The Heart's Ashes
Page 148
Mike’s hand fell away and he slumped onto the ground beside me. Everything seemed to stop moving then; Emily dropped to her knees and covered her mouth; Morgaine stood staring at nothing, and I cried. I cried until everything inside me tore out through my soul, the pieces of me that were once capable of feeling, left alone on the ground—never to exist again.
Mike snapped out of his wordless grief and looked at Morgaine. “Morg? Just—just—” Heavy sobs shook his shoulders. His head fell against mine, Emily’s against his, and we cried on the grass, out the front of the place I used to call home—home with David.
Morgaine flipped her phone and walked away, across the road, hugging her arm across her waist.
Exhausted, feeling worn and dead inside, I laid my head in Mike’s lap and let the sorrow give way to a numb, painless stare.
There’s nothing left.
“Come on.” Mike stood and picked me up.
“Mike?” Emily grabbed his arm. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he said with an eerie depth of fear and emptiness. “I just need to get her inside, Em.”
My strong saviour carried inside the gasping, sobbing heap that used to be his best friend. I let him take me—I wanted to run away, wanted to die, but I hadn’t the strength to even give up. There was no air; I couldn’t breathe anymore—nor did I see the point, but I just kept on breathing anyway.
“Mike? I’m worried. Why is she breathing like that?”
“I don’t know, okay. All I know is that Jason got a quarter of the way through that list. I don’t even know what was officially on the fucking list.”
“Give her to me.” She reached across and took me.
“Em.” I wrapped my arms around her neck. “Em, he hurt me so much.”
“I know, Ara. I’m so sorry.” As Emily walked through my bedroom, into my bathroom, someone else flicked on the light, and I came from the secure warmth of my friend’s arms, onto the cold, hard base of the shower tiles. “I’m just gonna put the water on, okay?”
Away from the safety of her embrace, I hugged my knees to my chest, gasping when the tap came on cold for a second before heat mingled with the icy sprinkle, melting the first layer of blood from my skin.
“Okay, lift your arms.” She leaned into the shower and pushed her sleeves up her elbows, then grabbed the base of my dress.
“Em. Just leave me.” I shoved her hand off. “Just make it dark and leave me by myself.”
“Come on, Ara,” she said, “you need to take this off, you look like the corpse bride.”
“No. Just leave me be, Em. I just want to die.”
“Ara, please. You’re emotional and worn—you’ve been through hell, just let me clean you up and give you some blood.”
“No. No blood.” I shook my head. “Never again.” Never. I don’t deserve to live. I took the one thing I ever wanted in this world and I killed it—for the bite, for the hunger, for the blood. Blood is a curse. I will never, never drink it again.
“Ara. Please. Just get this dress off at least. I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”
I tucked my hands into my chest and curled closer to the wall.
“Ur! You’re so stubborn, Ara.” She stormed off.
Steam filled the bottom of the shower and rose up in soft white clouds, spiked with a distant scent of strawberries from my shampoo, and worse, faded orange-chocolate. I folded my chest closer to my knees, wincing as the jagged wound down the centre tugged, separating with the movement.
“Ara, it’s me,” a soft voice said through the steam, a hand reaching toward me. “It’s Morgaine.”
I looked up; her cherry-red hair turned almost burgundy as she leaned right into the shower, saturating the side of her face.
“Just leave me be. Let me grieve.”
“Okay.” She sat on the tiled ledge of the shower and, with a sponge in hand, gently wiped some blood from my chin. “You know, David talked with me about you when he came to me. We spent a lot of time catching up on the past while we were waiting to rescue you.”
Rescue me?
“He told me that you have nightmares sometimes, about the Immortal Damned?”
I nodded. I never told David that.
“Well, if you be a good girl, get clean and drink some blood, I’ll tell you a way you can help them—maybe even free them.”
“How?”
Morgaine smiled. “Uh-uh, self first, okay? You need to drink blood, your face is swelling and I’m worried it might scar a little if you die from blood loss.”
“What do you mean die? I can’t die.”
“No, you don’t stay dead, but you can die initially, and when you do, you regenerate with scars.”
“Morg, don’t tell her that, she’ll freak out,” Emily said, landing beside the shower; I hadn’t noticed her in the room. “Ara, Morg’s stretching the truth there. You only get a scar from the injury which causes death.”
Morgaine shrugged and smiled. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, or we’ll have to get Mike in here to undress you. Do you want him to see how bad you’re hurt?” She tugged the base of my dress.
I lifted my arms and Morgaine pulled the tatty remains of the happiest day of my life over shoulders.
How did it all go so wrong? They planned to save me—talked history while they waited. How did it come to be that David ended up in Drake’s hands—to be tried, and killed?
I lifted my hips a little, as Morgaine hooked her thumbs into the sides of my underwear and slipped them down my legs. The warm water touched my limbs, washing away the blood and other impurities that lodged in my skin while I was being stored and tortured. I cupped my hands over my breasts, leaning my head on the hard tiles again.
“Your shampoo smells pretty,” Morgaine said, lathering it in from the tips, working it upward until her delicate fingers rubbed gentle circles around my scalp.
I closed my eyes as the soap dripped down the ridges beside my nose and the soft strawberry scent gave me a flash feeling of normality. Sound fizzled out but came rushing back quickly as Morgaine flooded my head and face with warm water, then wiped her hand down my eyes and cheeks—smoothing away the soap.
“You’re going to be all right, Amara,” she said softly.
Mike snapped out of his wordless grief and looked at Morgaine. “Morg? Just—just—” Heavy sobs shook his shoulders. His head fell against mine, Emily’s against his, and we cried on the grass, out the front of the place I used to call home—home with David.
Morgaine flipped her phone and walked away, across the road, hugging her arm across her waist.
Exhausted, feeling worn and dead inside, I laid my head in Mike’s lap and let the sorrow give way to a numb, painless stare.
There’s nothing left.
“Come on.” Mike stood and picked me up.
“Mike?” Emily grabbed his arm. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he said with an eerie depth of fear and emptiness. “I just need to get her inside, Em.”
My strong saviour carried inside the gasping, sobbing heap that used to be his best friend. I let him take me—I wanted to run away, wanted to die, but I hadn’t the strength to even give up. There was no air; I couldn’t breathe anymore—nor did I see the point, but I just kept on breathing anyway.
“Mike? I’m worried. Why is she breathing like that?”
“I don’t know, okay. All I know is that Jason got a quarter of the way through that list. I don’t even know what was officially on the fucking list.”
“Give her to me.” She reached across and took me.
“Em.” I wrapped my arms around her neck. “Em, he hurt me so much.”
“I know, Ara. I’m so sorry.” As Emily walked through my bedroom, into my bathroom, someone else flicked on the light, and I came from the secure warmth of my friend’s arms, onto the cold, hard base of the shower tiles. “I’m just gonna put the water on, okay?”
Away from the safety of her embrace, I hugged my knees to my chest, gasping when the tap came on cold for a second before heat mingled with the icy sprinkle, melting the first layer of blood from my skin.
“Okay, lift your arms.” She leaned into the shower and pushed her sleeves up her elbows, then grabbed the base of my dress.
“Em. Just leave me.” I shoved her hand off. “Just make it dark and leave me by myself.”
“Come on, Ara,” she said, “you need to take this off, you look like the corpse bride.”
“No. Just leave me be, Em. I just want to die.”
“Ara, please. You’re emotional and worn—you’ve been through hell, just let me clean you up and give you some blood.”
“No. No blood.” I shook my head. “Never again.” Never. I don’t deserve to live. I took the one thing I ever wanted in this world and I killed it—for the bite, for the hunger, for the blood. Blood is a curse. I will never, never drink it again.
“Ara. Please. Just get this dress off at least. I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”
I tucked my hands into my chest and curled closer to the wall.
“Ur! You’re so stubborn, Ara.” She stormed off.
Steam filled the bottom of the shower and rose up in soft white clouds, spiked with a distant scent of strawberries from my shampoo, and worse, faded orange-chocolate. I folded my chest closer to my knees, wincing as the jagged wound down the centre tugged, separating with the movement.
“Ara, it’s me,” a soft voice said through the steam, a hand reaching toward me. “It’s Morgaine.”
I looked up; her cherry-red hair turned almost burgundy as she leaned right into the shower, saturating the side of her face.
“Just leave me be. Let me grieve.”
“Okay.” She sat on the tiled ledge of the shower and, with a sponge in hand, gently wiped some blood from my chin. “You know, David talked with me about you when he came to me. We spent a lot of time catching up on the past while we were waiting to rescue you.”
Rescue me?
“He told me that you have nightmares sometimes, about the Immortal Damned?”
I nodded. I never told David that.
“Well, if you be a good girl, get clean and drink some blood, I’ll tell you a way you can help them—maybe even free them.”
“How?”
Morgaine smiled. “Uh-uh, self first, okay? You need to drink blood, your face is swelling and I’m worried it might scar a little if you die from blood loss.”
“What do you mean die? I can’t die.”
“No, you don’t stay dead, but you can die initially, and when you do, you regenerate with scars.”
“Morg, don’t tell her that, she’ll freak out,” Emily said, landing beside the shower; I hadn’t noticed her in the room. “Ara, Morg’s stretching the truth there. You only get a scar from the injury which causes death.”
Morgaine shrugged and smiled. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, or we’ll have to get Mike in here to undress you. Do you want him to see how bad you’re hurt?” She tugged the base of my dress.
I lifted my arms and Morgaine pulled the tatty remains of the happiest day of my life over shoulders.
How did it all go so wrong? They planned to save me—talked history while they waited. How did it come to be that David ended up in Drake’s hands—to be tried, and killed?
I lifted my hips a little, as Morgaine hooked her thumbs into the sides of my underwear and slipped them down my legs. The warm water touched my limbs, washing away the blood and other impurities that lodged in my skin while I was being stored and tortured. I cupped my hands over my breasts, leaning my head on the hard tiles again.
“Your shampoo smells pretty,” Morgaine said, lathering it in from the tips, working it upward until her delicate fingers rubbed gentle circles around my scalp.
I closed my eyes as the soap dripped down the ridges beside my nose and the soft strawberry scent gave me a flash feeling of normality. Sound fizzled out but came rushing back quickly as Morgaine flooded my head and face with warm water, then wiped her hand down my eyes and cheeks—smoothing away the soap.
“You’re going to be all right, Amara,” she said softly.
