Page 3 of Nyx
Starvation is a special sort of pain.
I tear my eyes from my nakedness to Ronan’s back facing me, his arms crossed as he waits. Worrying about something as trivial as skin seems so silly. Modesty wasn’t an option in Ljómur. When you wore holes in your clothes, or they were too filthy to wear anymore, you did without until someone thought to bring you more.Bathing and relieving yourself, eating and sleeping were done under the watchful eyes of others.
I existed only to be observed. Even when the medics didn’t pull me for more tests, or the scientists didn’t need me for another experiment, my life was spent in an eight-by-six cell. No solid door to hide behind. No privacy.
A toy in a glass display.
My body has never been my own, merely a tool for others to wield as they see fit. It’s foreign to give it a second thought, or that someone might view it as more than athing.
Sun-warmed fabric heats my hand as I grab my shorts off a nearby rock. “You came to my bath,” I argue as I slide them over my legs. “You are the pervert.”
Another shocked, barking laugh leaves him as he glances back at me to see my lower half covered. “Who taught you that word?” he demands.
I shrug as I pull on my shirt, unwilling to give up my source.
“It has to be Cameron or Elas,” he says, hiking his brow and waiting expectantly.
“You want me to speech English, yes?” I argue. “This means all the words.”
“SpeakEnglish,” he corrects, and I narrow my eyes again. “Yes, I want you to speak English because it will help you learn, but I also want to know who’s teaching you the colorful language.”
My brows pinch in the middle of my forehead. “Colorful? You teach me the colors.”
He makes that same frustrated scoff as he shakes his head. “No, the bad words.”
“Words are bad?”
“Yes, some are bad, likepervert.They’re rude, and saved for adult conversations.”
“I am not a child,” I argue as a rush of frustration mounts inside me. “You treat me that way. Always.” A familiar expression crosses his face—the soft one that tells me whatever he says next will be gentle because he’s afraid I’ll break.
Doesn’t he know I’m already broken?
A full month has passed since Elas and August returned from Ljómur, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to listen to their story. As they drove off, I was so sure I had sealed their fate. Encouraged them to go where no one should ever step foot, and to risk their lives inside the place that stole everything from me.
I was so terrified that I fled into the forest. For two days, I hid in the shadows, tucked away where I didn’t have to face what I’d done. Berries grew on a bush nearby, but eventually, they weren’t enough. The cramps in my stomach got worse until I could no longer ignore them.
A lifetime of hunger means I don’t always notice its insistent anger. When we first arrived, days would pass without me eating anything, simply because I forgot it was an option. The others stay on top of it and make sure I’m looking after myself, overbearing as they might be sometimes.
They care.
I know they care.
I just don’t know how to handle their concern.
Memories of family and laughter, of being loved, are so very far away. They’re random flashes of light and color,muted feelings that have mostly been lost to time. I often wonder if I’m the only one of my kind on this side of the veil. We were peaceful and stayed out of the politics and military happenings. No one else would’ve crossed.
Would opening the rifts and going home do anything to fill this emptiness inside me? Find my people, return to my roots?
Or is that, too, something time has erased?
“Nyx?” Ronan asks with more force, and I wonder how many times he’s said my name.
“We can work in the outside today?” The idea of being trapped within closed walls is suddenly too much to handle. Too familiar.
“Yeah, we can do that,” he says quietly. “Is there anywhere specific you want to sit?”
My gaze drifts through the maze of trunks towards the grassy knoll beyond the garden. When this village was built, the trees were cleared for the solar panels, and the sun shines happily into the clearing. We work there often, and as I gesture in that direction, Ronan nods his understanding.
