“I don’t believe you,” he said.
“Why not?”
He threw his arms out. “Because you don’t act like you hate me.”
“I was acting!” she yelled. “I’ve told you repeatedly how I feel about you. I hate you, and it’s not my fault if you didn’t listen.”
Drake let out a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, then you’re right. I guess we’re even.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me.”
Drake nodded. “If that’s how you want it to be.”
“That’s how it is,” she snapped. “We don’t have to keep up the charade.” She glanced at the door. “You can leave now.”
“Is that what you want?”
She folded her arms over her chest, trying to look brave, not brokenhearted. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
“Fine,” he muttered. Then he turned and left.
Myka reached under her cot and pulled out the small basket Drake had given her to keep her belongings. At the bottom, tucked into the pocket of her change of pants, was the bottle of pills she’d taken from the bomb shelter yesterday. At the time she’d taken it, she hadn’t thought she would ever have to use it. Drake had been the good guy then. Drake was going to protect her. Blah, blah, blah. She shook her head. How stupid and gullible could she be?
That’s not how life worked.
She’d been abandoned, lied to, betrayed, and used. The only person she could count on was herself. She twisted the lid to the bottle. Nothing happened. She twisted again. Was the lid stuck because it was two hundred years old or because she was stupid? She looked at the instructions on the cap, pressing down and twisting at the same time. The lid popped open. There were twelve white cylinder pills and four different circular ones. She walked over to the front of the shack where there was a crack in the boards and peeked out the hole, listening for the men. It was dark, and no one was around.
Myka rushed to the table and dumped out the pills, scattering them across the wood. She lifted her foot up, taking her shoe off. With all of her strength, she pressed the heel of her shoe into one of the white pills, crumbling it into tiny little pieces. She worked the heel over each piece, crushing it until it was only powder. Then she repeated the process with the other pills, even the different ones. Using her fingers, she scraped the powder back into the bottle, trying to get every last particle. She didn’t know if the drugs would actually work. The bottle said don’t take more than five a day. What would twelve two-hundred-year-old pills do? And what if those pills were mixed with four other different ones? Mixing medicine could be just as dangerous as overdosing. In this case, she hoped that was true. She secured the lid to the bottle and put it in her jacket pocket. She didn’t know if she would even get the opportunity to use the drugs, but she would keep them in her pocket just in case.
It was her last escape plan.
The one that had to work.
25
Myka
It was the middle of the night, and Myka should be sleeping, but she couldn’t. Not without Drake next to her. Was this how it was going to be now? Would her body refuse to relax unless he was there next to her? She lay on the cot curled up in a ball, playing back through what Drake had said. He had given her a million reasons to hate him. And she did. Every little part of her hated him. But if he had given her one good reason—if he had said that he loved her—she probably wouldn’t have pushed him away. But he hadn’t said that. Why would he? He was only pretending, and even his pretend feelings couldn’t conjure up love. And even if he had said something he meant, how would Myka know to believe him?
How had everything gotten so screwed up?
The locks on the door outside jingled, and Myka sat up. She didn’t even know if she wanted to see Drake right now.
The door opened, and a flashing light swung in front of her eyes, momentarily blinding her. She looked through her squinted vision to see Dawsick holding a lantern in one hand and a cup in the other. He stumbled into the room, kicking the door shut.
“Hey, princess,” his words were slurred.
Myka slowly stood from the cot as a shudder rippled through her body. She glanced at the door out of habit, but Drake wasn’t coming to save her. Dawsick took a drink from his cup, then spun around before setting it and the lantern on the table. He was drunk. She’d seen her father act this way a few times, and she’d also seen Dawsick act like this the night he’d approached her by the river.
“What are you doing here?” Myka’s eyes darted to the cup he’d left on the table, and she prayed that there was still some liquid in there.
“I thought...you might...be lonely in here.” He stumbled over his words again.
“I’m not lonely,” she said as her hand went into her jacket pocket, feeling the rigid lid of the pill bottle. She would need both hands to get the cap off. Pre-Desolation people were serious about the lids on their medicine bottles. Her fingers closed around the bottle, and she pulled it out of her jacket, hoping her hand mostly hid it from Dawsick.
He tripped toward her, combing his dirty fingers through her hair. Myka flinched away, and both arms went behind her back as she struggled to open the medicine bottle with a combination of pushing down and twisting.
What is it with these lids?
“Come here, princess.” Dawsick moved his arms around her waist as the lid popped off.
She fisted her hands around the bottle and the lid and pushed against his chest. “I’m already here.” Somehow she had to get out of Dawsick’s arms and over to his cup. Fighting him wasn’t going to work, so she switched tactics. “Why don’t you sit down on the cot, and I’ll get you your drink.” Her voice turned sultry, a definite difference from the cold way she’d spoken to him every other time they’d talked. Any non-drunk man would notice something was off, but Dawsick seemed thrilled by it.
He stumbled to the cot, kicking off his shoes. Myka went to the table, peering into the cup. There was still some liquid inside. She dumped the powder from the drugs into his drink. She set the bottle down and picked up the cup, turning to him with a smile plastered on her lips. As she walked toward Dawsick, she tried to shake the contents inside so that the powder would mix with the liquid.
“You should finish your drink. Something this valuable shouldn’t go to waste.” She handed him the cup, tilting her shoulder in what she hoped was a flirtatious way, but she probably looked more awkward than seductive. At that moment, she was grateful for the impairment alcohol caused.
Dawsick took the cup from her, and Myka watched in silence, hoping he would take a drink. Instead, he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and pulled her down next to him on the cot. Her heart beat quickly inside her chest as her mind screamed at him to drink it.
Drink it!
He leaned in close to her cheek, and the rough hair from his goatee brushed up against her skin. Her eyes stayed locked on the cup, worrying that he might spill it.
“You smell good,” he said, sniffing the side of her neck. Then without warning, he pulled back and took a long swig from his cup. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. He grimaced, and his tongue rubbed the top of his mouth. Had he noticed a difference in texture from the powder? He looked inside the cup with wide eyes then threw it across the room, the tin sides hitting against the wood.
He drank it.
A rush of relief spilled over her. Now she hoped the heavy dose of drugs would do something—anything—that would make it so she could escape. His hands went to her shoulders, and he pulled her in for a kiss. Myka wanted to react. She wanted to lean away and punch Dawsick in the face, but she needed to stall. She needed to give the drugs time to work. So she sat there rigid, letting Dawsick kiss her.
His kiss was disgusting, nothing like what she had experienced with Drake. Drake’s kiss had been fire. This kiss was nauseating. Dawsick’s goatee poked her in the lips and tickled her nose. The taste of alcohol was fresh on his tongu
e, and there seemed to be an excessive amount of saliva. He really put the sick in Dawsick and kissed exactly like how she would expect a Horseface would.
Myka couldn’t take it anymore. She pushed him away and stood before he had the chance to take things further.
His eyes darkened. “What was that?”
She forced a smile. “I thought we could talk for a minute.”
Dawsick shook his head. “I’m not here to talk.”
No, he was not.
He stood and walked toward her like an animal on the prowl. There was nowhere for Myka to go. The shack was small, and she didn’t want to get caught against the wall, trapped by Dawsick’s body. As he approached, she rotated and walked back the way he’d come. He followed like it was some sort of game of tag.
“You’re from New Hope, right?” she blurted out, trying to do anything she could think of to distract him.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her to him. “Yes,” he whispered, then he kissed her again.
Myka should be glad that she had something to compare Drake’s kiss to. At least now she knew that not every kiss felt like the one she’d had with Drake.
She pushed Dawsick away again, but he grabbed her arms. “Where are you going?”
Myka turned toward the table. “I’m going to turn off the light.”
Dawsick seemed to like that idea, and he released her. She walked as slowly as she could to the table. A snail would have beat her there. Then she fumbled with the lantern like she didn’t know how it worked. Behind her, Dawsick staggered to the cot. He fell down on the edge in a heap and placed his head in his hands. She looked at the lantern again, taking her time.
“Shoooo comin’?” he asked.
His speech seemed to be getting worse. She looked over her shoulder with an overdone smile. “Yeah, I’m just turning the light off.” Then she took another ten seconds messing with the lantern again.
“Now!” he shouted, startling her.
She twisted the light off, darkening the room. Her mind panicked. What if the drugs didn't do anything? What else could she do for self-defense? If she screamed, would Drake or one of the other men hear her? Would Drake save her?
Slowly, she walked to the cot. Dawsick lay back, pulling her with him so that her chest was on top of his.
This was bad.
So bad.
He seemed to be intoxicated enough that she could probably fight him and stand a chance, despite his training and his strength.
Dawsick closed his eyes, and his breathing became labored. Myka’s body went still. She didn’t want to move a muscle for fear that he would remember she was there and try to kiss her again. They lay like that for a minute. His body jerked unexpectedly, and his eyelids lifted open. He mumbled something that Myka couldn’t understand, then he closed his eyes again. Carefully, she lifted herself off his body. He groaned and mumbled again but didn’t do anything to go after her.
Myka reached under the bed, grabbing her shoes, all the while keeping one eye fixed on him. She made quick work of her shoes and stood. She glanced over Dawsick. He looked passed out to her, but she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t want to make her move too soon.
Silently she counted to five hundred. That seemed like a good amount. When the counting was up, she bent over his body, whispering, “Dawsick?”
He didn’t move.
She said it louder. “Dawsick?”
Nothing.
This was her chance.
She tiptoed to the door and twisted the handle. He’d unlocked all of the chains when he’d come to visit her. Quietly, she pulled the door back, trying to avoid the creaking of the hinges. Her head peeked out. The camp was dark, and off in the distance, the dying embers of the fire glowed, but she couldn’t see anyone out there by it.
She needed a horse.
Or better yet, a personal transporter.
Kase had ridden a personal transporter back from Tolsten House. If she could take that, she’d be able to travel much faster. She walked behind the shacks with deliberate, slow steps. She hadn’t come this far only to be discovered. At the end of the row, near where Winslow and Kase slept, was one PT. She wouldn’t be able to start the machine up and drive out of there. She would have to push it out until she was far enough away that the engine couldn’t be heard.
She moved to release the kickstand and pressed her hands against the handlebars, slowly rolling the machine forward. It wasn’t as easy as it looked. The PT was heavy, and it took all of Myka’s strength to roll it forward. Her feet dug into the ground for leverage, and when she finally got far enough away, she turned on the engine. The solar power light grew to the top, and Myka sighed.
Fully charged.
Her legs straddled over the top of the machine, and she pressed the lever forward. Luckily, riding a PT was something she had done before. When the first set of personal transporters had been delivered to Tolsten House a few years ago, Myka’s father had let her ride one before anyone else was allowed.
She looked over her shoulder back to camp; no one was coming for her. She wanted to escape, but there was a very human part inside of her that ached and wished that Drake would be there, telling her that he was sorry, telling her that he wanted to be with her. But he wasn’t there. She turned back around, leaving the camp behind.
Myka didn’t know exactly where she was going, but her geography lessons of Tolsten and what she had seen of their ride to the camp made her confident that she needed to head south. She rode all night long, and when she passed Lambeau Lake with the old stadium sticking out of it, she knew she was headed in the right direction. The power signal on the PT was getting low, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the sun finally came up from the west. It wouldn’t take long for the solar panels to recharge the machine. By night fall, she should arrive at Tolsten House.
Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the chilly fall air, freezing her skin. She used the arm of her jacket to swipe at another tear, mad at herself for crying at all. She should be happy. She’d escaped. But happiness wasn’t what she felt. Everything inside of her was lost and broken. Her father was dead, and her memories of their time together were haunted by his lies.
Another wave of tears poured out of her.
Her future was torn apart. She wasn’t a princess anymore—or a daughter. When the election was over, someone new would move into Tolsten House and kick her out onto the street. The only people she had were Rommel and Joett. Her mother had abandoned her, but right now, what pierced her heart the most, was the way Drake had used her.
She’d gone from the highest high to the lowest low. She had been in the clouds, lost in a dream, thinking that she and Drake could somehow fix everything that was wrong with the world. At the time, Myka hadn’t been worried about the fall. Drake would catch her. She just knew it.
But he hadn’t.
Myka had been up so high that the fall back down to reality was long and far. She should have expected it. Every love that she’d had in her life had let her down.
Usually when things got hard in her life, Myka wanted to find the fastest way out. The easiest way out. She wanted to joke and pretend that everything was okay. But this felt different. This time, she needed to walk through her pain, let the scorching fire of it burn her. She might not even be walking through it—her never-ending tears made it seem like crawling through it was more accurate. Either way, she wanted to get to the other side of this heartache and be a stronger, better version of herself. She didn’t know what that version looked like. There were too many unknowns in her life. Her pain would become her motivation to move forward. Not necessarily to find happiness, but to find a meaning behind this mess. Because what’s the point of suffering, if a person doesn’t learn anything from it?
26
Drake
Drake opened his eyes. It was time to stop pretending that he was asleep. He wasn’t fooling himself. Trying to sleep without Myka next to him was rough. There had been a lot of tossing and turning, bl
ank stares at the shelter ceiling, sighs, and pillow adjustments. Nothing seemed to work. Sleep wouldn’t come, despite the comfortable pre-Desolation mattress below him.
He glanced at the Brett Favre jersey, and his heart fell. He’d made such a mess of everything. They had a week-long journey back to Albion, and he planned on using the entire trip to make Myka see how sorry he was.
Drake shut the shelter door behind him, looking back once. Eventually, he would tell the Tolsten High Rulers about the place so that all the pre-Desolation artifacts could be taken to Tolsten House and preserved.
He made his way to camp. The sun was up and bright, and he wondered if anyone had gotten Myka out yet. Grady, Kase, and Portlend had already started a fire and were cooking breakfast. Portlend was in the middle of telling a story about Queen Emree from Enderlin. She was his favorite topic to talk about. How he had made the choice to let her go and put his career before love, but the fact that he kept talking about it ten years later made Drake think he held on to some feelings and regret.
“It’s the best decision I’ve ever made,” Portlend said, stirring the eggs. “Too many men change their plans for a woman. They lose sight of their goals and the person they need to become. Duty is more important than love. A man fulfilling his duty to his king and country is by far more satisfied than one chained to a woman.”
Grady raised his eyebrows like he couldn’t care less about this topic. Drake sat down, taking in Portlend’s words. That was the future he looked forward to. A life full of duty with no room for love. In ten years, he would be Portlend. He glanced over at the man. He was fit, in shape, clearly good at his job since he’d been chosen as Enderlin’s operative, but that was it. Portlend didn’t have anything else going for him. He talked about his duty and the love that he had let go of ten years ago.
The Stolen Princess: A YA Dystopian Romance (Desolation Book 3) Page 25
