Glimpse of Us: [Sarah] My Body Is A Cage
He cradled her head like she might break. Or bolt.
To prove she would do neither, she traced her tongue over his bottom lip in a teasing slide.
Jareth gasped, a pained little sound. "Gods, Sarah," he murmured, the words barely audible as they moved against her mouth.
But the way her name fell from his lips didn't sound how she'd imagined. There was sorrow buried just beneath the surface of his desire, a wrongness that sank heavily within her and settled in her bones.
Sarah began to pull away, but Jareth chased her mouth like he couldn't bear to lose the contact.
Her hand splayed over his chest. "Wait," she said between kisses.
Jareth tensed as he dropped his hands from her hair and let her gently push him back. His eyes were lowered, and Sarah wished she knew whether it was because he needed to collect himself, or if he couldn't look her in the eye.
"Something's wrong," she told him, a statement and a question.
He didn't answer her right away. His hand twitched like he planned to touch her face again. Like he wanted to lie, to kiss her worries away. Instead, he inhaled a steadying breath and met her gaze.
"Yes," he confessed, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. He let them linger against her knuckles, looking so sad, Sarah thought he might be the one to break.
Her other hand still cupped his jaw, and she smoothed a thumb over his chin. "Tell me."
"I can't," he said, his eyes pleading.
"You can't what, exactly?" Sarah coaxed. "You can't tell me what's wrong? Or you can't kiss me?"
Jareth seemed to fold in on himself, his shoulders falling like he hated the question and the answer. "Both," he finally said as he took a small step backward. Away from the space they'd shared.
Sarah stiffened. "Wait," she said again, tugging at his hand.
He resisted and unlaced their fingers. "I'm sorry," he told her. "You should get out of the water, regardless," he continued, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was her. "We should tend to your wounds."
"Don't do that," she said, trying to keep her tone level even as her eyes pricked with frustrated tears she refused to let fall. "Please don't use my injuries as an excuse to shut me out right now."
But he was already turning away and striding toward the edge of the hot spring.
The sight of his back to her was like a stab between the ribs, wedging a sharp ache of isolation deep into her heart. "I need you," she said, surprised by the bluntness of her own words.
And it was true, but it wasn't his kisses she felt desperate for in that moment, it was his presence.
She needed him to talk to her. To look at her, at least.
Jareth paused in his retreat, but he didn't turn around. He seemed so small, so defeated. "I can't, he said again.
Sarah swallowed the sob that crept up her throat, but he must have heard it because he looked back at her. His face fell when he saw her expression. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "It isn't right."
Those words dragged a memory through her mind of when he'd said something similar in the jungle.
"I shouldn't say more. It wouldn't be fair."
"Fair to whom?"
"To anyone."
So, this was an ethical decision—a moral boundary he felt convinced he shouldn't cross, and that realization made Sarah's head spin with doubt. Questions she scolded herself for not asking sooner swarmed her mind.
Is he committed to someone else?
Is he still involved with Strix's mother?
Am I interfering with a family, already so broken by the theft of a child?
Sarah felt like a fool. She hadn't even considered the idea of Jareth belonging to anyone, so limitless and unfettered as she'd always thought him to be.
So singular. So vast. So ineffable.
Her stomach roiled with nausea, and the throbbing of her injuries doubled down as her heart pounded with relentless fervor. She lowered her gaze as he exited the water, feeling suddenly embarrassed of his nudity.
Instead of following him out immediately, she lingered in the water and did her best to scrub the grime from her body. She felt dirty a thousand times over, in a thousand different ways. When she had cleaned herself up as much as possible—lamenting being unable to figure out a way to wash her filthy hair without wetting her wounds—she picked her way out of the hot spring.
Sarah's arms wrapped around herself protectively as she approached him. She felt overly exposed, raw, beyond naked. It seemed to take her an hour to meet him where he sat, dressed and waiting. His gaze was heavy and devastating beneath his damp hair.
Jareth handed her a shirt. "To dry yourself with," he said matter of factly, though his voice wavered with emotion he seemed determined to bottle.
She took the shirt and clutched it to her chest. "Can you turn around?" she asked, her tone sounding more clipped than she'd meant it to, and she felt ridiculous making such a request after the closeness they had just shared.
His eyes briefly widened like her words had scalded him, but he dutifully angled his body from her and closed his eyes.
Sarah cast a suspicious look at his back before peeling off her bra and underwear and laying them to dry on a rock. She hastily swiped at her skin with the shirt and knelt to riffle in her bag for dry clothes, desperate to be covered.
"I wouldn't put a shirt over that open wound," Jareth told her.
Sarah huffed, though she knew he was right. "I don't base my decisions on what you would or wouldn't do, Goblin King," she said and hated the bite in her voice. She'd meant it as hopeful banter, but it fell flat.
Jareth flinched. "I deserved that," he answered and tried again. "Please, let me clean and dress your injuries."
Her arms tightened around herself reflexively. "Jesus," she muttered under her breath. "Okay. Let me put some pants on."
Once half-dressed, she cautiously moved over to him, her arms still banded across her breasts. She took a seat near him, almost grateful they were far enough away from the residual light of the flashlight's beam to clearly see his face when he turned to examine her. It was bad enough she could hear his breath catch at what he saw.
"You were in there too long," he said, guilt drenching his words as he kneeled beside her.
Sarah shrugged dismissively and flinched as pain lanced across her collarbone at the movement.
"I'll need to stretch the wounds open a bit to clean them," Jareth warned, his bare fingers pressing and prodding around the punctures in her flesh.
She could hear a shakiness in his breathing she decided she didn't like as he handed her a wineskin of what she assumed was Frost Gnome Milk.
Sarah carefully uncrossed an arm, making sure her nipples were still shielded, and accepted the wineskin he offered. Unbidden, she took a swallow, feeling the strange icy flame of it lick down her throat. She went to take another before he wordlessly pulled it from her fingers.
She could feel his gaze flicking between her face and her injuries. "This will—"
"Hurt," Sarah finished for him, squeezing her eyes shut tight. "I know."
His fingers were back, gentle but determined. The milk had made her feel slightly dissociated—she could still feel the intense pain of his movements but was somehow removed from it. Or so she thought until he tugged the skin on either side of the deepest puncture beneath her collarbone where the not-Firey's thumb had gouged.
A scream shattered the silence, and it took Sarah a moment to realize it had been hers. This was worse than the first time, lacking the numbing effect of her shock. She was barely aware of the soothing sounds Jareth was making, the kind words he whispered.
They were meaningless, nothing to her as he poured the searingly frigid liquid over her wounds.
He moved on without pausing, up to her shoulder where the creature's fingers had grasped her. Sarah could hardly catch her breath as he pried her injuries apart with gentle fingers, coaxing out the dirt and grime onto clean gauze.
"Stop," she heard herself saying. "Please, stop." And she was lost, nearly unaware of whom she was asking or for what.
"It's over." His voice was so far away she almost didn't believe he'd spoken.
The wineskin was at her lips and he sounded resigned as he tipped it and told her to take another drink. Sarah swallowed and hissed at the minute relief she felt as the cool heat permeated through her.
"I'm going to dress the wounds," Jareth informed her, and Sarah was glad she couldn't see his reaction to how pathetic she was being.
"Okay," she breathed, holding herself so tightly she thought her ribs might crack.
Jareth was quiet for a moment before he said, "I'll need you to lift your arms."
Her lids snapped open and her wild eyes met his. She searched his face in the dark, but couldn't see any trace of delight in the request. She decided she didn't care right now, anyway.
Her arms uncrossed and lifted, as much as she could manage, and she winced as he wrapped bandages across her clavicle, over her shoulder, and under the opposite armpit. He made several passes around her ribcage with the gauze to secure it before tucking in the end.
Her emotions warred when his fingers fell away—relieved it was done but somehow missing the softness of his touch. That realization sent a jolt of resentment through her. Mostly at herself.
Still, her words came out sharp. "Can you please get me a shirt?"
Jareth recoiled, just enough for Sarah to notice and feel guilty. "You can wear mine," he offered before retrieving a tunic from his bag. "It will be less restrictive against your injuries."
"Thanks," she grumbled, pulling it over her head.
"I'm sorry," he told her with a sudden urgency. "I don't want to hurt you."
Whether he was talking about the intimacy that had abruptly ended, or the painful wound tending, Sarah couldn't be sure. "It's fine," she said, doing her best to sound neutral. "I'm fine."
She could feel him studying her with watchful eyes and she felt sure he would argue. After an uncomfortably long moment, he returned to his bag and pulled out a large roll of what looked like the same material as their sleeping sacks. As he unrolled it, it began to take the shape of a tent, just large enough for two people.
"A place for us to rest," he remarked blandly as if to fill the silence, and Sarah found herself wanting to point out how obvious his statement was. How she'd rather die than engage in small talk.
Instead, she nodded and let him help her to her feet and guide her into the tent. He'd opened their bedrolls and Sarah's relief when her legs slipped into hers was cut short as Jareth strode away.
"Where are you going?" she blurted out, cursing herself for the fear edging into her voice at being left alone.
"I'll be right back," he told her before rinsing his hands in the hot spring. He returned a moment later with their packs and the flashlight.
Jareth settled next to her, resting the flashlight beside them before handing her a pastry. He didn't need to instruct her to eat. Sarah was ravenous, though she hadn't realized it.
They ate in silence. Sarah didn't look up to gauge his expression, though she felt him watching her. Her eyes were fixed ahead, but she wasn't seeing anything beyond what her racing mind insisted on showing her.
Jareth's lips moving closer, slightly parted.
His back—a wall of rejection—as he turned away.
Her heart leaped up her throat and sank to her toes in rapid succession at the series of memories. She thought for a moment that she might throw up her dinner, and she swallowed hard.
The prickling awareness of his gaze pulled Sarah from her thoughts and she peeked over at him. "You're staring," she commented, her tone deadpan.
Jareth blinked, as if for the first time in several moments. "You're angry," he said quietly.
She shook her head. "Not at you."
"What does that mean?" he asked, a deep furrow between his brows.
Sarah didn't want to tell him how furious she was at herself for misjudging his feelings. For charging headlong into something she knew nothing about. She was so mad she could scream.
"I'm confused," she told him instead. "And maybe a little hurt."
Jareth's mouth shaped the beginning of an apology but stopped.
Sarah was glad. She didn't want any more apologies from him. She wanted answers.
"You asked for my trust," she continued. "But I can't help but feel like you don't trust me ."
He let out a breath and reached for the flashlight before pressing it into her hand.
"What are you doing?" She asked, sending him a dubious look as he moved closer.
Jareth stretched out his hands, palms down.
"You seemed curious earlier," he said. "Or did I misread you?"
She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't help but stare at how the tendons rolled under his skin as he flexed his fingers. His nails were blunt and clean with long beds. They were strong hands, she knew. They'd urged her forward when she'd been weak and held her up when she'd fallen. But they were also graceful—long and pale in the white beam of the flashlight.
Sarah reached out to touch him but froze when Jareth flinched.
When his eyes met hers, they were wary but resolute. "Just a reflex."
"Sorry," she said, embarrassed by her eagerness. "Are they…particularly sensitive?"
Jareth nodded, his eyes bright with secrets. "They are."
"You didn't stop me before," she pointed out. "In the hot spring. Did I hurt you?"
A hint of a smile curved his lips. "Hardly."
"Oh," Sarah replied, feeling a flush creep up her neck at his implication.
"It isn't something I typically allow," he elaborated. "My hands are the nexus of my magic. A point of vulnerability."
She cursed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"I don't want you to be sorry," Jareth told her. "I want you to touch them."
"You—" She felt her eyes widen. "Why?"
"I trust you," he said like it was the simplest truth. "Go on, Sarah." A flash of a smirk danced at the corner of his lips. "Sate your curiosity."
She held his gaze for a long, searching moment. Jareth seemed sure, insistent even. She balanced the flashlight between their packs so the beam illuminated the hands he offered before hesitantly reaching for them again.
His skin was soft beneath her fingertips as they skated from wrists to fingernails.
"Is this okay?" she asked, retreating a little as he shivered.
"More than okay." His answer was low but certain. "Touch them."
Sarah turned his hands. The exposed palms were smooth and uncalloused, and a pulse of heat curled within her at the memory of them sliding into her hair.
Jareth's eyelids fluttered closed as she traced the delicate web of blue veins beneath the skin of his wrists.
"What does it feel like?" she asked, glancing up at him. "To have your hands touched."
"Forbidden," he said, a thread of a purr in his voice. When his eyes opened, both pupils were blown wide. "Intimate."
Sarah's rapt attention to his controlled breathing was sudden—the way his chest rose and fell with careful deliberation. Jareth's reaction to her touch was stirring her arousal, and she did her best to ignore it. She'd been holding her own breath, she realized and released it slowly so as not to give herself away.
"You have a fate line," Sarah observed, tracing the faint creases that spanned between the tops of his wrists to just below the bases of his middle fingers.
"Does that mean something?" Jareth asked, and the slight tremble in his voice made her heart skip a beat.
"Not everyone has them," she explained. "I have them too. A palm reader once told me it means I have a purpose."
He tensed, just a small movement, but it was enough for Sarah to glance up and search his expression. She didn't like what she saw there, that sadness bracketing his mouth, the regret in his eyes.
Sarah's hands dropped. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," Jareth answered, though he shifted away to crawl over to his sleeping sack. "We should rest."
"Wait," she said, her stomach sinking at the insecurity woven through that one word.
His expression was guarded as he scanned her face. "Yes?"
She searched for something to keep him here—within this space of communication.
"Will you help me wash my hair?" A pang of shame gripped her heart at the sound of her own desperation. "It's okay if you don't want to," she backpedaled. "Never mind."
To her surprise, Jareth smiled. "You must learn to be more independent," he scolded teasingly. "I've been lugging your belongings like a pack mule and shuttling you about hither and thither."
The corners of her lips tugged up in relief as she followed him out of the tent. He led her to a level edge near the water and motioned for her to lie down. Sarah obliged, sprawling on her back.
Jareth knelt beside her and took her head in his hands. "I'm going to tip your head back."
"Alright," she said, sounding a little breathless at the feeling of his fingers back in her hair.
"You must think me your lady's maid." He tsked in disapproval as he gently worked out the tangles and grit.
She snorted, grateful for this moment of levity between them. "Must I remind you that I am your Champion? It's the least you can do."
Jareth chuckled. "Must I remind you that I am a king?"
Sarah hummed as though unimpressed. "I didn't vote for you."
"And I didn't vote for you," he retorted. "And yet, here we are. King and Champion."
"Fair point," she allowed with a smile as he finished rinsing her hair.
Jareth peeled off his tunic and helped her sit up. He wrapped the tunic beneath her wet hair before guiding her to her feet.
Once they were back in the tent, Jareth took a seat behind her and blotted the water from her hair. Sarah was quiet as his long fingers brushed through her locks from scalp to ends. She didn't want the contact to stop, and an involuntary whimper slipped past her lips.
His fingers stilled. "What's wrong?"
Everything.
"Nothing," she lied. "Don't stop."
"Tell me," Jareth said, a mirror of her plea in the hot spring.
"Only if you braid my hair for me." She winced internally. She'd tried to sound playful but instead, her offer had come out thin and needy.
"Surely, your books warned you against bargaining with the fae," he volleyed like he didn't hear the insecurity in her request. His fingertip dragged a part from the center of her crown to the base of her skull before separating her hair into two halves. "How reckless."
"What am I, if not reckless?" she asked.
"Withholding," he admonished, his words a teasing hiss in her ear. "Now tell me what's wrong."
"I told you already," Sarah said. "I'm confused."
Jareth sighed and was quiet for a moment as his fingers separated three sections at her crown, gathering pieces as he slowly worked his way down her head. "I know."
"Sure," she agreed, that familiar frustration bubbling up within her again. "But you don't ask for clarification. If you want to hold your feelings close, that's your prerogative. But—"
"But?" he coaxed.
"It hurts that you seem to be disinterested in mine." She almost regretted the confession, but it had sat too heavily on her tongue to keep unspoken.
"I didn't assume you would want to share, Sarah," he told her. His fingers were tender at the base of her head. "It would be a privilege to know how you feel. One I don't think I deserve."
"I don't know where to start," Sarah admitted as Jareth draped the finished braid over her shoulder and began on the other.
"At the beginning, perhaps," he suggested.
She took a deep breath. "I can picture you, still, standing among the rubble of your clocks, and your promises. You were so intent on keeping me."
Jareth was quiet as he listened, making no effort to deny her claim.
"But then you just left me," she said, resenting her accusatory tone. "Or did I leave you? I can't remember now."
The fingers working their way down her scalp tensed. "Perhaps we left each other," he offered.
"Maybe," she allowed. "But it left a mark either way. Something unseen, but I carried it with me wherever I went."
"What do you mean?" Jareth asked, a frown in his voice.
Sarah could feel gentle tugs at her scalp and thought he might be running the finished braid through his fingers. She wished she had more hair for him to touch—she would miss the strange comfort of it.
"I couldn't trust myself after my run. My grip on reality I once clung to felt tenuous at best for years," she told him, her voice shaking with the emotion of the memory. "Like words fading on aged paper. Like a whisper of a secret I used to know."
She paused, aching for him to say something.
His chin rested on her good shoulder and he sighed again. "Oh, Sarah. I know the feeling."
Sarah relaxed a little at his small surrender. "All I could be sure of was this sense of loss. A gnawing emptiness that settled in my belly, reminding me that I was hollow. I had an incessant intuition that there was magic just out of reach." She swallowed past a lump in her throat. "Magic, and something else."
"Something else?" Jareth asked, tilting his head to search her face.
Sarah avoided the question and his searching eyes. It was easier to tell her truth when she couldn't see his face.
"I'd spin fantasies of your reappearance for the first several years after I returned," she said, her words pouring out like she couldn't keep them behind her teeth. "I wanted to know you, to be known by you. I'd imagine vivid scenes of you coming to me, beckoning me, holding me."
Soothing me, loving me.
Jareth's arms slipped under hers and he pulled her close against him. "Like this?"
Sarah's eyes slid closed as she leaned back into his embrace. "Like this."
They were quiet for a time before he prompted, "Go on."
"Your absence stung of betrayal," she admitted and didn't fight the tears burning behind her eyes threatening to spill. "I feel foolish if I'm being honest. Foolish that I assumed your intentions were to return for me, but also foolish to pine for you in the first place."
"I know that feeling, too," Jareth told her, giving her a reassuring squeeze.
Sarah's head tilted to rest against his. "There are memories that are still difficult for me to process."
"The Helping Hands?" he asked, and that note of regretful apology was back.
She shuddered at the thought of the groping, leering fingers. "Yes," she confirmed. "That. And more."
"I'm listening," he said. "Tell me."
"I was only fifteen when you offered me my dreams," she reminded him. "I wasn't old enough to understand the gravity of that decision. Yet, you offered."
Jareth let out a quavering breath. "I did."
"You would have taken Toby away from me," Sarah continued. "I know you would have. You did everything you could to take him."
"I did," he repeated. "I move the stars for no one, but I moved them for you."
Sarah twisted in his arms to look at him sharply. "You took my time away. That wasn't for me, Jareth. That was for you. "
"You're right," he told her. "I was selfish."
Her eyes narrowed at his confession. "You didn't care about his well-being, or how it would have hurt me to lose him." She was angry now, frustrated with how pliant he was being when she wanted to berate him. "Your only concern was winning your twisted game."
"That's where you're wrong," Jareth said, though there was tenderness in his tone. "It wasn't about the Labyrinth anymore."
"Correct me, then," she said bitterly. "What was it about?"
"We are discussing your feelings," he reminded her. "Not mine."
Sarah scoffed as she pulled out of his arms. "You want to know my feelings? Fine." She settled across from him and looked him dead in the eye. "Here's the worst part, the bit I can't move past: You drugged me."
Jareth winced and averted his eyes. Something like shame crept over his features and it just made Sarah angrier. He didn't get to feel bad about his actions, that was her trauma to hold.
"You took away my agency," she told him, her voice tremulous with barely restrained rage. "My autonomy was stripped away from me the moment I took a bite of that peach."
"I know," he said softly. "It was a mistake."
"A mistake?" Something inside her snapped. "Look at me, Goblin King. Don't be a coward."
Jareth's eyes flashed to hers, deep wells of remorse.
"It was a mistake to leave my body in a heap, discarded, while you toyed with my mind?" she seethed, angry tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "That seems pretty deliberate to me."
He said nothing to that but obediently held her gaze. His hand moved as if to reach for her but dropped when she hissed, "Don't."
Sarah stared at him, so full of resentment she felt it might burst from her chest. She wasn't sure how she'd been able to bottle this for so long, to journey with him like none of it had ever happened. To joke with him, to kiss him.
"I remember the exact moment I realized I was in an altered state," she went on, the momentum of her ire almost addictive. "A part of me surrendered to darkness the second I looked in your eyes and saw confirmation of what you had done." Tears escaped down her cheeks. "A waltz ruined, a trust forever broken."
"I'm sorry," Jareth told her, and somehow, she knew he meant it.
But still, the apology hardly touched her. "What's done is done," she reminded him. "What's said is said. Remember?"
"I do," he admitted, the words hushed but clear. "I was wrong to do what I did, Sarah, regardless of your age."
"But my age matters!" she snapped. "I was a child, Jareth."
"You were," he agreed. "And that is why I did not return for you."
Her blood boiled. She wanted to tell him how unfair that was. How cheap.
"Liar," she accused. "You didn't return because you either wanted to punish me or because once I won, I meant nothing to you."
Jareth reeled back like he'd been burned. "You can't believe that."
"You haven't given me anything else to believe in." A deep ache sprouted in her chest at the leaden truth of her words.
"I've acknowledged that I have done nothing to earn your trust," he said.
Sarah startled herself with a laugh, the flat sound of it seeming to echo in her ears. "You won't even talk to me. Not really ." Her voice broke, and she didn't bother to clear her throat. She was done pretending this didn't hurt. "And here I am, spilling my guts to you anyway."
Jareth reached for her again, and she didn't deter him when his palm cupped her kneecap. "I can't."
Part of her hated herself for accepting his touch. For wanting it. "I know you can't," she said. "And still, I want to trust you. I want you to tell me the deception was just part of the game."
Jareth's eyes looked haunted as he listened, and the audacity of it made her blood surge. "I want to hear that the manipulation was just the means to an end." She sniffed, disgusted with herself. "And that's sick. I know it is. But it's the truth."
"I was selfish," he repeated, squeezing her knee. "I've said that already, but you need to hear it."
"I wish you wouldn't tell me what I need to hear," Sarah told him, her voice a quiet rasp as grief replaced her rage. "I need to hear you say you want me to choose you of my own free will."
Jareth's fingers tensed where he gripped her knee. "Sarah—"
"I would, too," she continued. "Choose you. Despite everything that's happened. After everything you've done. I would."
When he only watched her silently, she added, "And maybe that's the most unfair part of all of this."
"That you would choose me?" he asked.
"No," she said. "That you know it, and you still toy with me like I'm nothing to you."
"I am not toying with you, Sarah," he told her, spitting out the word like it was poison in his mouth. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Maybe I should be sorry," she interjected. "I shouldn't have kissed you."
"I kissed you back," Jareth reminded her softly.
Sarah felt a flush sneak up her cheeks at the memory. "I'm embarrassed," she admitted. "I read you all wrong."
Jareth shook his head. "You didn't."
"I thought you…" she trailed off, that unsettling insecurity creeping over her nerves again.
He moved as if to touch her but stopped himself when she shifted away. "Sarah—"
"Are you in love with someone else?" Her gaze was hard when it rose to his.
Pain—violent and sharp—flashed in Jareth's eyes. "No."
She felt her brows knit together even as an involuntary sigh passed her lips. It wasn't the answer she expected, but she couldn't deny it was a relief. "Is someone in love with you?"
His eyes closed and he took in a slow breath through his nose. "Not that I know of."
"Do you—" Her words stuck in her throat and she tried again. "Do you desire me?"
Jareth's eyes were bottomless seas of torment. "Desperately."
She let out a frustrated huff. "Then help me understand."
"I can't," he said, sounding nearly as sick with hatred for the phrase as Sarah was.
"Please," she heard herself begging. "A piece of something true. A crumb. Just a little slice."
Jareth's eyes fell away. "You won't remember," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sarah sucked in a breath, horror crawling up her neck and leaving goosebumps in its wake. "What won't I remember?"
"The dream in which I pleaded for your help. The Beginning we journey through. The kiss we shared." His eyes lifted to meet hers. "This. None of this."
Her mind screamed at her to fight him on it. To tell him no, to explain how violated the very idea made her feel. But he sounded horrifically resolute, unwavering. "Why?" she managed.
"It's the only way to allow you the future you deserve," Jareth said like it killed him to do so. Like he couldn't bear for it to be true.
Sarah blinked back tears—angry and desperate and hot. "And why are you telling me now?"
"I didn't—" his voice was thick and he swallowed hard. "I didn't know how you felt about your run. How much it disturbed you."
"What does that have to do with it?" she asked.
"I can take it away from you," Jareth told her. He sounded gutted, as if it was the last thing in the world he wanted. "You don't need to remember me at all."
She stared at him, shocked he would think she'd want that. Scared that maybe she did.
"I—" Sarah started, choking back the sobs threatening to roll through her like an abrupt desert storm. "I can't talk about this anymore." Her voice came out dead. Wrecked. Ruined.
She clicked off the flashlight and slid into her sleeping sack. Her heart ached as tears streaked her cheeks. She'd never felt so desolate, so frightfully alone.
She could hear Jareth settle in beside her. His breathing sounded ragged, and Sarah thought she might not be the only one weeping.
"Jareth," she whispered. Her fingers found his in the dark and slipped between them. "I don't want to forget."
My body is a cage
We take what we're given
Just because you've forgotten
That don't mean you're forgiven
My body is a cage
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
'My Body is a Cage' by Arcade Fire
Thank you, Geliot99 and rantobi, for beta reading!
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Oof. This one hurt! Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think ❤️