Fledgling
Page 36
Chapter Thirty Five
She stumbled past the others and into the kitchen, lit by just a few lamps. Mr. Smith had already set out a pot of something hot for their arrival. She automatically poured two cups, sliding one towards the boy beside her, just like she would have done with Kai.
“Thanks,” Dustin said. She nodded, feeling her throat swell when she realized who she was helping.
“I think I’m going to drink this in my room,” she said, blinking. She took her mug of tea by its handle and hurried to her room, shutting the door behind her. She didn’t lock it, instead rushing straight to the desk. She set her cup down, ignoring the soft smell that reached her.
She took out the almost black journal that Kai had given her, along with one of the blank tipped pens, and began to write. She wrote everything, just as she remembered it. She wanted her story to be written down, for the sole purpose of being able to make sense of things.
The pen scratched against the paper, detailing what others had told her about her parents and how Dustin had taken her away. She asked the journal about her parents. Scenes filled her minds. Warm, orange tinted scenes by a fireplace. Cold, pale scenes that took place in the snow. Gray buildings in cities that she couldn’t remember. She wrote them all down.
The door creaked open, “What are you doing?”
Mr. Smith placed a hand on the desk beside her and read over her shoulder. He was probably the only person who could read her clumsy scrawl, and that ability had come from months of practice.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she confessed, dropping the pen. Ink splattered from the faulty tip, “None of this makes sense.”
“What doesn’t?” he asked softly and she pointed to a line she had just written.
“I was scared of Aiden,” she flipped to previous pages pointing out specific phrases too quickly for him to read, “But not of Dustin. Dustin was so nice when I was a kid, but there’s always red. Red, red, red. Blood. But I didn’t care. I would walk into the kitchen, see blood, and I’d be worried about him.”
“He was your brother,” Mr. Smith said softly, pointing out that word. It was true that she used to call him that, but-
“No,” she shook her head wildly, clutching at the sides of her chair, “No. He is not my family. He’s a murderer.”
“So is Aiden, and so am I,” he said, “So is Jessica. Are we not like family to you?”
“You guys are different,” she said. She refused to look him in the eye.
“How so?”
“I-“ she faltered and tried again, “I just-“
“Why is he different?”
“He was supposed to be better,” the words finally came out, “Better than everyone else. I looked up to him. Even months after Aiden and Demitri took me away, even after they took away my memories, I would look out the window at night and I would wait, without even knowing who I was waiting for. I waited, and he never came.”
“He did,” Mr. Smith reminded her, “He came as soon as we knew for sure that it was you.”
“He came and then he killed,” she took the pen and capped it, “That’s not how good guys are supposed to act.”
“You’ve always been so focused on what’s supposed to happen and what people are supposed to be like,” he sighed, disappointed in her, “Sometimes you have to take people as they are.”
“But he-“ she sucked in a breath, taking hold of her cup again. It thawed her still frozen hands, “He’s-“
“He’s Dustin,” Mr. Smith patted her on the head, “Now go to sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.”
She nodded, facing the window right in front of her desk. The blinds were open, the growing moon barely in her view. She swallowed and, as she heard the door shut once more, she felt something wet trail down her cheek. She rubbed the offending tear away with the edge of her ripped shirt, “He wasn’t supposed to kill anyone.”
She fell asleep at the desk in exhaustion, her sleep so deep that she didn’t wake when someone entered her room, not even when the intruder draped a knit blanket over her.
She didn’t dream that night. She slept in black oblivion until-
“Austin,” someone was shaking her awake. She opened her eyes to see Jess, whose bun was in slight disarray. She groaned and shut her eyes again. Jess shook her harder, “Why didn’t you tell me that you were hurt?”
“’M not,” she mumbled, stretching. Her back hurt from sleeping in the hard chair, but that was all. Jess poked at her arm and Austin winced, “Except for a few cuts.”
“I could have healed those last night. Getting healed doesn’t hurt. I would have healed you right when Dustin told me, but I don’t heal unless I have permission because it’s just weird to touch someone while they’re sleeping and-“ she sighed angrily and put a hand on Austin’s shoulder. Austin shook her off.
“I’m good. They’re just scratches,” she inspected herself. They had all closed up, all skin deep. It wasn’t like she had been stabbed, “They’ll heal on their own.”
“You’ll have scars,” Jess frowned, making another grab at her. Austin moved her chair a few inches away, making it clear that she didn’t want to be touched.
“So?” she asked, untangling her hair with a comb she had found. Aiden refused the help of water dragons when he had cuts, too. They were strong. They didn’t need to take the easy way out.
Aiden.
She had been there while he tortured Mr. Smith. Was she fine with that? He was just doing his job. He was just doing what he thought was the right thing to do. Still, the crazy glint that entered his eyes made her shiver. She pushed that thought out of her mind.
Jess gave up, a wry smile on her face, “Breakfast is on the table. Let’s go.”
“Yeah,” Austin nodded, sitting up. A piece of paper, a drawing that she had colored in years ago, floated to the floor. A boy with bright blue eyes took up the center.
He was wearing a pink hat.