Page 4 of Those That Are Lost
You deserve the guilt.
They push through, too insistent.
My lungs sputter with the change in temperature, having battered them in minus figures outside. My muscles are also crying out with the overuse. I’m going to need blood again tonight.
It's been a couple nights since that incident in the bar and I haven’t managed to lock down the stuff I don’t allow myself to think about. It’s like that one moment rusted my mental locks, making them flimsy, instead of fortified iron.
The pain he felt at the end must’ve been worse than what you’re feeling right now.
I swallow the thought, letting the pain settle in my heart.
Moving to my ensuite, I jump into the shower before the water has warmed up so I don’t have to acknowledge the tears already streaming down my face. I let the spray from the showerhead cascade over my face and down my body, trying to still my mind and to wash away the evidence that I’m breaking down.
He’s dead because of you.
I fight it harder but my rib cage gets tighter and I get that all over tingling feeling in my limbs. I try extra hard to control my breathing but it's like the oxygen in the room is depleting. I can’t get enough air. I turn the shower knob higher, hoping the room will fill with steam to ease the burning in my throat.
My traitorous body doesn’t listen as the first full sob breaks free of my chest, sending me crashing to the floor. Try as I might to ground myself, feeling for the cool tiles on the wall with my fingertips, or focusing on the now scalding water pounding on my back, I can’t shut it off.
It’s all your fault. You didn’t even try to save him, you just ran. If you’d left when he asked the first time, he’d still be here. You’re worthless.
I scream into my hands as I sink to the shower base, knees buckling.
You shouldn’t be here. You should’ve accepted Adicious’s bond to get him out, get him away.
I know.
He’d be fine living out here, not scrambling around without afuckingclue like you are.
I know.
I couldn’t even follow his last request to find his friend in West Scotia. After landing in the city, I had immediately gotten overwhelmed with the sheer number of people. I could scent all of their magic—the capital holding a denser population of purer Fae—and I panicked. I’d jumped straightonto another boat. I hadn’t known where it was headed until it was ready to depart and the announcer called the main port Island of the Northern Isles, Cartania, as our destination.
No, you are a fucking coward. You couldn’t face his friend and tell him you were the reason he was dead.The voice in my head snarls.
I push my palms over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to block the noise. Of course, it doesn’t work because it's coming from within my own mind.
I sob until my body tires itself out and I can lift my head to take a slow deep breath. It's like the aftermath of a violent storm. I’m battered and bruised but my head goes quiet, my muscles relax. The sound and feel of the shower come back to me gently. Eventually I’m able to stand. I quickly wash my body and hair before shutting off the water and stepping out into the steam filled room.
With a towel wrapped around my body, I stand on the fluffy bath mat for a long while, not feeling and not thinking. Just existing.
A ringing sound snaps me into movement. Shit, that's my alarm clock, reminding me my shift starts in half an hour. I dart out the ensuite and press the off button to silence the noise. I’m going to be late if I don't hurry.
I opt for braiding my wet hair as blow drying will turn it into a frizzy mess. I quickly slip on a cute black form fitting dress, add a bold black wing of eyeliner to my lids, and place a couple of chains around my neck. I pause for a moment, feeling bereft of my father’s wedding ring that I used to keep on a necklace. I fiddle with the daintier chain I picked up a couple of weeks ago before snapping into action.
Pulling on my boots and outdoor gear, I’m out the door and down the stairs to the ground level. The bar isn’t far but it’s freezing out now and I shiver as the cold hits my wet hair and instantly chills me.
I half jog down the street and take the front entrance into the bar instead of walking round the building to the staff entrance. Waving to Erikson and Delila, I duck behind the bar latch and into the back where I can remove my thick waterproofs. As I hang them in the storage cupboard designated for our things, I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the door. You wouldn’t know I was a broken mess twenty minutes ago. The glamour I touched up before leaving the flat hides the redness in my eyes and the tired bags underneath them. As well as the rest of me. It’s a stranger staring back.
Taking a deep breath in, I animate my features. Rolling my shoulders, I finish constructing my mask, cementing it in place.
I can’t wait for the crowd in the bar to pick up. I like when it's busy, it gives me something else to focus on and the voices go quiet.
Broken sleep. Running myself to exhaustion. Work to feel normal. Repeat.
My days start to blend together.
CHAPTER 5
