Reactive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 1) Page 16

  This moment might forever break us apart and I internally wailed. I didn’t want it to end like this. I didn’t want it to end at all.

  But, inch by inch, I exposed the only evidence I possessed of our entwined pasts. Inch by inch, I watched Bren’s crestfallen face grow more and more bleak, until his chest heaved and his eyes filled with unshed tears. When the bear tooth dangled between us, a shudder racked his large frame. “You . . . you knew? This whole time?”

  I couldn’t respond—my throat was closed. So, I simply nodded.

  The choking noise he made was awful. Raw. An open wound. He fisted his hair, wrenching his head back. “Oh, God, why? Why her?” Abruptly, he whirled and punched the wall. I flinched at the sound of bone smacking cement. Then, with a guttural cry, he did it again. When he drew back, flecks of crimson spotted the wall. He dropped, knees slapping the hard floor; a haunted groan tore from him. He buried his face in his hands as his shoulders shook.

  In that moment, I knew we felt the same thing. Shame. Guilt. Self-loathing. I couldn’t stop myself from feeling responsible for his current agony. I had wanted to inflict pain on him for so many years, but now . . . now I just wanted the pain to stop.

  There had been enough pain. I wanted us to heal.

  His words were muffled, spoken behind bleeding knuckles. “How can you—how can you even stand the sight of me?” He didn’t lie, didn’t offer excuses or platitudes. There was only misery. So, I found myself opening up in return. His anguish called to mine and I rose to meet it, wishing to wrap our pain in a balm of peace. The suffering had to end before it buried us alive.

  “I couldn’t, at first.” My voice cracked, but that didn’t stop me. “I only saw the past you and what you had done to me. I was hurt and angry. So, so angry.” I hiccupped, dispelling a piece of the pain. “But the you I see before me isn’t the past you. You came in here and helped me, and you helped others when no one else would. You show me day after day that you care despite the way I’ve treated you in return. I thought you betrayed me again, and I was so . . . so . . . But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stay mad at you, because you’re so . . .”

  My eyes burned anew and I scrunched my nose to ward off an onslaught of fresh tears. “Stars, this is hard.” I dug my fingers into my hair, then knelt in front of him. The cement was splotched next to his knees. Tears. “I just . . . I want you to be real. I’ve been lied to my whole miserable life, and—” A breath heaved out of me. I sounded like a wounded animal. “You didn’t report me to Renold?”

  “I swear, I didn’t,” he rasped. “I would never.” His head hung low, defeated. He didn’t offer further explanation, but I didn’t need it. Not right now, anyway. I needed . . .

  I placed a trembling finger under his chin, and he slowly, almost painfully, met my gaze. My lips quivered at the dullness in his eyes, normally so vibrant. I still haunted him. What I planned to ask him next was another reckless gamble. But he was right. Trust was about taking that first scary step and hoping you didn’t fall.

  And so, I said, with a touch of steel in my voice, “Please tell me you’re real and not a lie, Brendan Bearon.”

  Twin tears glistened in his red swollen eyes. And fell. In the next beat, he was moving. He locked my knees between his and crushed me to him. His whole body trembled against mine. Desperately, I twined my arms around him in return, fusing us together. He pressed his face into the crook of my neck and inhaled.

  Every molecule inside of me became hyper-aware of him. And this time, they reached for him and begged not to be separated.

  I filled my nose with his scent, memorizing it. In this moment, my mind decided on a truth: I was safe with him, here in his arms. Despite everything. It didn’t make sense and yet it made all the sense in the world.

  “I’m real,” he murmured against my skin. “I’m right here.”

  Something.

  I needed to ask Bren something, but I couldn’t remember what.

  It was important, I knew that much. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed.

  Bed.

  I should be in bed.

  But I was floating. My arms and legs couldn’t move, though. They were frozen. A chill sunk deep inside my bones and I became aware of a repetitive clacking noise. I focused on the sound. It was my teeth.

  “Hurry, I think she’s waking up!”

  Scuffing, cursing, jostling. My body dipped, then resumed floating. The strange motion and noises snapped me back to reality. I cracked my eyes open and saw a large shape bob in sync with my body. Squinting, I tried making out the face, but it was too far away—or too dark.

  I flexed my arms and legs, wishing to be free of the odd constraints.

  The shadow-face jerked my way. It cursed. “She’s awake. Get her in the water now!”

  My brain sluggishly clicked to life. Water?

  Splashing surrounded me, then my limbs were set free. I fell. Being fully submerged into freezing liquid was not what I had been expecting, so when my lungs seized from the icy impact, I sucked inward. Water speared down my throat like icicles. It was so cold, it burned. The sensation kick-started my survival instincts and I clawed toward the surface.

  But something held me down.

  Stark fear flooded me; I thrashed like a rabid beast. My hands struck something solid and I latched onto it, tearing at what felt like sinewy human muscle. It wouldn’t budge. My lungs were now on fire and they cried for air, convulsing once, twice. Eyes wide open, I aimed my legs for the undulating shadow and clamped them around what felt like a torso.

  My waterlogged body dragged the shadow under the water with me and I quickly twisted free, shooting toward the surface. Frigid air blasted my face and I gulped it down, immediately racked with hacking coughs as my lungs dispelled river water.

  I knew where I was now and what was happening. The how and why, though, would have to wait. An arm snaked around my neck from behind. My sharp elbow found a home in an unsuspecting ribcage. The would-be murderer grunted and loosened his hold. I could hear that he was male and feel that he was physically stronger than me.

  But apparently, he wasn’t smarter.

  My head whipped back, striking true. A gratifying crunch and muffled yell was all I needed to hear. I shimmied out of the slackened hold and scrambled for the riverbank, slower than I should be. My body was already shutting down, preserving what precious little heat it had left.

  And so, I couldn’t outrun what happened next. My gut didn’t even warn me. One second I was reacting and the next, a frozen statue. Then pain registered. First a spark, then a blaze, so fierce that every nerve locked in place, unable to compute the level of agony.

  My pain threshold had been reached and I was tipping over to the other side, literally. Down, down, down I went until water embraced me yet again.

  My grave.

  I was floating, this time just my legs.

  At least, I thought they were floating. I couldn’t feel them.

  I couldn’t feel anything, really. If I was dying or dead, it wasn’t so bad. It was sort of . . . peaceful.

  My eyes rubbed against their lids and I worked on prying them open. They were gritty, heavy. It was like lifting a seventy-pound sack of grain. Everything was blurry when they finally opened. And gray—a dreary, colorless shade. I blinked lethargically, trying to sharpen my vision. After a moment, I realized the sky was misting, hence the hazy view.

  I was shrouded in a deep fog, completely confused as to how I ended up in it. Was I really dead? Was this . . . Heaven?

  With a monumental effort, I raised my head to get a better look. The small movement sent spikes of pain into my left shoulder blade, and a pathetic whimper puffed past my lips. The peace was gone now, in its place worry. I wasn’t in Heaven. More like hell on Earth.

  Memories crashed into me and I fought for calm. Someone, or several someones, tried to murder me. They had almost succeeded too. I should be dead. But here I was and, with growing panic, I realized where here was: the
riverbank. Half of my body still lay in the water, which explained why I couldn’t feel my legs.

  Stay calm, I commanded myself. Slow, shallow breaths. In, out, in, out. That’s it.

  I studied my murky surroundings, not recognizing this part of the city. How far had I drifted downriver? I strained to hear—held my breath as I listened for signs of civilization. Only the river’s gurgle reached my ears. Wait . . . I picked up another sound. There! It was like a zap, or a zing, or a—

  “No,” I whispered, crestfallen. It was an electric buzz.

  I was at Tatum City’s outer wall.

  A weak groan rolled up my throat. This part of the city lay untouched, miles away from help. I was alone. No one would find me out here. I knew my body wanted to cry in frustration, so I lifted my head higher, creating the perfect distraction. A terrible ache pulsed in my back and, before I could chicken out, I inched shaking fingers toward the source.

  I hissed as my half-numb arm continued its slow journey. I was so weak, like a newborn. Eventually, the pads of my fingers bumped up against cold steel and I gasped, more from shock than pain.

  I’d been stabbed.

  The blade was still embedded in tissue and muscle. Bile raced up my throat. Acid covered the roof of my mouth. I clamped down on my tongue and rode the waves of nausea, refusing to vomit. The violent action would render me unconscious.

  I diverted my attention by focusing on my predicament. First things first. I needed to get out of this water. The cold temperature was slowly killing me. My mind drifted, thinking about how far I’d have to travel if I wanted to see another sunrise. My chest constricted. Panic overcame common sense as realization hit me. I was doomed. I could barely pick up my head let alone tell my body where to go.

  Mortality was a noose around my neck. It squeezed, tighter and tighter, waiting for me to surrender my sorry excuse of a life. And for a heart-stopping minute, I contemplated just that.

  “No,” I whispered again, fiercely this time. I would not give up so easily. I faced death every day and conquered it. A little stab wound wasn’t going to take me down.

  I redirected my thoughts to getting out of the water. My fingers curled into hardened clay and crafted an anchor. Arms trembling like a day-old foal, I pulled myself forward. The knife shifted and a guttural groan left me. But I didn’t stop. One hand over the other, I crawl-dragged my body fully onto dry land.

  And then I collapsed, stiff grass stalks poking into my face. I rested, one beat, then two. But I couldn’t remain still. My body desperately needed warmth. Without permission, my brain conjured an image of Bren holding me close and I almost broke down in hysterics. I needed Bren. That’s what I needed. He would help me. He would warm me. He would fix me.

  He became my motivation.

  Bend your knee. Good. You’re one step closer to Bren. Bend the other. Good. You’re two feet closer to Bren.

  But getting to my feet was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. A strangled sob left me, then another as my legs shook so hard I almost fell back to the ground. I widened my stance and waited for the tremors to lessen. Slowly but surely, my legs warmed, and with the warmth came the sensation of a thousand needles. They stabbed my skin and muscles, even my bones.

  Tears dripped off my chin. But I was standing. And my legs were beginning to function. Finally, I allowed myself to hope. Maybe I would make it after all.

  As I took that first stumbling step, I knew three things for certain: I would bleed out if I removed the knife, I needed to follow the river, and I was in trouble. I couldn’t walk a straight line and worried that I’d fall in the river again. If I did, it was game over. I didn’t have the strength to pull myself out a second time. And so, against my better judgement, I veered right, away from the water’s edge.

  Several agonizing minutes passed—each one feeling more like an hour. Either the fog was growing thicker or the night was becoming darker because it was getting harder and harder to see. But no, that couldn’t be right. It should be closer to day than night by now. In fact, I heard the faraway chirp of a bird. Sunrise was approaching at last.

  Yet black dots wouldn’t stop following me. They winked and danced until I felt dizzy. I swayed farther to the right and barely caught myself on a tree. The incessant throbbing in my shoulder wasn’t my main focus anymore. Now the real possibility of fainting had my heart fluttering with nerves. I could be lost out here for days, succumbing to hypothermia or blood loss. No one would find me this deep in the woods.

  I dug my fingernails into the rough tree bark. I was such an idiot. I’d lost sight of the river.

  My weary eyes drifted shut.

  “No!” I grunted, forcing them open. Falling asleep could be just as deadly as fainting. I had to stay awake at all costs.

  Bend your knee. Good. One step closer to Bren. Now, find the river or you’ll never see him again.

  That got me going. As I trudged along at a snail’s pace, my thoughts strayed to others I would miss—Asher, Iris, Freedom. I had to see them again. I just had to. Eventually, the sound of softly rushing water led me back to the river and I released a sigh.

  But, as I stood at the bank on unsteady feet, a sickening truth arose.

  My journey had just begun.

  My soiled sock-clad feet tripped and stumbled over another root, and I stubbed my toes. I didn’t feel the pain. Everything was numb, except for the burgeoning fire in my shoulder. With each step, the torment intensified until I wheezed in every breath.

  Clumps of limp hair swayed around my face as my head hung low, so I didn’t see the felled tree. I plowed into it and almost pitched over the other side. My body lurched awake in blinding agony, but I could only manage a slight grunt, then collapsed on top of the tree trunk. I sat, hunched, with forearms braced on knees.

  I just needed a minute.

  Then I would continue.

  A shrill scream echoed in my ears.

  I jerked my eyes open and frantically searched for the source. The world was on its side and I frowned, baffled. A full minute passed before my brain sluggishly registered the cry as my own, my throat raw from the force of it. I was now on my side, next to the tree. I must have fallen off and agitated my wound. Carefully, I reached back and felt for the knife. Still there.

  My arm fell and I rested my cheek against dying leaves, their pungent, decaying aroma thick in my nose. I realized I was like a leaf. First a fledgling bud, blossoming into a vibrant, healthy shoot. With maturity, I had survived battering winds, rains, and hail. Through it all, my spine held true. Finally reaching my apex, I, like a tired leaf, broke free of my mooring and tumbled to the ground. There I wilted, until the earth embraced me with open arms.

  Reduced to dirt.

  I was fading fast, disintegrating like a leaf. It was as if the earth held its breath, waiting, waiting . . .

  The leaves around me rustled, accepting me as one of them, and I smiled faintly. My eyes slipped closed for the final time and I reached invisible fingers toward the comforting threads of peace.

  “Lune!”

  My throat constricted; the peace evaporated. A tear squeezed past my lid and trailed the bridge of my nose before landing with a soft plink onto a leaf. My mind wouldn’t cooperate. It clung to thoughts of Bren. I could hear his voice as if he were here with me.

  “Lune!” The leaves sighed and scattered, giving me up as an apparition with Bren’s voice dropped next to me. “Oh, God, don’t let her be dead,” the apparition croaked. The ghost had warm fingers; they pressed into my neck. A gusty sigh burst across my cheek, the heat of it mildly surprising. “Thank the heavens. Hold on, little bird, hold on.”

  As solid arms slid under my body, I became unhinged, not knowing dreams from reality. It was too much. The world and apparition disappeared.

  “…it has to come out.”

  I awoke to fire licking my bones.

  A scream burned its way past my windpipe. I thrashed around, desperately seeking escape from the white-hot pain, b
ut my body was tightly bound. I writhed and shook with ice cold fear. Heavy pressure was applied to the stab wound site and I groaned loudly. Someone was finishing the job. I was being murdered.

  “I’m so sorry, little bird. It couldn’t wait any longer. The wound needs to be cleaned and stitched before you lose any more blood.”

  I stopped thrashing.

  The familiar voice was a balm, easing the weight of my fear, though my body still trembled with cold and fatigue. I cracked open swollen eyes and drank in his strong features. He looked like an angel. Maybe I was dead after all and Bren had carried me to Heaven.

  He thrust a cup into my line of sight. “Try to drink it all. You’ll need it.”

  It took several tries to dislodge an arm from the blanket wrapped around me, but I managed, lifting the cup to my nose with weak fingers. The aroma of dirt and bark wafted up my nostrils and I cringed. I changed my mind—Bren wasn’t an angel. No angel would force their charge to drink stinky tree bark tea. My lips puckered as I choked down the repulsive liquid.

  When I finished, he took the cup from me and I rested my cheek on the bed again, bone weary. He renewed pressure on the wound and I bit off a whimper. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Went looking for you,” I mumbled. His hand twitched on my back and I rephrased. “Sleepwalked. Got stabbed.”

  A low growl rumbled through the room and I stiffened. Abruptly, the growl cut off and Bren shifted on the bed, his thigh brushing against my hip bone. My muscles unwound as warmth seeped through the blanket and into my chilled skin. He was warmer than any blanket.

  “I’ll find whoever did this to you, Lune. I’ll find them and make them pay—”

  “No,” I interrupted weakly. “Don’t.” He didn’t understand how things worked in this city. Whoever had tried to kill me no doubt had allies. We were highly outnumbered, and I knew Renold wouldn’t step in. He had taught me to stand on my own, to never show weakness. The more Bren helped me, the harder it would be to face the Trials. “Just . . . don’t.”