49. Forty Six
Forty Six
Eden
In a matter of minutes, the camp is vacant, save for Creed, Cecil, Sylvie, myself, and a pair of young guys that I don’t recognize. Everyone had been warned of the risks, but the duo chose to hang back and watch. Their reasoning? “If we’re going to fight with her, why should we fear her?”
It’s heartwarming, kind of, but it also spits gasoline onto the open flame of my nerves. Everyone else all but ran to their camps, going so far as to close their curtains. Like that would somehow shield them from the sound of my voice. In any other circumstance, I might laugh. Sylvie certainly did.
"What’s the plan?”
The question comes from Creed. Taking in his pursed lips and knit brow, I have to avert my gaze. The only person’s apprehension I can focus on right now is my own. Cecil, too, is a bundle of nerves. On the outside, he appears as aloof and fearsome as ever. But I know him too well now.
“We see what she can do,” Sylvie replies, speaking and signing in tandem.
The sun is beginning to lower behind the trees, and it gleams off of her golden skin.
Though she is smaller than me, she is the vision of a warrior.
Even the sweat dripping between her collarbones appears as a pendant of strength.
“How?” I ask.
Sylvie begins to unravel a leather corded bracelet from her left wrist. It’s wrapped at least a half dozen times, and by the time it’s hanging between us, it’s no more than a rope.
Without a word, she stands at my back. The tap of her fingers on my elbow has me sending her a worried glance.
Wordlessly, she juts her chin towards my arm.
No more than a puppet on her string, I concede.
Cecil’s cheek puckers as he tears it to shreds from the inside.
Wrists thoroughly bound, she spins me until we’re eye to eye.
“Same as before. I come after you, you protect yourself.” She hooks a finger into the binding and gives it a quick tug. It doesn’t budge. “Only this time, try to use that sweet little voice of yours. Got it?”
My heart thuds like a drum, steady and heavy in my ears. When I don’t give Sylvie any indication that I’ve heard her, her brow quirks.
“Yes?” She pushes. Behind her, Creed is furiously signing to his brother. Though I’m unable to make out much of it, I catch words here and there. Hurt, stop, protect, fault. But he doesn’t pay attention to his little brother's pleas. He’s too busy staring at me.
“Eden.” Sylvie snaps, her amber eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Are we doing this or not?”
When I nod my head, a large part of me wishes I didn’t.
I stand dumbly as Sylvie makes her way to the other side of the sparring mat. She raises her hands over her head, stretching side to side and rolling her shoulders back. Satisfied with her loose limbs, she levels me in her stare.
“You ready?”
No.
My chin dips infinitesimally, and without a moment of hesitation, she charges at me. Forgetting the purpose of the training, I back up in a panic and trip over my feet. Unable to catch myself, I land on my bottom. My tail bone throbs.
Sylvie throws her arms up. “You’ve got to be shitting me. What’s the point of this if you’re going to run away?”
Even if my hands weren’t bound behind my back, I wouldn't have a valid excuse. I shrug in embarrassment as an apology.
For the next fifteen minutes, the sessions end in very much the same manner. I trip and fall, I run and hide behind Cecil, I drop to my knees and cower. Sylvie’s face gets more and more red, and I absently worry for her blood pressure.
“You’re wasting my fucking time,” she growls, taking her place across from me.
Don’t run. Stand your ground. Open your mouth and—
Air whooshes out of my lungs as Sylvie slams into me. Before, she would quickly step towards me, giving me time to prepare. Now, by the time I register her moving, I’m already on the ground.
An ache spreads through my hip from where I land on my side, but that’s just the beginning. Her body weight rolls over mine until I’m pinned on my front, cheek pressed to the mat. The smell of rubber and sweat fills my nose, and all I can see is the row of RVs in the distance.
Failing to protect myself, I wait for Sylvie's weight to disappear and for her to demand I get back on my feet.
But it doesn’t come.
Suddenly, white hot pain shoots from my wrist all the way up into my skull. Nails dig into my flesh as Sylvie uses her strength to bend my wrist at an unnatural angle. I gasp loudly and begin to wriggle wildly beneath her.
Thundering footsteps near.
“If you get any closer, I’ll break it.” Sylvie’s voice has lost its feminine quality. In its place is something feral. Something deadly.
“What the fuck!? Get off of her!” Cecil sounds about as panicked as I feel. I can’t see Creed, but I can’t imagine he’s faring any better.
The pain worsens and I see stars, my next inhale strangled. Bucking my hips, each movement only adds more pressure to my trapped arm. Any second I’m expecting the snap of bone.
“Not until she makes me!” There’s a hint of desperation in Sylvie’s voice, anger beginning to waver into something akin to fear.
Her weight shifts, and I can feel the brush of her hair along the back of my neck. “Where’s that Gift of yours, huh?” She pushes impossibly further, and I stop breathing altogether. “Veda told me about your mother, you know. Sacrificing herself for you. What a waste.”
A sob is trapped somewhere in my lungs—somewhere I can’t reach. A pressure builds, but in the back of my mind, there’s hesitation. I don’t want to hurt her. Even through the anger, through the agony, I don’t want to.
“I’m not fucking around! Let her go!” Cecil’s order falls on deaf ears. Black shrouds the edges of my vision. My molars grind until my jaw pops.
“Utterly. Fucking. Useless.” Her lips lower to the shell of my ear until I can feel the warm humidity of her breath.
“Don’t worry, birdy. I’ll keep his bed warm once you’re gone.
” A pleased hum escapes her. “Hell, maybe even both of them. I’m not usually into softies, but I’ll bet Creed is good with his hands—”
Energy consumes my consciousness and bursts out in the form of a brief, guttural shriek. Without the air to force the sound up and out, the wail is short lived. But it’s enough. The weight against my back disappears.
Oxygen floods my lungs. Tucking my knees beneath me, I press my forehead to the mat. Unaware of my surroundings, all I’m able to focus on is the throb in my wrist that ebbs with each passing second. There’s a shuffle of fabric beside me, and I don’t have to look to know who it is.
Creed makes quick work of the leather, freeing my hands from the binds.
Ever so gently, he helps me sit up and cups my face in his palms. Bringing my uninjured hand up, I close my fingers around his wrist and give it a squeeze.
He leans forward until our foreheads touch.
I close my eyes and allow his presence to calm my frayed nerves.
That proves difficult, with the threats being thrown around behind me.
“I could fucking kill you,” Cecil’s words are heavy with promise.
As Sylvie replies, she sounds breathless. “Yeah, but you won’t.”
The good news is, I didn’t injure her enough to render her unconscious. The bad news is, my ability might not be as strong as they were hoping for.
Once I pull myself from Creed’s embrace, he helps me to stand, careful not to touch my injury. His arm stays around my waist for support as I take in what I’ve done.
Sylvie has blood coming from both nostrils, and a burst blood vessel in one of her eyes. Cecil appears completely unharmed, same as the Jasper incident. My chest deflates with relief.
What surprises me, though, is how far back Sylvie is from where the two of us were positioned on the ground. Laying on her back, it doesn’t look like she scurried away from me when I opened my mouth. It appears that she landed there.
Cecil peers back at us. This time when he approaches, he allows himself to touch me. With delicate fingers, he grips my forearm and inspects what was almost a broken bone.
“You’re alright?” His tone is gentle, but his eyes narrow in anger.
“She’s fine. Better than fine, I’d say,” Sylvie pipes up. With a pained groan, she pushes herself up onto her elbows. Face pinched in pain, she wipes dirtied hands on her white tank top.
The way she watches me is such a stark contrast to the pure malice she was speaking with just moments ago. She looks… awe struck. Impressed, even.
“Sorry about the sprain, but I can’t say I regret it. That new trick will come in handy.”
Cecil pauses, looking between the two of us. “Trick?” He questions, eyeing me head to toe. The question is aimed at me, but Sylvie is the one who answers.
“Seems your girl can do a lot more than deafen her opponents, CeCe. Aren’t you lucky?”
.