9. Broken
She woke up screaming.
Pain—burning, searing pain. Her skin was burning, her whole body was on fire. She screamed again and again—her muscles were contracting with vicious, tearing force, releasing, and contracting again in a random, unpredictable order. She writhed, twisted her head back and forth, expecting to see flames, something that was causing this agony, something she could flee from, but there was nothing—only her dark, empty bedroom. Sarah screamed again, dimly realizing that she was gripping the sheets so tightly it felt like bones in her fingers were going to crack.
It went on for what felt like hours—then, as suddenly as it began, whatever it was that had its grip on her released her, and she fell back against her bed, her whole body throbbing, and sobbed into sheets that were already soaked through with sweat.
She smelled something then—the harsh, chemical smell of plastic burning. Wildly she looked around, reaching out for her phone on the bedside table. Her arm was shaking so violently that she almost dropped it. With difficulty, she managed to unlock it and turn on the flashlight app. She panned the wobbly beam of light around her bedroom: there were the clothes she'd worn the day before, on the floor near the door where she'd stepped out of them, her apron and hoodie hanging from the rack on the back of the door, her dresser, covered with the tangled pile of jewelry, loose change, and odds and ends she pulled from her pockets at the end of the day. The papers she'd hung haphazardly from the walls created strange shadows underneath as the light passed over them. No sign of anything burning. The thought occurred to her that something might be burning elsewhere in the apartment, but the smell was sharp and clear—she thought it was probably nearby.
Her muscles clenched suddenly, making her body curl in on itself—her fingers twisted, and she dropped the phone. It bounced off the edge of her bed and landed on the floor.
"No, no, no!" she cried. Adrenaline shot through her veins, and she couldn't seem to catch her breath, it was coming so fast and shallow. She wrapped her arms around chest, trying to ward off the spasm, but her muscles clenched tighter and tighter, and she fell over on her side, wailing as she lost control of her body again.
Then she saw it—in a quick flash as a spasm wrenched her neck so far back she thought it would break, above her bed, illuminated by her phone's flashlight from where it lay on the ground.
Above her bed, tendrils of smoke were curling from the center of the web of the dreamcatcher, and the web itself was slowly turning brown.
Immediately Sarah understood what she had to do—but then pain had her in its grip again and her head was jerked from side to side, and she couldn't look anymore, couldn't do anything, couldn't even think—her body was tearing itself apart and all she could do was scream.
When it finally passed, leaving her limp and gasping for air, she crawled weakly towards the head of her bed, using the bedposts to pull herself forward and up far enough until she could reach up, her whole upper body shaking with the effort, and try to pull the dreamcatcher down from where it hung.
Her first two attempts failed—her arms and fingers would not entirely obey her, and at first they flopped uselessly against the wall far below her target. Finally, on her third try, as Sarah gritted her teeth and, blinking back tears of pain and frustration, she managed to grab a hold of one of the leather thongs and yank. The thumbtack popped out of the wall and the dreamcatcher fell through her clumsily grasping fingers, bouncing first off her forehead and then off the edge of the bed, falling to the floor.
Sarah screamed in frustration and heaved her body towards the end of her bed. She flopped over the side and onto the floor, landing hard on her shoulder with a loud groan. Scrambling onto her hands and knees as quickly as she could, she found the dreamcatcher and clutched at it with shaking hands. The center of the web had gone from brown to black, and, as she watched, a small flame erupted from the very center, flickered, and began to spread along the lengths of string.
She could feel the tension building in her muscles again. Ignoring the flame, Sarah dug her fingers into the web, shredding the now weakened and brittle cords, ignoring the hot, melted pieces of polyester that burned and stuck to her hands as she clawed it apart. As the strings gave way under her fingers, she felt something pop in the air around her, and some kind of pressure that she hadn't even realized had been building was released, like a rubber band final pushing through the balloon, and almost immediately her hands were glowing and becoming translucent, much faster than they ever had before, and she began to fade away just as another spasm caught her in its grip and she opened her mouth to scream.
No gentle awakening this time—she was transported to the Underground almost instantly, still screaming, and her body thudded against the hard stone floor next to the Goblin King's bed with bruising force.
"Sarah!"
She managed to craned her head towards the source of the shout, and saw the Goblin King springing up from a chair by the fire, the book he had been reading falling from his lap to the ground.
She could not reply-she could only grit her teeth as every muscle in her body to iron. A high-pitched whine escaped her lips and her head was yanked back, knocking it back against the hard floor.
He was running to her side. "Sarah!" She could see him kneeling beside her though a red haze of pain, his voice high and panicked. "Sarah, what did you do?!"
She could only continue to scream. As she writhed against the unforgiving stones, she was aware of the Goblin King running to the door, of shouting, hastily given orders. Finally, as the spasm passed and her body relaxed again, slowly, leaving her twitching and gasping, he was beside her again, and she saw his face loom over at hers, his stricken expression scaring her more than the pain.
"Am I dying?" she panted weakly.
He frowned darkly and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger .
"You tried to break the bargain," he sternly, his eyes troubled.
She tried to shake her head, but only managed a slight twitch. "No!"
"Don't lie to me," he said sharply, gripping her chin hard enough to bruise the bone, making her whimper as she tried, unsuccessfully, to twist away. "Especially in your present condition. That would be very unwise."
"I'm not lying," she gasped.
"You have obviously tried to thwart the terms of our agreement," he said, his voice tight. "Otherwise this would not be happening."
"I didn't!"
"You did." He bent lower, bringing his face closer to hers, his eyes narrowed in anger and—could that be fear? "And if you want to live, you'll tell me what it was."
She couldn't stand lying there on the ground like that, looking up at him. She tried to roll onto her side so that she could raise herself, sit up, but pain shot through the muscles of her stomach and arms and they refused to obey her and she flopped uselessly onto her back again.
"I didn't," she wailed. "I didn't do anything!"
"Damn it Sarah, you must have done something. Think!"
"I…" She thought of the dreamcatcher then, how she had known as soon as she saw it that she had to destroy it. "I might have done something by accident."
He raised his eyebrows, clearly not expecting that response, and released her.
"A…friend gave me something to put over my bed. She said it helped with bad dreams."
"A charm of some kind?"
"Yeah, I guess. I didn't think it would work."
"Your friend gave you a charm to protect you while you slept," he said slowly, as though it was difficult for him to understand such utter stupidity, "And you used it because you thought it would not work?"
"Those things usually don't," she said helplessly. Her muscles were clenching again—another spasm was coming. "Oh my God," she panted, her heart pounding. "Please, you have to do something!"
"What did you do with the charm?" he demanded.
"I—" she groaned, trying to force her muscles to relax. "I destroyed it."
"You're absolutely sure?"
"Yes!" Oh God, it wasn't working—her body was starting to curl in on itself. "Jareth please!" Desperately she reached out, her fingers already curling into claws, and grabbed his hand. "Please, make it stop, help me, I swear I didn't mean it!"
He shook his head; he no longer looked angry. "There is nothing I can do; my magic will have no effect on the bargain." He squeezed her hand. "Try to relax."
She tried to scoff but it came out as a whine as the muscles in her legs began to clench.
"Relax!" he said firmly. "Let it happen-it will pass. Try to control your breathing." He paused. "If you destroyed the charm, these attacks should soon cease. This one should not be quite so bad as the others, and the one after, even less."
He was right; it was awful, but the more bearable than the others had been. She was able to breath her way through most of it, until it reached the peak and her whole body arched off the stone floor. When she started to scream, he grabbed her chin again and looked sternly into her eyes. "Breath! Screaming will make it worse. Breath." As soon as she could get her breath under control again, she found that he was right, and focused her whole awareness on breathing in and out again. Gradually her muscles began to relax and the pain eased; she heard a knock at the door, but only after the spasms had ceased completely, leaving her panting and relieved, did the Goblin King rise and leave her side.
Sarah closed her eyes and continued breathing carefully, in and out, in and out. She heard him speak briefly with someone at the door, then the door closed. She heard the sounds of something heavy and metal being dragged across the stone floor.
The Goblin King returned to her side.
"We must get you off the floor," he said, kneeling down.
"I don't think I can get up," she said weakly.
"I know." He bent over her. "Put your arms around my neck."
She blanched.
"Don't be absurd," he said crisply. "Do you want to stay where you are?"
The back of her head still throbbed where Reluctantly she tried to raise her arms and managed to clumsily fling them around his neck and grab loose fistfuls of his shirt. He leaned over her, and, very gently, slid his arms under her knees and the small of her back and lifted her up. She hung onto his as best she could and gritted her teeth in anticipation of painful jostling of her overstretched and torn muscles, but he moved carefully, holding her firmly against his chest as he got one foot underneath him, then another, and rose, very slowly, to his feet. She tried very hard not to think about who he was and what she was doing as she clung weakly to his neck.
Still moving with care, he crossed the room to the bed. As he put her down, he bent over and set her down, still in his arms, before carefully sliding his arms out from underneath her back and legs. Sarah turned her head to the side, closing her eyes and holding her breath until he had extracted himself and stood up again.
"I have ordered a bath," he said, in the same brisk and businesslike voice. "It should be prepared before long."
She couldn't have heard him correctly. "What?"
"It is the only way I know to lessen the pain," he said, avoiding her eyes. "The attacks are likely to continue for at least another hour, and my magic can do nothing until they have passed."
The thought made her queasy.
"I—my clothes," she said.
"You may keep them on if you wish," he said. When she did not respond, he frowned. "If you prefer," he said tightly. "I could have the servants—"
"I—" It was the obvious solution—yet the thought of a stranger, especially a stranger in the Underground, seeing her this way was intolerable. Besides that, something in her sensed that as long as she was weak, she was safe with him, and she was too tired, too utterly and completely drained, to question that instinct too deeply.
"No," she said quietly. "No, that's fine."
And so, after she heard servants coming and going several times, pouring huge, steaming basins of water into the large copper tub, she made no protest as he gathered her up, carried her over to where the tub stood in front of the fire. The water was very hot, and she hissed as it came in contact with her skin.
He stopped abruptly and turned to look at her. "Is it too hot?" he asked.
His face was only a few inches away from hers, and Sarah looked away, her cheeks hot. "No," she said quickly. "No, just—go slow. Please."
As he lowered her into the tub, Sarah gritted her teeth. At first, the sensation of the nearly scalding water against her already sore, overstimulated skin was overwhelming—but in a few moments her body adjusted and she let out a long, heartfelt sigh of relief. The heat from the water seemed to soak into every throbbing, weary muscle until the last ounce of tension in her body melted away. The pain was not gone, but was very much reduced. When she felt next spasm coming, she cried out, but more out of fear than pain—already they were much weaker, and on top of that the water seemed to make it even more bearable.
When it passed, she very slowly and carefully raised herself up in the bath, wincing, and looked around to see what had become of the Goblin King. He was back in his chair by the fire; the book that had fallen to the floor earlier was lying open in his lap, but he was not reading it. Instead, he was looking at her.
He smiled as she looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. "Better?"
She flushed, and told herself it was the heat from the water. "Yes," she said, not meeting his eyes. She lowered herself back into the water and settled against the sloped back of the tub, facing away from him.