Page 22 of Cerulean Truth
There was no doubt she had done this with uncontrollable translation, why else would she have called me? Plus I didn’t take her for the homicidal type, which meant her stubbornness had already, not even half a day after our fucking warnings, brought about the only possible outcome—death and destruction.
I wanted to scream at her, strangle her, I wanted to punish her for disobeying and ignoring perfectly sane advice. It coursed through my veins, every muscle, every nerve, even my taste buds were tingling with rage. I had to hold myself back from slamming my fist into a bloody wall.
Godsdammit, it’d been years since I had to work so hard just to keep a lid on my temper.
But when she looked up at me, through those long eyelashes, with tearstained cheeks, a trembling bottom lip, and scared eyes full of pain and remorse, all my anger, all that rage simply vanished, like a sinister shadow retreating into the abyss.
There wasn’t a shred left of the insufferable person I had met a few hours earlier and the sight of her, so helplessly trying not to cry, after her show and display of ego that same morning, it was more than I could bear.
She looked so frail, so vulnerable. And her being vulnerable, clearly leaning on me, calling on me, trusting me to fix it all… Somehow that image struck me right into my core.
And instead of anger or rage, all I was left with, was an overwhelming urge to protect. I knew right then and there something was shifting inside of me. It felt as if me being the person she could lean on, was everything I ever wanted to be. As if my entire reason for being had been redirected, and my only goal in life existed from then on in protecting her.
But before I could even really contemplate this new development, I realized there was still a horrible situation at hand, which I had to fix. Now.
“Emma, what happened here?” I asked in softer tones, while approaching the guy on the floor.
“I don’t think he’s dead,” she whimpered, “but I can’t wake him up.” She started crying.
“Stop that,” I commanded her harshly. I felt his pulse and was relieved to find there still was one. While Emma closed her eyes and tried to compose herself, I checked the guy for breath sounds.
“He is alive,” I declared, and we both sighed in relief. I looked around the room, trying to find something that would somehow stabilize him as I couldn’t use translation without the Council finding out, after which they’d probably lock Emma up forever. Somehow keeping her safe had turned out a lot more important than saving this guy’s life. I might have had some prioritizing issues.
“We have to keep pressure on the wounds to keep him from bleeding out,” I mumbled more to myself than to her, but oncloser examination, I noticed the wounds had already stopped bleeding. It looked as if the guy was…stable.
My eyebrows pinched, how the hell was that possible? There was more blood on the walls than left in this man’s body. He should’ve been dead, but here he was, breathing and with a regular heartbeat. There was no logical reason for it but I could only conclude that, despite the scene of terror, the guy on the floor was going to be okay.
Redirecting my attention to Emma as she got to her feet, I saw her fingers softly touching the back of her head, as if she was checking for an injury. A rush of concern shot through my mind. Was she hurt?
"Are you all right?" I asked, my voice laced with urgency, moving swiftly to her side, and instantly forgetting about the guy. I raised my hand, silently seeking her consent to touch her wound.
She nodded, and I quickly shifted a few strands of her hair to reveal a nasty bump at the back of her head.
I frowned, wondering how the hell she got a bump back there. I glanced at the wall behind her and spotted a bloody mark at about the same height. Godsdamn, her translation must’ve backfired with quite some force for her to have flown into a wall. Fucking stubborn woman. I was even more pissed she’d hurt herself.
Well aware of the fact there wasn't much I could do about it without proper Healer's training, I repeated my question, more to reassure myself than her. "Emma, are you okay?"
"I'm..." she began, but her voice was quaking so badly, I couldn't quite make out what she was saying. She took a deep breath and silently mouthed, "I'm okay."
Even then and there, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. Despite the blood, I could still pick up the subtle scent of the heavenly perfume she had on. How the hell had I missed thatdivine smell earlier that morning? Gradually, the room we were in began to morph in my mind, turning into my bedroom, with solely her and me there... I snapped back to reality, realizing how messed up my train of thought was in the midst of all that blood. I shook my head slightly and turned away from her.
My focus shifted back to the guy and I realized she still hadn’t answered my question.
“How the fuck did this happen?” I asked forcefully. “I thought you said you only translated when your life was in danger?”
In some twisted corner of my mind, it seemed like a brilliant idea to ask her that directly, just so I could hit her with an "I told you so." But against all my expectations, she didn't deny being in danger. In fact, she didn't say a damn thing to suggest she was wrong about it at all.
Instead, she simply nodded and shot me a look. Was it shame? Or fear? I couldn't quite make out. She was still not uttering a word but a single tear rolled down her cheek. I had to actively keep myself from comforting her, I needed answers first.
Scanning the room, I tried to piece together what the actual fuck had transpired. Emma had ceased crying, but she kept feeling the back of her head. And we were in the ladies' room...of a bar...with a guy bleeding out and a girl who could only project when she was fearing for her life. There was but one reason she'd think she was in danger with a guy in a ladies' room...
I took a step closer, now standing two feet away from her, my eyes raking frantically over her from head to toe. It was only then I noticed her shirt torn at the side. Ripped clothes and a bloody lump on the back of her head.
My mind went dark.
“What. The Fuck. Did he do?” I asked slowly in a voice I didn’t recognize as my own.
“He tried to…” she started, tearing up again.
