softly spoken boy with his untainted life spread out by his feet.

  “Who are you?” he’d asked in a voice that held no animosity, blackness, or derision. It was clear and trusting, kind and soft.

  It made my entire body clench with longing because I knew, without any doubt or uncertainty, that in this short fragment of time, I spoke to the boy who’d lived before the man who’d suffered.

  I’d dropped the books I’d gathered off the shelves in the library—medical texts and extensive surgical volumes that belonged in a hospital instead of a civilian’s collection—and collapsed on the floor.

  He’d tried to catch me. Long-buried instincts hurling him out of his blankets to catch a stranger he believed he’d never met. However, he hissed and buckled. Pain jerked him back. Nursing his arm, he rocked over the mottled bruising before clutching his head with another groan.

  It’d been my turn to catch him.

  I’d crawled into him, not fearing my life. Not from this version of Kas. Not this sweet, sweet boy.

  “Tell me what hurts.”

  He blinked huge dark eyes at me, wetness glistening on his bottom lashes. “Everything.”

  I took his swollen arm in my hands and pressed gently, working my way up and down, feeling
bumps that shouldn’t be there. “There? Does that hurt?”

  He moaned and bit his bottom lip. “Yes.”

  “I think it’s broken.”

  “I think so too,” he whispered. “It doesn’t like it when I move.”

  “Okay.” I patted his hand and gave him a gentle smile. “I’ll fix it.”

  “You will?” He looked at me as if I held his world. As if I was some mythical guardian who would protect him for always.

  “Yes. I’ll be right back.”

  For days, I’d suspected his arm was broken but had no way of splinting it. Now? Now I had another version of Kas that I wasn’t afraid of, and time was of the essence to help him before he switched again.

  Pushing to my feet, I dashed out of the library, ran to the garden, and grabbed a small bamboo stake that I’d seen in the pea vine part of the veggie patch. Bolting back into the house, I skidded to a halt and dropped into the blankets.

  For a second, I froze.

  What if he’d switched while I was gone?

  I’d just given him the perfect opportunity to kill me.

  However, he shifted away from me as if my freezing like a cornered cat unsettled him. “What? What is it?” he asked warily, his eyes darting over my shoulder, looking for something he should be afraid of. “Is something out there?”

  His voice remained sweet and young.

  Unbroken before abuse.

  “No.” I exhaled heavily. “Nothing is out there.” I forced myself to relax and scoot closer to him. “It’s nothing, truly. I was just worried about you, that’s all.”

  “Me?” He gave me a shaky smile. “Why?”

  “Because you’re hurt.” I frowned at his swollen arm he was cradling. “You remember what we talked about?”

  He frowned and looked to the side, his mind obviously struggling to recall something that only happened a few minutes ago.

  God, what did this mean for him?

  Would he be destined to spend the rest of his life flickering in and out of reality and mirages?

  Dropping his gaze, he stared at his arm, then twitched as if memories physically pinched him inside. “Oh, I remember.” He nodded. “My arm is broken. It hurts.”

  “I know.” I resisted the urge to cup his cheek. To just touch him. I ached to touch him—to somehow keep his mind from straying, aging, breaking. “Should we fix it?”

  He made eye contact and smiled again. This time, it was the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. It made me tremble as he carefully placed his arm into my lap and shuffled closer until our knees touched. Until his body heat from the blankets tingled over my skin.

  The same chemistry that existed between us from the very first moment we met existed even now. A gentle buzzing from his body to mine, sending my blood shivering as well as my bones and breath.

  He inhaled sharply.

  I stiffened, ever so jumpy in case the kid had become the killer again. But instead of angry dark eyes filled with murderous intent, they stayed a syrupy golden brown filled with absolute trust and gratitude.

  “I like you,” he murmured, licking his lips. “I think I know you from somewhere. I feel it...” He tapped his chest with his free hand. “In here.”

  I struggled to swallow, doing my best to ignore the humming electricity twining around us. “I like you too.”

  He blushed.

  Actually blushed.

  And I swallowed tears because what kind of boy could blush at the confession of affection after every sexual desecration he’d been through.

  “Thank you for looking after me,” he murmured.

  “You’re welcome.” My heart absolutely pounded, wanted.

  “You’re really pretty.” His free hand came up to twist a lock of my hair, his knuckles kissing my cheek. “Want to go out with me? Once my arm is better? We can go swimming at my favorite lake.”

  Despite the fire in my cheek from his touch and the constant tingle in my blood from being so close to him, I forced pragmatism to focus on the pieces of his past. He’d given me his name. If he gave me the town where he lived, then perhaps, I could find his family. Maybe, after years of being alone, he could go home.

  “Where is your favorite lake?” I whispered as he pulled my hair, tugging me closer to him.

  His eyes lit up, remembering something I couldn’t see, but then they clouded, and he shook his head. “I-I don’t remember.”

  “Was it somewhere hot all year round, or did you ice skate on the lake in winter?”

  His face grew darker, his forehead knotting with stress. “I-I don’t know. I—” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Why don’t I know? It’s-it’s...nothing is straight in my head. It’s all jumbled and—” His eyes shot wide, flickering with horror. “Where is everyone? I...I had a family. Wes and—” He tapped his temple as if trying to dislodge more. “God, what were their names? Who are you?”

  Worry replaced the softness of before, making me backpedal. “I’m your friend, remember? Don’t worry about anything else. Just focus on us, that’s all.” Cupping his cheek, I ran my thumb over the soft skin above his scruff. “I’m Gem, and you’re Kas, and everything is okay now that we’re together.”

  He exhaled hard.

  It was as if the evil trying to snatch him back receded, leaving him empty and quiet. Entirely willing to let me protect him. “Okay. I’ll just focus on you.” Swaying forward, he bumped his forehead against mine. “I really, really like you, Gem.” His chin moved, and his mouth fastened over mine.

  I froze for the third time.

  He sucked in a breath.

  Our eyes stayed locked as if he was as shocked as me that he’d kissed me.

  I waited for him to pull away. To act shy and blush again.

  Instead, his lips moved over mine, hesitantly and softly. His eyes drifted closed, and he pulled me closer with the lock of my hair.

  Pull away, Gem.

  Stop.

  I fell into him.

  I parted my lips and trembled as the tip of his tongue tasted me.

  As far as kisses went, this was the sweetest I’d ever had. Sweeter than my first stumbling when I was fourteen. Sweeter than my ex-boyfriend or any other kiss with Kas before.

  This man had kissed me full of violence and aggression. It’d been messy and barbaric and resorted to us rolling around in the mud like beasts.

  But this?

  This was delicate and exquisite, full of innocent passion and everlasting care.

  He moaned under his breath as I touched his tongue with mine. A tiny lick of welcome.

  His fingers moved from my hair to my cheek, his palm burning me as he deepened the kiss. Our mouths parted in unison, our tongues connecting in a dance. His heartbeat drummed in his fingertips, soaking through my cheek to my own drumming pulse.

  His head tilted to the other side, the choreography between us unhurried and indulgent. Deepening then retreating, kissing and learning.

  Our breathing synchronized as everything inside me went heavy.

  Inhale and lick.

  Exhale and kiss.

  His lips and tongue were hypnotic.

  The connection between us tangled tighter.

  The strain of the past few days melted as his tongue continued tasting me, claiming me. Our breathing turned harsher, bodies no longer content with just a simple kiss, no matter how precious.

  My nipples ached. My core clenched.

  His moan turned to a harsher groan as he reached for me.

  Passion overflowed, demanding we finish whatever magic we’d started.

  His right arm looped around my waist, and I bowed into him. His left arm swooped around my shoulders and—

  He cried out, his mouth slipping from mine.

  The moment instantly shattered.

  The spell around us vanished as he winced and cradled his broken arm. Giving me a sheepish shrug, he murmured, “My arm...it’s killing me.”

  For a second, I felt as disorientated as he must feel when his mind played tr
icks on him. Shaking my head, I inhaled fresh air and slipped into my role of nurse. “Here, let me.”

  Nodding gratefully, he gingerly placed his arm on my lap, and we both gritted our teeth against the remaining need between us.

  I dared not make eye contact with him, focusing instead on my task.

  Grabbing the slim stake I’d brought from the garden, I wiped off any obvious dirt then placed it along his broken arm. “Keep that there.” Reaching sideways to my medical station, I gathered up the sliced pieces of cloth that I’d prepared while he’d been in and out of sleep.

  I’d been diligent in my nursing duties.

  I’d scavenged the house for any and all medical equipment. My little doctor’s pharmaceutical box beside his carpet bed had already been very useful in treating him when he was sleeping.

  Hopefully, in another few days, he would snap out of his concussion-induced complications, remember who I was, who he was, and could be trusted to stay awake, eat, and survive while I went to get help.

  Every time I woke from a fretful nap, I’d ask myself if today was the day I could leave. And each day, he woke even more twisted than before, trapping me inside this place, unable to leave.

  And now, he’d gone and kissed me.

  He’d shown me a side of himself I would never have met thanks to his past.

  He made me beg for a way to help him, to keep him alive instead of wish for his death.

  Unfortunately, the sweet version of Kas didn’t last long. He stayed with me long enough for me to bandage his broken arm, eat some snow peas, corn on the cob, and inhale one of my rapidly dwindling chocolate bars before he fell asleep again.

  I kept my distance after that.

  For personal safety, I fashioned a rope cuff and tied it around his ankle, tethering him to the same heavy couch leg. It wouldn’t hold him if he had full faculties but in the brief moments of lucidity, it would stop him from leaving or hurting me.

  I needed to know he’d stay in the library.

  My nerves were too frazzled to think of him stalking around the house in his current, unstable condition.

  While he slept, I pushed the kiss out of my mind and studied the medical books until my eyes felt as if a thousand papercuts had replaced my retinas, then fell asleep in my nook of the library. Wrapped in a blanket, I slept with my hand on my knife, just in case.