Page 59 of Addicted
After what feels like a fucking age, I reach the door, resting against it for a moment, before stepping to the right, towards the cell I was first put in.
“Nightingale, you don't need to go down there. Stay in one of our rooms,” Jude says, his voice strained as he reaches out to grab me, then stops before he makes contact.
“It's where I belong, I'd forgotten for a time, but now I know.” My voice is hollow, just like my soul, and no one halts me as I move towards the cell, stepping inside, and shutting the door behind me.
I make it to the dirty mattress on the opposite side of the room before my knees buckle and I fall in a desperate heap. The sound of wailing fills the dark, dank space, and it takes a moment to register that it’s me making the noise of a wounded animal.
Giving over to the sobs, I let my agony flow through me as I think of my lost mom, my broken childhood, and the betrayal of the men that I know now I am irrevocably in love with.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“LOVE IS GONE - ACOUSTIC” BY SLANDER, DYLAN MATTHEW
JUDE
Four fucking days our Nightingale has been in the cell. Ninety-six fucking hours of absolute torture for the rest of us. She wouldn’t let Tarl help heal her and she’s barely eaten anything that I’ve put in front of her, no matter how much I plead or beg.
Aeron is a fucking mess, spending most of the time drunk, with a glass of his favorite whiskey dangling from almost lifeless fingers as he stares into the distance, lost in the past and what that has meant for his future without him even knowing it. Knox is high off fuck knows what, racing off on his bike without a goddamn helmet, no doubt haunted by what happened in the torture room. Tarl is also plagued by the ghosts of his actions in that room; pouring water over her face–over the cloth that my trembling hands laid over her mouth and nose–until she couldn’t breathe and helping me to hold her up while Knox beat the shit out of her. He may be known as the Inquisitor, but he’sa healer at heart, and it broke something inside of him to use his torture skills on our beautiful, broken bird.
I know that the image of drowning my beautiful Nightingale will feature in my nightmares for years, and I feel sick every time I look at the hands that held her while Knox hit her. The only relief from the black fog I feel is when my blade slices across my skin, leaving a sharp trail of pain and remorse behind. There are ninety-six in total, one for every hour that she’s been down there. It was hard to convince myself not to do one for every minute, but I knew that Tarl would kill me if he found out. He still might.
Dishing up a plate of pancakes, not giving a fuck that it’s closer to dinnertime than breakfast, I try to think of a cheery song while I work. It’s the same dish I made her that first morning, although unlike then, the Disney songs just won’t come to me. Another reason to convince her to come back to us.
Walking past the guys in the living room, all heads turn to me, matching looks of sorrow in their eyes, but no one says anything as I open the door to the basement, then walk down the stairs. The skin on my exposed chest tightens the closer I get to her cell, the frigid air beyond our control as it really is a room intended for people who won’t make it out alive, so why do they need to be kept comfortable?
“Good evening, Nightingale,” I greet as I stride into the room. My brows dip when I see her shivering on that filthy mattress, naked back to me and completely ignoring the brand-new mattress and bedding that I bought the very first night to try and help keep her warm. “I’ve bought your favorite; Jude’s special pancakes.”
A huff and something mumbled that sounds a lot like my name taken in vain is my only response, but I’m taking it as a win as it’s the first thing she’s said to me since she walked in here.And like a fucking lightbulb, inspiration strikes and my lips tug up into a grin.
Taking a deep breath, I begin to sing “I see the Light” fromTangledand it takes all my effort not to fist pump the air when she stills and then turns over. The sense of triumph quickly dies when I see her red-rimmed eyes and the skin on her slender arms and thighs a mottle of blue and purple bruises. Marks that we’re all responsible for.
Walking closer, still singing and holding the plate of pancakes, I sink down as she pushes up, tears making her blue eyes sparkle like the purest of diamonds. They drip down her cheeks, and I can’t help my free hand reaching over and brushing them away. She doesn’t flinch, and I can feel my eyes moisten at the knowledge that she’s not afraid of me. That I may not have lost her.
Coming to the end of the song, I present the plate, and she sniffles, catching the hand that wiped her tears away and nuzzling her cheek into my open palm.
“Disney has a song for every occasion, huh?” she says, her voice broken and rough sounding, and my chest tightens at the sound of her pain. I want to hear her voice like that when we’ve forced too many orgasms on her fragile body, not like this. Not when we’ve hurt her physically, and possibly her heart too.
“It’s what I’ve been saying for years, Nightingale, but no one ever listens to me,” I tell her softly, my mouth suddenly dry and my hands trembling. “Not until you.” A rush of lightness flows through me at the fact that she’s talking to me. It makes me feel as though I could fly like Peter fucking Pan.
“J–Jude—” she starts, and I don’t hold back, pulling her to me with the hand on her cheek and melding our lips together. She hesitates for just a beat, a fraction of a second, and then with a sob that I swallow greedily, she returns the kiss. Her arms wrap around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair and shepulls me closer. I almost drop her brinner, managing to hold it up as I fuse our lips together, my bare chest chilled as she presses her freezing, naked torso against me.
It’s like coming home after years spent in the cold. Like the moment you wake up after a nightmare to find sunlight pouring in the window, and realize that it was all just a bad dream.
“We’re so broken without you, Nightingale,” I whisper against her lips, unwilling to stop kissing her but needing to say the words. “We’re like lost boys, and you’re our Wendy Darling, our north fucking star, guiding us home.”
I can taste the salt of her sadness as the tears drip onto my lips, and I lap each one, vowing to never make her hurt again.
“Jude,” she moans, rubbing herself up against me in a bid to get closer. It’s really fucking hard not to push her back and sink into her body, but my brothers need her too. She anchors us in a way that no one else has before, not even June.
“I want to do nothing more than give you all the pleasure you deserve, Nightingale,” I tell her, reluctantly breaking our kiss. “But Aeron needs you, they all do. None of us have much choice in this life, broken bird. You should know that more than most.”
I watch as she takes in my words, fresh tears spilling over her pale cheeks even as she nods slowly.
“...Okay,” she whispers, a hint of the fire that made us all fall hard entering her stunning eyes. “But I want my pancakes first.”
LARK
After I demolish the admittedly fucking delicious pancakes, Jude leads me to what turns out to be a bathroom further up the basement corridor, complete with a shower and fluffy bathrobes and towels. I arch a brow, but he just laughs and swats my ass, avoiding any of my bruises as he turns the water on and encourages me to step into the glass cubicle.
