INEJ
Sometimes, I wonder how Kaz does it. When I left, Kaz had just taken control of the Dregs. The real work of leading them had barely begun. A part of me feels guilty, leaving him to take control of an entire gang essentially by himself. Of course, he had people backing him up but we were a team. At least, I thought so. Now, seeing the pressure and time that control has brought, the guilt stabs a little bit deeper. So when Kaz exits the group with the excuse of needing to discuss the details further with someone who is equally well-versed in the topic, namely me, I let him follow me upstairs to my room.
I realize when we arrive just how much I appreciate the maids. My room wasn't in the best shape when I left. Now, my dress has been put away in my closet, the bed made, and my favorite cabin clothes laid out next to my pillow. How they knew which outfit was my favorite is a testament of their dedication to their service. I disappear into my bedroom room to change as Kaz takes a seat on the deep-cushioned sofa in the sitting room. When I return, he has stretched himself out on it, his bad leg propped up across it.
"I don't think sitting in damp clothing all night is going to benefit you," I comment, hoping he'll take the hint and go change. He smells like the sea and while the scent of the salty spray normally relaxes me, tonight it only reminds me of the pain, fear, and the weight of uncertainty. I'm overwhelmingly exhausted from this intense day, full of such things, made heavier by a severe lack of necessary sleep.
Whether he understand my sentiments or he simply agrees that he is in need of a good rinse, he stands with a nod. When he leans forward to grab his cane, his leg buckles beneath him. I only manage to get in three steps toward him before his hand is gripping the edge of the sofa, then his cane, and he pushes himself into a more stable position. He turns and looks at me questioningly, as if confused by my reaction.
Typical, Kaz. Ever dismissing any sign of weakness. Even with me. Even when I could, want to, help. I shake my head as he walks past me toward the bathroom. I hear the door shut softly and I sink down onto one of the wingback arm chairs I'm so found of. The yellow upholstery contrasts well with the intricately-carved rosewood. It is a wood I became familiar with on my travels. Mostly coming from the southern colonies, it was a profitable cover for slave ships. With diminishing availability making it increasingly more valuable, they made extra money from picking it up while collecting more exotic slaves.
With a sigh, I pull my legs underneath me. My body is so tired. My mind is too full, spinning, trying to wrap itself around all I've seen in the last 24 hours. It simultaneously gives me a headache and demands that I continue pursuing the subject, regardless of the pain. I don't want to go to bed without knowing if Kaz truly did want to talk or if he was merely making excuses.
"I'll just rest here for a little bit. Just until he comes out. Then bed." I decide to ignore the fact that I'm verbally giving myself instructions and encouragement. With a little sleep, I'll be as right as the waves on the sea. As soon as I close my eyes, my head starts to slow, clear, as if recognizing the rest I need is just a few minutes away. Just a little longer...
"I want that one." Long fingers, face hidden by an awful caricature.
"She just came in a couple days ago. Pretty little thing, isn't she?"
"How much?" The calculating, sinister smile.
Head against the wall, hands under my dress.
"I want the Suli girl."
"I said, strip." The pain, the look in his eyes as he tastes my tears.
"No, please!" Laughing at my fear.
Chest tightening. Body trembling.
"What a lovely little creature you are." Fingers around my neck.
"Please, let me go." The gasping, blackness edging my vision.
Heart racing. Pleading.
"Don't touch me!" My voice comes out in a harsh whisper. He freezes for a second and then slowly, carefully, retreats a few feet.
Who is it this time? I struggle to distinguish between the nightmare and reality. My eyes are open but all I see are the parade of men; phantoms from a life I wish I could escape.
Where am I? Slowly, moonlight infiltrates my vision, so different from the harsh spotlight of my dreamscape. My hands find the arms of the chair, solid yet soft; the fabric silky beneath my fingers.
"Inej?" The voice is low and rough, yet somehow soothing. I know that voice. Caught in the web of panic, I am unable to identify it. Still, I intrinsically know it- he- means me no harm. Another moment and the terror fades to deep dismay, steadily abating to sustained but manageable anxiety. My breathing slows and I try to take in a couple deep breaths. My lungs won't quite expand fully but it's enough, for now. My presence of mind returns and I'm jolted out of the horrors of my past into the present. Unfortunately, as the last few hours flow into memory, I find they haven't been filled with delight either. Yet, unlike the force and powerlessness that characterized my experiences at the Menagerie, these last few years were difficult but I had control of my life, my destiny, my purpose.
I look toward the low light spilling through the window. My eyes catch a glimpse of the dark figure that shook me awake, spoke to me, his figure still.
"Kaz?"
"Yes." Relief fills me. Laughter quickly bubbles out of me in response to my relief. There are very few people who would appreciate the appearance of Kaz Brekker in their room, in the middle of the night.
"Are you alright?" The silly, girlish giggling dries up immediately. It doesn't take me long to search for an answer.
"No." Apprehension fills me again, followed by anger. While the logical part of my brain registers that it's irrational and wholly unfair, it's directed at Kaz.
"Do you want to-"
No, I don't," I snap. I hear his sharp intake of breath and I brace myself for an argument, or at least some kind of abrasive response. It's all I can imagine given my agitated frame of mind. Instead, I receive a sigh that signals the emptying of irritation.
"I don't want to fight with you, Inej. I just-" another sigh "you were having a nightmare. I wanted to help. I know what it's like to be unable to escape something sickening even in your sleep, where you expect to find refuge from the daily miseries of your waking hours."
Perhaps it is the darkness that makes it possible for him to be so uncharacteristically honest. The shadows across his face hide his expressions from me but the sincerity of his tone reveals the depth of his understanding and- dare I say- desire to comfort. It's not a side of Kaz I'm familiar with but in the last day, he's admirably taken on that role seemingly without hesitation. His candor triggers something in me, liberating me from the tense clasp of fear. Tears suddenly infiltrate my eyes and I can't stop a few from running down my cheeks.
Before my mind has a chance to inform my body of the danger of doing so, I unfold myself from the chair and step toward him. My arms are around him in a hard hug that confesses my need for such comfort in a way words cannot. He doesn't move, his body rigid in my grip. As reality catches up, I begin to move away. Before I can completely withdraw, his arms surround me, pulling me back to him. I cling to him then, taking whatever solace he can offer, no matter how brief. Instead of immediately releasing me, he holds me, his arms gripping me tightly. A couple more traitorous tears escape.
His cheek moves against my neck as he buries his face in my hair. He takes a few sharp inhales, as though he's breathing me in. Then, his lips are on my neck, under my jaw, and my body begins to react to his proximity. I run my hand down his back, pressing him closer as I mold my body to every inch of his. I can feel the way his body is responding to mine. I hear his breath hitch.
Without warning, he breaks away from me. I stumble back, unready for the abrupt release. I hear him trying to control his short, uneven breathing. The guilt I feel for causing such a reaction doesn't dim the consolation I gained from him. It simply increases my desire to be able to hold him again, to take away this sickness that invades these kinds of interludes. He deserves better than this. He should be able to experience, enjoy, the contact between us. It isn't easy for me either but somehow, with him, my misgivings fall away when I'm wrapped in his arms.
I stay silent, knowing he won't appreciate or accept any offer of aid. It will only make him withdraw further, both physically and emotionally. I want to hold onto this tenuous connection between us as long as possible. Once his breaths begin to come in more naturally, losing the discordant irregularity, I carefully, quietly, move back into my chair. As though my movement frees him from his frozen state of fear, he falls back onto the sofa. With the soft moonlight behind him, I can see his hands threading themselves in his hair, hiding his face from me even though the light leaves him silhouetted and thus shrouded from my view.
Another minute or two and he straightens back into the reserved, controlled Kaz I've known for years now. He stands then and I unwittingly follow suit. I see him grab his cane and I realize then that he intends to leave. It shouldn't surprise me. With the amount of openness he's displayed tonight, I know he'll want to put some distance between us in as many ways possible. I hesitate momentarily and then step in front of him, effectively blocking his path to the door.
"Kaz-" He doesn't answer but I can sense his desire to move past me.
"You can stay here. I don't mind. I-" I can feel both of us waiting for a confession that will mirror his own. Then the words are out of my mouth, hanging in the air between us. "I want you here." He looks at me then and, even in the darkness, I can feel his measuring gaze.
"I-" he starts but I cut him off, hoping I can stymie any excuse or reasoning he could conceive.
"Stay. Please. Stay with me." And I know that if he moves away now, it will put a distance between us that will be difficult to bridge in the future. It was a risk that I probably shouldn't have taken, a pressure that unfairly falls on him, after a time of such unrestrained honesty. Without speaking, he surprisingly, astonishingly, move back to the sofa and sits. I don't say anything, afraid to acknowledge the acquiescence lest he change his mind. Instead, I quickly move into my bedroom and grab two pillows and the extra blanket from the upper shelf in my closet. He is still in the same position when I return and place them beside him.
"Thank you." It is a whispered gratitude that I probably shouldn't have said but I cannot help myself. I move back into my bedroom and close the door, leaving only a crack between it and the frame. I try not to listen to his movements in the other room but it's impossible. Every nerve is alert, attentive to his actions. When the rustling slows and the door that would signal his exit stays closed, I begin to relax. My body and mind are still tired and, even with all the emotions swirling inside me, I manage to close my eyes and allow sleep to take me.
When I wake, I slip through the door that leads from my bedroom to my bathroom, afraid to open the door to the sitting room and discover Kaz missing. My hair is a mess, stuck together in clumps from the sweat and dirt that gathered in it during our exploits yesterday. The fact that I didn't manage to remove all the pins from it last night has left it tangled something fierce. I need a shower. Slowly, I peel my clothes from my body and grab a towel from the cabinet below the sink.
The hot water relaxes me and I roll my shoulders, attempting to stretch out the tension left over from my trips between the Slat and Wylan's house and the unexpected, break-neck pursuit through the city. After a conspicuously long shower, I sigh and turn off the water. I carefully step out and wrap the towel tightly around myself. I re-enter my bedroom and find clean, comfortable clothes in my characteristic black. I use the towel to dry my hair somewhat but decide I'd rather just comb it and let it dry naturally.
All of my morning preparation done, I take a deep breath and head toward the door to the sitting room. I don't know why it's so important to me that Kaz be there. I know he stayed until I fell asleep. What does it matter if he woke before me and went out to take care of what promises to be a lot of very necessary business? His cane against the sofa is the first thing I see and I close my eyes, knowing he wouldn't have left without it. I turn slightly and notice a tray filled with cups and a pot of, I sniff, coffee on it.
Kaz is across the room, one of the dainty china cups next to him on the desk in the corner, where he appears to be looking over papers. That he managed to get his work here shouldn't be surprising. He's always been dedicated to making sure everything about the Dregs is well-run. Although, I highly doubt those papers have to do with the Crow Club or any other business ventures. There aren't going to be many patrons for a while if the current state of the city doesn't change and that kind of shift seems overwhelmingly unlikely.
"I'm glad you're up," he says without turning. His low voice startles me but I shake it off. I raise an eyebrow but don't move. He turns then and I see the bruise-like bags under is eyes. Didn't he sleep? From the looks of it, whatever sleep he managed wasn't nearly enough.
"I'd like to go over some of our impressions from yesterday. We need to figure out what's going on so we can prepare accordingly." I nod, thorough and strategic as usual. I move to the desk and, without my usual windowsill to sit on while we discuss the specifics, I perch on the edge of the desk, careful not to disturb his papers or sit where he might accidentally brush me. Even so, he push back the chair, moving it slightly away from me as we face each other.
"I think it might benefit us to include Ashiana. Jesper and Wylan deserve to be fully informed as well." Despite my words, I make no movement toward the door. I know I should be focused on the topic at hand, that this issue is far more important than any personal feelings I may be experiencing. Still, I don't move, my eyes locked onto Kaz. His stare, always so direct and disarming, seems to communicate a similar preoccupation. I wonder what would happen if I moved toward him instead of the door. What he would do if I draped myself across his lap, leaned forward until we got a taste of the friction between our bodies. Unfortunately, I'm not that bold; not in the bright light of day whether neither of us can hide from the other. Something in my face must signal my decision because he nods, breaking the contact as he looks back to his papers.
"Go get them."