by Valia Lind
"You know I love her," I break the silence, saying the words out loud shatters the barriers. "I don't want her to suffer, but if this is the only way..."
Freddie nods, resolve written all over his face and in the set of his shoulders. We both turn to Calen, waiting for him to make a decision. Because as much as I would just like to go in there, guns blazing, this has to be the decision of her family.
"Okay, but the moment it becomes too much of a risk, we stop." Calen finally says and to that, I agree.
Freddie turns back to the monitor, checking over the timers, before speaking up. "She's waking up and should be coherent in about ten minutes." That's all I need to hear, before I make my way to the room. They don't follow.
I think they understand that this is something I have to do on my own. It's something Tasia needs me to do on my own. We have all tried to reach her, we have all done our best. But no matter how much I don't want to be, I am my father's son. I will do what needs to be done when the situation calls for it. This is that situation.
Slipping through the door, I close and lock it behind me. In the week that Tasia has been here, we have added a chair to the room, but that's all. As much as we keep her restrained, I'm still too nervous to give her any kind of ideas or items to help her get out of here.
I take the chair and move it in line of sight for her. I want her to see me when she wakes up. I want to be the first face she sees. There are a million and one things I want to say to her. Most of all, I want her to know just how much I love her. But that won't make any of this easier. It'll make things that much harder.
Sitting there, in silence, with only her restless breaths as the companion to my thoughts, I wonder if this will even work. In my mind I picture this as a hard case of drug withdrawal. That's basically what's been happening to her. But this time, it'll be much worse. Will she even hear my voice? Will she even see that I'm not the enemy? Recently, that's all she's seen me as and I would give anything to change that.
"Logan?"
Her breathy whisper slams into me with a speed of a bullet. I'm on my feet in a flash, leaning over her, as she struggles to open her eyes. Just in time, I remember not to stand so close, and take a step back as her forehead nearly collides with mine. The pain that comes is not physical, it goes much deeper than that. When she starts to laugh, I have to close my eyes against the sound.
"I had you there for a second, didn't I?" she asks, the sinister tone in her voice sending goosebumps over my flesh.
"What can I say, you know my weakness," I shrug, taking a deep calming breath. Her eyes flash at the sound of my voice, because it's the first time I've spoken to her in days.
"He speaks. I figured you wouldn't hold out forever."
She moves her head to the side, trying to roll her shoulders to get more comfortable, but she's a lot more tightly constrained than she was in the beginning. The withdrawals have not gotten easier as the time went on.
"I needed to talk to you," I begin and she interrupts me with another bout of laughter.
"Of course you need something from me. Everyone always needs something from me."
If I wasn't looking right at her, I couldn't imagine that the words are coming out of her mouth. There's so much poison in every syllable, it's hard to picture her as the same girl I know.
"You're a popular girl," I comment, hoping that playing the game will keep her talking. If I can keep her talking, then maybe she can say something I can use later.
"So what is it the great Logan Wentworth needs from little ol' me?" she asks, and if she wasn't restrained, I could almost see her waving a hand in my direction, as if to say, please do enlighten me. I struggle to keep my distance, but getting closer will surely end with another headbutt attempt. There are a lot of ways I can answer that question, but I settle on the one that will evoke the most emotion.
"I need you to give me Tasia back," I state, leaning back in my chair, a picture of casualness. There's a flash of uncertainty in her eyes and I almost leap for joy. The small emotion ignites the flame of hope within me, because it's not a fluke. I've seen it a few times now and that means she's not impervious.
"Oh, I'm here, Logan," Tasia replies, her voice softer than I've heard it in months. "In the flesh. You just don't want to accept it."
The sound, so close to who Tasia is, but still not quite her, sends goosebumps over my skin. She's baiting me, trying to play with me on her terms.
"Because it's not true," I say, and am satisfied to hear my voice is still strong and sure.
"No, because you don't want it to be true."
She's right on that one. I don't want it to be true. But then again, I don't and do want a lot of things that aren't possible.
"If it was true, you would've killed me by now."
"Don't worry, sugar," her eyes flash and she almost growls at me, "I still might."
Her words leave me cold, just like she wants. But I can't show her any weakness and I certainly can't leave her now. It would be so easy to believe her. So easy to just give up. This is not my Tasia. It's a robot created and operated by Kallos.
But as I look at her staring at me with those cold eyes, I can't bring myself to walk away. If the roles were reversed, she'd never give up on me. I don't have to guess at that one.
"As fun as it would be to see you try, I think we'll save that for another time." My answer takes her a bit by surprise, maybe she did expect me to just walk away. She'll have to do better than that to get rid of me.
"But Logan, we haven't had fun in so long."
Again, she almost sounds like herself there. She's trying hard to push the persona forward, without actually giving in to it. It's getting difficult to separate the vision of before with the reality of now. Especially when looking through the eyes of the heart. It's why I needed Freddie and Calen to stay out. They wouldn't be able to separate the two, not with how fresh their grief and guilt are. But I decided what needs to be done, so I can't turn back now.
"You know what would be fun?" I ask, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "If we talked about Foster."
This time I don't have to guess at the emotion racing through her. It's rage. Pure and simple. And it takes me by surprise. She squirms beneath her restrains, the skin covered in a fresh sheen of sweat.
"Come on, princess," I push, watching her body tense, as if preparing for a fight. "You hate him, don't you?' He brainwashed you against your own family..."
"He is family!" she snaps, but the words don't sound as if she believes them. They sound as if it's something she's supposed to say.
"No, he's not and you know it," I continue, getting off the chair and walking closer to her. "He murdered your parents, your brother. He brainwashed you and pumped you with drugs. He's using you for his own twisted agenda."
"Are you so different?" she roars, slamming her body against her restrains. Her words, more than her movement, make me stumble back. "Who's pumping me with drugs now? Who's holding me strapped to this table like some science experiment?"
I know she's trying to hurt me, but it doesn't make the words any less true. But I don't stop, I press on. I have no other choice. I'll deal with my own feelings later.
"You're stronger than the lies they've fed you!" I shout into her face, hoping to be heard over the screams that are now racking through her body. "You're stronger and more resilient than anyone I've ever met. Fight, Anastasia. Fight!"
She's thrashing uncontrollably, as if my words have started an avalanche of reactions. I know we're right at the point when the drugs in her system are about to rejuvenate, but I can't let her go.
The bandages on her arms and legs begin bleeding and still she wiggles and screams.
"Anastasia, Princess, come back to me."
Without a second to doubt my actions, I grab her face with both hands, brining her eyes to meet mine. There's so much pain and confusion there that it breaks my heart all over again. Her whole body freezes at the contact and she stares at me as if her li
fe depends on it.
"She'll kill you, Logan," she rasps out, and the pronoun confuses me for a second, but I don't let go.
"No, you won't."
"Not me," she stumbles over her words, as if fighting against the current. "Foster's boss. She's the master. She knows everything."
I want to ask for details, but the selfish part of me just wants to hold her tight.
"You're so far away," she mumbles, her eyes getting that glossed over look again.
"Anastasia!" I push, trying to keep her attention on me. "Fight this, princess. You hear me. Fight! Because I love you and I know you. You can overcome this, you can!"
For a tense second, I don't think she hears me. Then, her eyes lock on mine and clear. I see her, just like she used to be and my heart thuds in response.
"Butterflies," she whispers, before slamming her forehead against my own.
12.
He was so close.
You could see him through the mists, pushing through to get to you, but just as he was almost there, you were pulled back.
The butterflies surround you again, but this time they don't cause pain. They just hover in the space between you and him and the frustration builds inside of you until you can't help it. You scream.
You scream for hours.
You scream for days.
You scream for years.
The agony of being away from him, of being lost in your own mind is too much to take. There seems to be no end in sight, no way to bust out of the jail you have been put in. No one deserves the fate you've been given and for the first time, you let the tears come.
The screams mingle with the tears and you are spent.
Laying down in the cold grass, you wonder what it would feel like to give up. To just let go.
But then you hear his voice, he keeps telling you to fight. He keeps telling you to come back to him.
Then you feel his skin against your own and it's more than just a memory. It's a reality you can once again have if you are strong enough. You hold on to that feeling, you hold on to the truth ringing behind his words.
You are stronger and you can't give up.
Pushing yourself off the ground, you stare at the wall of butterflies and you wonder what it will look like when they all burn.
LOGAN
Freddie doesn't question me, but I know he wants to. I let her rest last night, but we devised some extra precautions, now that she's... not as medicated. I can never bring myself to call her weak. She's never been weak.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Calen asks from behind me. I feel like we've been asking each other this question for months. I know what he means. I allowed Tasia to get too close yesterday, I still carry the headache from that encounter. But if we're to get her back, I have to keep pushing her and that involves pushing myself as well.
Walking over to the room, I stop in front of the door, placing a hand against it, as if I can feel her heartbeat through it. Exhaustion rattles my bones, shaking my resolve. If I'm this tired, I can imagine what Tasia is going through. What I'm putting her through. That's the most difficult part: knowing that I'm the one causing her pain. But I can't exactly back out now and taking the minute to reassure myself does the trick, I unlock the door and push my way inside.
She's bleeding again. I can see that from all the way back here. However, she's much calmer than yesterday and that makes me nervous. Tasia has always been scary when she's calm, but with the drugs and the pure rage that now dominates her, going into the room is not the wisest choice.
"Well, look who's here. Come back for round two, have we?"
Her words come out flat, unemotional, but they hurt just the same. She's making me out to be the bad guy, and in part, I am. But it's what she needs me to be right now. No matter how hard it may be for me. I have to do this.
"How are you this morning?" I'm thankful, at least, my voice sounds like I'm in control.
"Peachy keen, jelly bean," she replies, grinning at me. She's covered in sweat, her hair hanging around her, while some is plastered to her skin. She also looks more pale than yesterday, but that's to be expected. All of this is to be expected. Yet, it doesn't make it any easier.
The amount of time I have to remind myself of that is ridiculous. I'm a soldier. I can handle combat and torture, but when it comes to her, I'm the weakest of men.
"I brought you a drink. It'll fill you up and take care of those hunger pains."
We weren't sure she'd let us feed her, and we took the IV out yesterday, to make sure she doesn't get any ideas, after I left her alone again. But maybe she's hungrier than we anticipated because she allows me to get closer and place the straw against her lips.
Watching her, I contemplate exactly what to ask next. We're detoxing her body and keeping her here is keeping her away from Foster. But she can't stay in this state forever and if I can trigger the healing process, sort of speak, I need to find the right buttons to push.
Once she's finished with the drink, I take a few steps back out of reach and watch her watch me. We've always been at a standoff, but now it's a more in-your-face than behind-the-scenes kind of a situation.
"Just ask me your stupid questions already, Logan. Your staring is getting on my nerves." She finally snaps, after a good ten minutes of silence. I grin at her words, because they sound more like my Tasia. However, instead of taking the bait, I grab the chair by the door and bring it a bit closer to where she lays, before sitting down. Folding my arms in front of me, I continue to watch her, waiting for the opportune time. This is going much like it did yesterday, however, I'm hoping for more results. So do Freddie and Calen, who, I am sure, are watching this from the monitors.
"You are still infuriating," she finally exhales, twisting her head to stare up at the ceiling. I don't comment yet again and after a moment of silence, she continues. "I always thought that about you because you always seem to know what parts of me to push. Because of that, I'd end up pushing myself."
It's difficult to tell who's speaking when she talks like that. She sounds like a memory, yet, she doesn't seem to be my own. How exactly do I distinguish between the past and the present when she is floating in the in-between?
"Do you remember the knives I gave you?" I ask, breaking up whatever game she's playing. She visibly jerks, her eyes flashing. Bringing up any kind of personal history is apparently the way to go. She's getting more and more irritated by the memories and I hope to use that to my advantage.
"I had them specially made in this tiny little shop. They do very specific orders there, with a number of collectables, and when I decided on a gift, nothing could persuade me from it. It was perfect."
"Why?" she grinds out between her teeth, her body squirming under the restrains.
"Because I know the kind of a girl you were back then and I know it now."
"No..."
"Yes. You don't expect anyone to take care of you or to think of you at all. You expect people to let you down and you kept yourself tough. But I saw the vulnerability in you. I saw the heart behind the tough exterior and I wanted you to have something that represented who you are."
Her thrashing is becoming more frantic, with every word. It's as if the more personal I make it, the more the barrier in her mind fights.
"Deadly and beautiful. That's how I've always seen you. That hasn't changed and it never will."
I'm shouting now, to be heard over her screams and her pain. Keeping myself at a safe distance is harder than I've anticipated, but I stand my ground.
"The drug has been in your system for so long, you've become something else entirely on the outside. But you're still in there. Beyond the smoke screen, you're there. Think. Why would you be so important to Foster? I'll tell you why. It's because he's afraid of you. He's afraid of what you can do. No, it's more than that. He's terrified!"
"SHUT UP!" she screams, the cords around her skin slicing it open. "You know nothing! You don't feel this inside of you. Not the power. Not the pain."
"But you feel it all!" I shout back, pushing further and further. "You've felt it for months now and you stayed strong. Because you are strong. Find your way back, Anastasia. Find your way back, Princess."
"You can't understand...you can't," she mumbles, running out of steam as suddenly as she started. Breathing heavily, she tries to push herself off the chair, as if forgetting where she's at. Without a second thought, I rush to her side, my hands reaching for hers before I can stop them. At the small contact, her eyes find mine and the hope rears it's ugly head just long enough for me to get soft.
She wraps her fingers around my wrists, yanking me towards her, as our foreheads collide. I stumble back, shaking my head to clear it. Positive I'm hallucinating I watch Tasia rip her hand out off the left restraint, before working on the other.
The fog in my mind clears as she jumps off the table, her wrists sliced and bleeding, the blood pooling on the floor around her. I don't let her get farther than that.
Spinning around, I block her kick as she comes at me. Keeping her in sights, I smash my arm against her stomach and she stumbles back. It doesn't slow her down much, as she kicks out again. I catch her foot in my hands, twisting it around as she lands hard on her back. The blood splashes against my face, but I don't take the time to wipe it away, because she's on her feet in a flash.
"You've always been so soft," she growls, pushing off the balls of her feet, slamming her shoulder into my stomach. We fall in a tangle of limbs, my ears ringing from the impact. She tries to get her legs around me, but we've been here before, so I anticipate her moves. Pushing my knee into her stomach, I manage to kick her away and she lands a few feet to my right. Struggling to my feet, my hands slip in the blood.
"And you've always been resilient."
"I'd rather be resilient than soft." She snaps, rushing at me again. Waiting her out, I move at the last second, and her momentum and the slippery floor carries her right into the wall. After a week of malnourishment and confinement, her body is weakened. It's the only explanation I have for getting an upper hand right now. I grab her by the back of the neck, smacking her against the hard surface. My heart cracks with the sound of her body dropping to the floor.
