(Don't think this is a V-Day gift, 'cause it isn't. I don't celebrate V-Day.)
Holy crap. Holy CRAP. HOLY CRAP. HOLY. CRAP.
Okay, idk if this is me coming back. But I finished this chapter this morning and I thought I'd post it. First time I've written something since my 12DoC fail.
Lots of reasons that I've been gone include finishing up my senior year, dealing with my depression, learning how to adult, helping my neighbors move, and helping out around the house when my mom was injured.
If you have any questions, please PM me on here, Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, or Pinterest.
Enjoy!
Mara covered her face with her hands, sobbing heavily, as she sat on a stool next to a bed in the infirmary where Jerome lay lifeless.
Eddie sat on the other side of the room, between Peter and Clarissa's bodies, teeth clenched angrily so he wouldn't cry.
When the door swung open, and Poppy entered the room, Mara rushed to her quickly as she stumbled toward her brother's bed.
"Mara, I don't understand why all this is happening," she cried, hugging her sister-in-law tightly.
"I never knew you could be so sexist," was the statement from Patricia that made Eddie slam the doors to the balcony.
He turned to her as she stood at the railing with her arms crossed over her chest defiantly. "I'm not being sexist, Patricia. I'm being protective."
"I could have killed him!"
"He would've killed you before you had a chance to raise your sword!"
Patricia clenched her teeth, refusing to look at him, and keeping her eyes focused on the top of the pavilion in the garden.
"Look, I understand that you don't want to be the damsel in distress here. You don't want someone to save you. You want to prove to me, everyone, yourself, or whoever that you can do something more than clean a palace. And I believe in you. I believe that you are strong enough to do it." Eddie told her, his voice thick with sincerity, and he turned her toward him so he could cup her face in his hands, brushing the pads of his thumbs over her pale cheeks. "But I have lost my biological parents, my adoptive parents, a sister that I don't even remember, and…my brother. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. I can't lose you too. I am not strong enough."
Patricia took a deep breath and placed her hands over Eddie's as she gazed into his watering eyes. Eddie let out a tearful laugh and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest as she let him find security in her embrace.
"Comfort's not really you're forte."
"I'm willing to give it a shot for you."
Amber took Mara's hand comfortingly and rested her head on her friend's shoulder as they sat in the sitting room. Behind them, Eddie stood, his back to them, his arms crossed and shoulders tense. Patricia sat in a chair across from Amber and Mara. Alfie paced in front of the glass doors that led to a balcony, and skidded to a halt so he would run into Piper when she walked through them.
"Sorry," he murmured.
Piper cast a glance at her sister and felt like the silence in the room was too heavy to be broken. She nodded to him, avoiding his eyes, and rushing to Patricia where she sat on the floor beside the chair and laid her head on her older sister's lap. Patricia continued to stare straight ahead, in Eddie's direction, but not really seeing him, as her hands moved on their own accord and began braiding a strand of Piper's auburn hair.
Poppy stormed into the room a moment later. Her entrance did nothing to snap any of them out of their thoughts. "Why are you all just sitting around?" she demanded. None of them looked up. She wiped at her tear stained cheeks. "Jerome's dead and we need to find Rufus and stop him, for Jerome."
"Poppy, go be with Dante—" Mara spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"He's asleep. He's fine. Jerome's not—"
"Poppy, this shouldn't be about revenge." Alfie said gently.
"No, this is about justice!" Poppy exclaimed. "We can't just wait for Rufus to kill someone else we care about—"
"Stop, Poppy," Eddie growled, finally turning to face the others. His eyes flitted over each of his friends' faces before he could stop himself, and his voice dropped to a tortured whisper. "Just…stop."
Poppy glared at him and continued, "Why did Rufus think we had this necklace? What is this necklace for? Why is it so important?"
The doors behind her opened swiftly, as if to answer her questions, and a woman with the presence of a queen walked through them, with a bodyguard that was standing much too close to her to be just a bodyguard.
Eddie pushed his grief down just enough to reach for his sword, but the woman stopped before she was too close, keeping her posture calm, so no one would feel threatened by her company.
"Rufus was looking for me. He just doesn't know it."
Pain.
A needle and thread kind of pain.
Something piercing skin and muscles and nerves, being pulled, and then piercing again, just above the last.
Thump.
Thump, thump.
The beat of a heart, racing after another thump, thump, as if it itself had realized that it had pumped blood again.
Oxygen.
Oxygen flooding lungs, filling them to the brim, and raising a once impaled chest.
Spark.
A spark that ignited the brain into processing what was happening.
Twist.
A twist in the stomach, like ringing water out of a shirt.
Jerome rolled off the bed, hitting the floor like a sack of flour because his arms and legs failed to catch him. He lay there, half on his side, on the cold floor, trying to decipher his surroundings. He turned just a little more and heaved, his empty stomach clenching painfully. He attempted to swallow and felt how dry his throat was.
Forcing himself onto his back, he focused his foggy brain on the task of using his unresponsive limbs. First, his right hand. His fingers twitched, his wrist bent forward, and his elbow bent to lift his hand up to his chest. He breathed heavily, eyebrows furrowing. Shaking fingers, drifted over flesh, trying to find the place he had been stabbed. Smooth, naturally pale skin was all he could feet through his fingertips.
There was some pain, in his fingers, in his skin, where the nerves were flashing to life.
He moved his left arm, and then determinedly rolled onto his stomach, lifting his upper body up onto his elbows. All of his bones and muscles were stiff. Sore when he used them. He bent his right leg at the knee, grunting when his arms suddenly gave out from under him. He rested against the clean floor for a second more before trying again: raising up on his elbows, his right leg bending at the knee, and then the same with the left, and he pushed himself up onto his hands. Hands and knees, weakly, painfully, getting used to holding up his weight again. He pushed himself onto his knees alone, taking several deep breaths, and taking in his surroundings.
The castle's infirmary. He was in the castle's infirmary.
He looked down at his bare chest, wincing as his neck strained. His skin looked no different than it felt. No mark, no blood.
He took one more steadying breath and reached for the table beside him, pulling himself onto his feet and using the table to hold his weight when he realized his legs still couldn't do it alone.
He froze, his mind racing, and he reluctantly looked to his left, where his aunt and uncle lay. He let out a small breath, knowing that even with those two bodies, he was alone in the room.
He clumsily reached for a pitcher of water that sat on the table. His hand unclenched around the handle tiredly and he huffed, pushing his unsteady fingers through his blonde hair. He tried again, lifting the pitcher to a glass, and he poured. Most of the water ended up on the table and the floor, but he raised the half full glass to his dry lips and gulped down the water, not even caring when it trickled out the sides of his mouth and down his chest.
He slammed the glass down on the table and a chill shook his body. He bravely pushed off the table, stumbling like a drunk to the bed he had been laying on. He pulled on his blood stained tunic, managing to only clasp it together halfway up his chest, and then sat down to catch his breath.
He blinked quickly. The sudden realization that he had been dead slamming into him. His heart beat faster, pounding into his chest. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips, in his neck, in his forehead, and he grit his teeth as emotion clawed at his still very dry throat. He pushed his fingers into his hair again and tugged on the strands, the pain in his scalp reminding him that he was alive. He squinted at the floor, tears blurring his vision.
His whole body abruptly felt different, lighter than when he'd first woken up, and he could sense a strange weight in one of the pockets of his pants. He reached into it and pulled out a dark red, almost black gemstone. The sunlight from one of the windows behind him did nothing to brighten the gem. He clenched it in his fist, recognizing it as a jewel that resembled the one Azazel of Krodel wore around his long, pale neck.
Jerome pocketed the stone, shot up off the bed, and rushed for the door, adrenalin coursing through his veins.
His mind trained on one sole mission.
I'm really proud of that last scene. I had a whole different thing in mind when I planned it, but it came out like that. :)
"Rooms full of trophies of all the victims before me. Nothing left but the bones, stacked up like a collection. You got me smothered in bliss, you suffocate with a kiss. You take away all the fight, then bring me down to submission." -House of Chains, Apocalyptica
A song from the My Love Will Not Let You Down - Inspiration Playlist on Spotify - go check it out! :D
-Rachel