I nod against him and let my eyes close. “Thank you, Niko. I mean it. Thank you.” I inhale the scent of him and let out a small sigh. “Just keep holding me for now. Just don’t let go. Because right now, you’re the only thing holding me together.” Then I drift back to sleep, not ready to face the world just yet.
When I finally wake up for the second time, I can see it is afternoon. I am still against Niko’s body, our legs tangled together under the sheets. Though this could be misconstrued as inappropriate, feeling his body next to mine only feels comforting and innocent. Plus he isn’t pitching a tent, thank God.
“Hey you, feeling rested?” he murmurs.
Though my body feels stiff and sore and my head is pounding from crying and drinking my weight in Jack Daniels, I sit up and nod. “Yeah. Thanks for everything.” I try to muster up at least a small grin, but I just don’t have the strength. It still hurts too much to pretend.
Niko cracks a smile and strokes my cheek adoringly. “Good. Are you hungry?”
I shake my head, unable to even stomach the thought of food. “Nah. I’m good. I just want to take a shower and try to figure out what to do next.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, pushing himself upright.
“I need to get my stuff outta here and go back home.” I look down at my hands and bite my trembling lip, desperately trying to push away the hurt.
“Gabs, you can’t do that. It’s not safe. You need to stay here until your birthday.”
My eyes snap to his. “Why?”
Niko huffs out his resignation. “Because you are too close to your ascension and you could hurt your human parents. Plus, you are easier to detect. You could lead someone right to them. Especially now that you don’t want Dor-”
“Don’t say it! Just…don’t say it!” I command, shaking my head. “Ok, I get it. But what makes you think I am safe here? That anyone is safe around me?”
“The apartment is spelled. Very few forces can penetrate the wards. And Morgan is probably the safest person you know. She’s protected in a way that none of us can understand or alter.” He reaches out to take my hands in his. “And right now, it just isn’t a good idea. I know you are upset and hurt. Rightfully so. But you have to be smart. You only have a few more months. Stick it out. And if you feel like you still don’t want to be here, then you can go where ever you want.”
“Hurt?” I scoff. “Upset? Niko, do you understand what…he did? Do you realize how many times he has torn me apart? I was fine before. I didn’t need him to come into my life. I was content. But he just wouldn’t leave me alone. And even after the first betrayal, when I finally found out who and what he is, he still wouldn’t leave me alone. He just keeps hurting me just so he can dust me off and make it all better.” I blink furiously and try to swallow down the knot of emotion in my throat. “And like a fool, I keep letting him.”
Niko nods solemnly, unable to say anything in his brother’s defense. “I understand. I truly do. But think about who else may get hurt in all this. How much harder it will be for you if your family is hurt. Just please consider this.”
I look down at my hands, to the blue anchor burned into my skin. The constant reminder of the man I loved and lost. Still love. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I was the only one who felt that urge, who felt compelled to be with him at all costs. It was never real for him, I know that now.
“You ever been in love, Niko?” I ask, my eyes still fixed on my hand, cursed to forever wear that reminder.
He shifts on the bed uncomfortably and nods. “Yes.”
“Truly in love? In love enough that just the thought of losing them ripped you apart? That you felt like you wanted to die just to make the pain cease?”
Again, he nods. “Yes.”
I look up at him curiously. “What happened?”
Niko looks away and swallows, grimacing as if there is a painful knot in his throat. “She was human.”
“She died?” I ask, though I know the answer.
"Yes."
Compassion falls over me and I grasp his hand. “Did she grow old and pass away?”
Niko brings his glassy eyes back to me, his face flush with sudden emotion. “No.”
I can see the memory is still fresh in Niko’s mind so I don’t press for more. He’s hurting, and judging by the strained look on his face, he may be hurting just as bad as I am. He lost his love, just like I did. Our heartbreak is just another element of our solidarity.
“You may never stop loving him,” Niko suddenly whispers, reading my anguish. “But slowly the pain of loving gets easier to handle. It eventually goes from a debilitating burn to a dull ache. Sometimes you’ll be reminded of that love, and it will pierce you in a way that makes you believe that you are dying again. But with time those reminders become few and far between. You’ll be able to find joy in the things you did before your love came into your life. You’ll be able to push down the rising panic whenever you hear their name. You’ll be able to live again. And even though the memory of that love may never leave, it will remain just that: a memory. A memory that one day you’ll be able to smile through when you recall it.”
I let Niko’s words sink in and tuck it away to carry with me. Dorian, my crazed love for him, my all-consuming need for his touch will eventually become a memory. A ghost of a time when I felt safe and adored. A time when I felt alive. I know I will survive this; I will live through it. But I’ll never again feel alive. And just as Dorian will become a ghost of my past, I know I will find myself fading into a ghost of myself.
Chapter Twenty Three
I walk down the hallway of manufactured memories, refusing to acknowledge the happy, carefree girl staring back at me. She was so naïve. So stupid. She thought that she’d grow up, fall in love, get married, have a family…be happy. She knew there were unanswered questions in her life, but she was content with her ignorance. She wanted to believe she had a purpose, that she would one day be more. She still believed in happy endings.
That girl was a fucking idiot.
I enter Chris’s office, unsure of why he has requested to see me before our traditional Christmastime festivities. I know I’ve been ditching them lately, unable to stifle my pain and anger long enough to see them. But the state I’ve been in, what I have become…I couldn’t let them see that. They wouldn’t understand. No one does.
“Hey Kiddo, have a seat,” Chris says once I enter. I do as he requests and flop down, meeting his concerned gaze blankly. He takes a deep breath before pinching the bridge of his nose and removing his reading glasses. “I need to know what’s going on with you, Gabriella. Your mother and I are worried sick. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?” I ask in a flat voice.
“Well, for starters, look at you,” he replies with a wave of his hand towards me. “The few times that we have seen you in the past few months, you look visibly thinner. You’re pale, there are bags under your eyes. You look worn down. And you never smile. What happened to girl that was always cracking jokes and laughing? Where did she go?”
I cast my eyes downward, focusing on a scuff on my Converse. “She’s gone,” I whisper.
I hear Chris let out an exasperated sigh yet I don’t lift my head. “Talk to me, Kiddo. I don’t like what I’m seeing in front of me. You look…defeated. And don’t even get me started on the tattoos. You know how your mother feels about them.”
I smirk and roll my eyes, though I know he’s right. In the span of a month, I’ve managed to acquire 5 more pieces of body art. But it was unintentional. Each time, I’d arrive at the shop to get the anchor covered, and each time something inside me wouldn’t let me go through with it. I’d be so sure, so certain that I could get something to mask that reminder of my old life yet some invisible force kept the needle from touching it. So I’d leave each time with something totally different than what I initially intended.
I look up to finally meet Chris’s brown eyes with the lifeless hazel orbs of mine. �
�There’s nothing to say.”
My dad shakes his head and purses his lips in irritation. Then he pulls something out of the top drawer of his desk and slides it across to me with a painful grimace. I pick up the adorned folded cardstock and run my fingers along the embossed lettering, my stoic expression giving nothing away. I swallow down the rising panic and will the tightness in my chest to unravel. Then I slide it back to Chris.
“Why didn’t you tell us, Kiddo? We had to find out about you and Dorian splitting up with a wedding invitation? We would have been there for you. We could have helped you through it. Look what it’s doing to you.” His voice is soft and his eyes are full of pity. Exactly what I was hoping to avoid.
I open my mouth to speak, yet can’t find the words to tell him that there’s no need to worry, that I’m ok. Because it’s a lie. I am far from ok. Nothing about the way I feel, what I have been doing to cope with the…loss…is ok.
“I don’t need help,” I finally settle on.
“Gabriella, everyone needs help sometimes. Stop trying to take on the weight of the world. You are only one girl with a lot of growing to do. You are not expected to be fearless.”
I nod, indicating that I understand. “Is that it?” I ask, not even a sliver of emotion in my voice.
Chris huffs out his frustration at my tenacity yet his expression is sympathetic. “Sure, Kiddo. Just remember…your mom and me, we are here for you. We love you. No matter what the future holds for you, you’ll never stop being our little girl. We’ll never stop loving you.”
I nod again then rise, urging my face to crack into a smile. But I can’t do it. I can’t even pretend anymore. In order to repress my pain, to numb the constant agony, I have to turn it off. I have to stop feeling completely. The day I told Dorian to leave and never come back, I emptied myself of any and all emotion. And it evaporated in the wisps of grey smoke with him.
Deciding that holiday visiting hours are over, I leave the warmth and security of my parents’ home and head to the nearest bar. It is sparse except for the few depressed souls drowning their sorrows. I can relate to them. This is where the lonely come to escape the pain that this time of year represents.
I could have gone home but I didn’t feel like dealing with the rising awkwardness between Morgan and me. My indifference was infuriating her and she couldn’t understand why I couldn’t open up to her. But there was nothing left to open. I was already torn apart at the seams.
Every day had been the same for me. I’d wake up, go to work for a few hours, try to force down some food and end my night at a bar. I didn’t want to be at home anymore, and I especially didn’t want to be in my room for more than sleeping. It had been haunted with his ghost. And sometimes I’d see mine as well. So I’d get drunk enough to ignore the ghosts long enough to drift off to sleep. Sometimes I could make it a few hours without waking up covered in sweat and trembling. But most nights those ghosts haunted my subconscious as well.
This had become my existence. Not my life; that ended the day I felt my heart stop. It lost its reason to keep beating when I said goodbye to Dorian.
My night is a blur, like most nights. I sit at the bar, drinking until the urge to feel leaves me completely. And when the numbness overcomes me, pretending becomes easier. I can smile, I can laugh. I flirt with random men, I dance like I haven’t a care in the world. I can act like I am just like everyone else. I can pretend I’m alive again.
“Hey baby, can I buy you a drink?” a faceless man asks. I don’t even bother to look at him; I just nod.
The stranger slides onto a barstool next to me. I plaster on a carefree smile and thank him. It’s the same song and dance, night after night: guys buy me drinks, I get smashed then I somehow make it home to pass out.
The stranger slides two shots in front of us. I down mine without tasting it. Then another appears. And another. It’s not until I have lost count when a heavy feeling begins to creep over me. I feel…weird. Not just drunk, but different. It’s like I am having an out of body experience and can actually see myself stumbling off the barstool onto shaky legs.
“Here, baby, let me help you,” the stranger offers. He’s told me his name yet I haven’t bothered to remember it.
“Uhhh,” I groan, my head swimming viciously. “I need some fresh air.”
The man grasps my arm to steady me and helps me outside. I’m appreciative because I honestly feel like I could not have made it out on my own. The cold, winter air only intensifies the sinking feeling and I feel like my legs could not carry me one more step. He wraps his arms around me to hold me up and my head rolls back onto his shoulder. I can’t even begin to explain what’s happening to me. It’s as if my entire body has been submerged in quick drying cement and though I fight to get free internally, I can’t move. I’m aware- dreadfully so- but it seems like I am watching a movie of myself being dragged towards the dark alley on the side of the bar.
Cold, wet, bricks scrape my back as the man buries his face in my neck, groaning expletives as he gropes my body. His odor of booze and sweat assaults my nostrils, coaxing the fear-induced bile rising in my throat. I will my arms to push him away yet they flop at my sides. My jaw drops and I try to scream for him to get off me, yet only a whimper escapes. He’s tugging at my clothes, his hands forcefully gripping my flesh. I feel his dirty fingernails breaking the skin on my hips. It’s not until I feel hot tears sliding down my cheeks that I realize that I’m crying.
This isn’t happening to me. This can’t be. But as the disgusting predator fumbles at the fly of my jeans, I can’t deny what is about to happen.
Someone please help me. God…please. Doesn’t anybody hear me? Isn’t anyone there? This can’t happen to me. I don’t want this. Please...anybody. Help me…Dorian? Please?
My eyes, the only thing with mobility, dart around wildly, almost certain that he’s heard my cry yet there is no movement in the dingy, dark alley. He should be here by now. He wouldn’t let this happen to me, right?
A million reasons for his delay run through my head, followed by a million more scenarios of the impending minutes. I want to shut my eyes and block out the ugliness looming ahead. I don’t want to feel it; I don’t even want to be conscious. But I can’t turn it off. No matter how bad I’ve wanted to be completely numb these past few months, there is no denying the sheer dread I feel. I try to summon my inner strength, try to will the auburn flames to enrapture my hands but nothing happens. Not even the icy prickles jab my eyes whenever my wrath takes over. I’ve been completely abandoned by both the Light and the Dark.
A tingling, creeping feeling sweeps over me suddenly. Tiny prickles like the sensations that Dorian delivers with every kiss. They sting my desensitized nerves, rousing them from their chemical paralysis. In the next second, feeling returns to my fingers and I wiggle out the stiffness in my joints. Sensation crawls up my arms and legs, stirring them awake and flooding my body with a renewed tenacity. I feel empowered, emboldened, and with a grunt, I use my newfound strength to push the vile bastard away.
“Get off me! Get your fucking hands off me!” I scream, my fists clenched at my sides.
My would-be rapist stumbles backwards, clearly stunned at my sudden coherency. “You filthy bitch,” he sneers, gaining his footing and lurching towards me.
This time, I’m prepared for his attack. My fist collides with his face so hard that I hear an audible crack! from his jaw and teeth. I know I should run like hell. I know this is the perfect opportunity to seek safety. But I can’t; I don’t want to run. I don’t want to feel weak or helpless for another second. I don’t want to be a victim.
I approach him as he staggers while holding his ugly face and pummel him again. And again and again. With hard fists and feet, I beat the asshole until he is nothing but a lifeless pile of blood and flesh on the pavement. And I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. I want him dead for what he was about to do to me. And for what he has more than likely done to countless other young women.
As I stand crouched over him, bawling, still kicking and punching his unresponsive body, strong arms wrap around me, whirling me around and depositing me several feet away from the scene.
“Let me go! Get off me!” I scream and fight though I don’t move an inch.
“Shhhh, Gabriella,” a familiar voice coos. His lips brush my earlobe as he murmurs soothing words. “I’m here, baby. Calm down.”
Finally, he lets me go and I spin around to face him. “Niko?”
“Are you ok? Are you hurt?” he asks, assessing my torn clothing. I hadn’t even noticed. He reaches over tentatively to button my coat to hide my exposed stomach then grabs my fists to look them over. They’re covered in blood.
I shake my head. I am anything but ok. “I’m fine,” I say panting wildly. My entire body trembles violently. “Where…were you? And Dorian? What happened to me?” My voice cracks with emotion at the end of my question.
“I’ll explain everything once I get you out of here.” Just then, a tall, impossibly broad man approaches, causing me to tense once more. Niko wraps his arm around me, feeling my anxiety. “Just clean up when you’re done, Cyrus,” he says to him.
The man that Niko referred to as Cyrus nods then turns to me momentarily. He looks as if he could be very handsome, however, his irises are blood red and horribly frightening. My eyes widen with fear. Cyrus gives me a swift nod then makes his way to my offender’s battered body still crumpled on the cold ground.
“Who is that?” I whisper.
Niko looks down at me, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “Cleaning crew.”
Before Niko can turn me towards the parking lot, I get a glimpse of exactly why he referred to Cyrus as the cleaning crew. Cyrus grabs the still unconscious pervert by the collar of his bloodied shirt and swiftly raises him up to meet his face. What happens next is something I couldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams or my darkest nightmares. Cyrus opens his mouth wide, unnaturally wide, bearing a pair of razor sharp distended fangs and sinks them into the man’s neck viciously. The wet, guttural sounds of teeth tearing into flesh causes my stomach to roil. My attacker’s body flinches and twitches before resting into a deadened slump as Cyrus drains every drop of his blood. Then he drops him to the ground like the disgusting garbage that he is and drags him away into the shadows.
The Dark Prince (The Dark Light Series) Page 32
