Page 19 of A Touch Of Death

The room grows silent until Nix loudly blurts, "What the fuck?!"

The anger in his voice startles me enough that I flinch in my seat, dropping the fork I’d held in one hand while my other arm shoots out and knocks the glass beside my plate off the countertop. The glass falls and shatters against the floor, shards scattering over the floor in crystalline fragments. In my panicked state, I jump off the bar stool, knocking it to the floor and catching my feet on the broken pieces of glass.

White noise begins to cloud my hearing, and my eyesight grows fuzzy with my sudden spurt of fear and anxiety - something I'm overly familiar with, yet still unable to stave off. With my heart racing and panic overcrowding my mind, I fall to the floor, cutting my hands while I do so. I look around wide-eyed, not seeing anything which sends me falling further into my frenzy. I shuffle backwards until my back meets a hard surface, and my brain explodes with all of the memories of every other time I'd been in this situation where terror overrode all of my senses. I’d cling to the bars of my cage, wishing and praying that it wasn’t real and that I wouldn’t feel pain that day. Visions fill my head of the guards jabbing tasers into my ribs while I cower into my bars, of them tearing me away from my cage only to strap me down to a gurney and continue prodding me with the electrical device. It's as though I've been thrown back into that hell place, and I'm forced to relive all of the torture they inflicted.

Just as my memories begin to repeat themselves, sounds begin to penetrate my ears. Male voices calling over one another. A velvety voice calling my name, luring me from my panicked state. A deep baritone muttering an apology over and over again. Another male's voice, calm and soothing, tries to tell the others to stop talking, or to quiet down, while another voice, closer than the others, talks directly to me.

"You're safe, sweetheart. You're okay. Come back to us, come back. No one will hurt you. We're here, we'll keep you safe." The more the voice quietly soothes me, the more aware of my surroundings I become. Sounds grow louder, and my vision finally begins to clear, leaving behind the horrors of my prison to be replaced by four concerned faces and a floor covered in broken glass. "There you go. You're alright, Novia. You're safe here, safe with us."

Spencer's voice coaxes me further away from my memories until I'm fully back in the present, staring wide-eyed at a set of hazel coloured eyes that border on a dark gold. My gaze darts to the others, noting the worry on their faces. Nix looks particularly distraught, his deep blue eyes pained.

My heartbeat begins to slow, and I look around the room, spotting the fragments of glass that coats the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't- I broke the- I'm sorry."

My voice sounds dry and croaky, even to my ears, and I clear my throat some more only to repeat my apology over and over. I can't take my eyes off the glass, the broken pieces that lie discarded on the floor.

The more I come back to my senses, embarrassment creeps in. I can't believe I just reacted like that. How ridiculous, that I just fell to the floor and glued myself to the wall, all because I was caught off guard. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Tears fill my eyes - annoying tears that I'm growing very sick of - but I don't take my eyes off the broken drinking glass. Leaning away from the wall and avoiding the looks of the four men that surround me, I begin to gather the shards with my bare hands, nicking my pale skin with sharp edges. "I'll clean it. I'm sorry, I'll clean it."

Warm hands grip my wrists to stop me from making anymore damage, and my water-filled eyes shoot up to meet Nix's tortured gaze. The look on his face breaks me more than anything, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. A choked cry escapes my lips, and the tears finally fall, scalding streaks running down my face. With a cracked voice, I whisper, "I'm sorry."

I'm suddenly pulled into the warmest embrace, thick arms banding around my body while I curl into a defined, muscled chest and cry. My tears soak Nix's shirt, but he doesn't seem to care. He holds me tight while I sob and cling to him like my life depends on him being right here with me.

A different hand joins in on soothing me, rubbing a warm palm up and down my spine with gentle movements. When I open my swollen eyes a fraction and tilt my head, I see it's Ezra who's offering me comfort, a sad frown in place. My eyes close again, and I sink into Nix, my body finally uncoiling from how tightly wound I'd kept it. The fingers I hadn't realised had tangled into Nix's shirt begin to loosen.

"Are you feeling better, sweetheart?" Spencer quietly asks from in front of where I'm tucked sideways into Nix's chest.

I give him the slightest nod, keeping my eyes closed because I really don't want to take the chance of seeing them look at me with pity, like I'm some broken thing they're stuck with and have to talk out of crazy episodes. I don't think I'll be able to handle that kind of look in any of their eyes.

Ezra's steady hand continues to glide over my back with soft motions, and I find myself relaxing more and more. With Nix's arms wrapped tightly around me, and Ezra offering me comfort through touch, something in my chest settles significantly.

A calloused hand carefully untangles my fingers from Nix's shirt and holds it securely in his. With great effort, I open my eyes and see Spencer sitting cross-legged in front of me, right in the shards.

"You're sitting in the glass." My voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears me just fine. He gives me a tiny smile and shakes his head.

"The glass won't bother me. We should get you cleaned up though so Zayn can come back into the room," he tells me. I give him a confused frown, which he understands and answers. "You've bled a lot because of the glass, more so when you tried to clear it with your hands. Zayn has perfected control over his basic instincts, but the smell was getting to him, so he excused himself as soon as Nix pulled you into his lap."

That makes me feel awful. If I didn't stupidly try to clean the glass with my damn hands, I wouldn't have bled so much. Idiot woman.

"Hey, now. None of that. I can see the guilt etched all over your face. It's not your fault, so don't think that for a second." His hand tightens around mine, warm and strong. Safe.

It's a difficult thing, not to think about feeling guilty when the feeling niggles at you, but I do my best. I also focus on my wounds, trying to will the cuts and slashes to heal faster, so Zayn doesn't have to deal with the smell. I can feel the sting of my injuries fading, and when I look down at my hands, I see the cuts knitting together until my skin is back to its flawless state, unmarked and unblemished.

"I'll clean the rest of this away," Spencer says, climbing to his feet. When he's standing, he holds a hand out, and a flare of gold light emanates from his palm. He makes a gesture with his hand, and, in a blink of an eye, all of the glass disappears. Not a single shard is left, leaving the floor as clear as it had been before. That makes me feel a whole lot stupider, seeing as though there really was no reason for me to try and clean up the mess. "I'll go let Zayn know the coast is clear."

Annoyed and embarrassed, I shove my face into the crook of Nix's neck, feeling his hold on me tighten. Ezra's hand comes to a stop on my lower back, and he leans in close, his crisp English accent easy to hear when he whispers, "Are you alright now, love?"

I offer him a small nod of my head, never moving away from Nix. Ezra leans closer still and surprises me with a tender kiss to my temple before he moves away, taking his comforting touch with him.

I don't know where the incubus disappears to, but it's suddenly just Nix and I in the room, still sitting on the floor, unwilling to part from one another. He rests his cheek on my head and gruffly whispers, "I'm so sorry, Novia."

His apology has me pulling my face from his skin, my eyebrows drawing in confusion. What on Earth does he have to apologise for? I search his eyes and only find deep pools of regret and guilt.

"Why are you apologising?" My voice is a little stronger than before, but there's still a hint of a rasp that bothers me. I clear my throat and say, "I smashed the glass and caused a scene, Nix. You have nothing to apologise for."

He shakes his head and says, "I'm the reason that happened. Zayn was in my head, and I didn't think before yelling. It's my fault. I sent you into-"

I place my hand over his mouth, my fingers pressing slightly into his full lips and cutting off whatever he was going to say. With more strength in my voice, I say, "You have nothing to apologise for."

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