Chapter 34 #2
"Right. Ok, so... I didn't tell you everything Sibs said.
I asked about your brother." I take a breath, steadying myself.
I worry she's going to be hurt that I kept this information from her.
"She told me, in a roundabout way, that some people can pass through the barrier because they have dormant magic.
But if they don't have magic, the barrier "takes" from them?
Honestly, you know Sibs—everything is a bit of a riddle—but that's what I understood from it. "
I watch her as we walk. She's quiet, staring ahead into the quiet town, so I continue.
"I asked if there was a way to help him, and she said that maybe once everything was righted, the barrier would give back what it took?" I wince as I say it, waiting for the fallout.
She's oddly calm, and that sets me off more.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. If I'm being honest, it's because I'm feeling so guilty, about leaving you behind. Guilty and insanely worried. I thought maybe I'd have more time to help you figure this out before we left," I take a deep breath.
Farra nods, deep in thought. We walk in silence for a few minutes, the stars twinkling above us in the murky black night.
"I mean... I do wish you'd told me sooner, but I understand. This is a complicated situation. We're all just doing the best we can." She gives me a sympathetic smile and reaches out to squeeze my hand.
I bob my head, a lump forming in my throat, unable to put into words how much it means to me she takes the time to understand the reasons why I do things. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude again. I'm not sure I deserve friends like this.
"I meant what I said earlier. I'll come back.
I'll get everyone settled, and maybe even find some help, or answers.
Or both!" The thought actually excites me.
The idea of freedom and possibly being able to connect all the broken dots that make up our history.
If I can finally get Linden and Willow to a place that's truly safe, it would leave more space for me to figure out how to help Farra and the others.
"You absolutely will not. You'll stay put wherever it's safest, and live out your days knitting, or writing poems about bugs. Whatever it is they do over there for fun in Zaphira," she laughs.
"That would be my natural talent, wouldn't it?
Clever bug poems. Maybe they have awards over there for that sort of thing," I snort, but then add, "Let's be honest here.
I cannot live out my glory days in peace knowing you're over here in this horrifying, dust bucket of a country, struggling by yourself.
" I pin her with a glare. "So either you come with us, and we figure it out together.
Or I'm coming back for you," I say with finality, and she scrunches up her face.
"Promise me you'll think about it?" I plead.
She gives me a sad nod, "Promise."
"Did you decide what you're doing about Deacon yet?" Farra asks.
I let out a groan.
"I'll take that as a no. Why don't you want him to come? You say you love him. He's been in your life forever... so, what?"
I've been avoiding thinking about this, because my thoughts cycle in endless exhausting loops.
"I can't explain it. Something stops me every time I go to talk to him. Maybe it’s because he's always been such an overbearing mother hen who thinks he knows best? I don’t know…" I sigh, trying to find the right words to explain my hesitation.
"Yeah, well, I'd hope you don't kiss all our friends. It's just bad form," she jokes and I laugh, lazily kicking a dusty rock along.
"Well, there's also that. But any chance of us being "more" was squashed wholeheartedly when he followed me here. It was like a switch flipped in me," I mumble.
"Sure, sure, and it has nothing to do with the fact that you and the Lieutenant undress each other with your eyes every time you're within five feet of one another?" She teases, as I scowl at her.
"No! What? That isn't true." I stutter over my own words. Am I that obvious? I can feel my cheeks heating. I back track. "I'm a warm-blooded human. Anyone with eyeballs can see that Tane is attractive. You've said it yourself."
She just cackles at my pathetic justification.
"What I meant to say, before I was very rudely sidetracked, was that Deacon and I don't have the same kind of easy relationship anymore. Maybe it's because we're more like siblings," I suggest, chewing my lip at the notion.
"Also... he's kind of a dick?" Farra adds.
"He is not!" I defend, "He loves me, he just doesn't always get me. If that makes sense? And I'm honestly afraid that once I tell him we're trying to take off, he's going to try and stop me, and I just don't have it in me to fight one more battle right now."
"Yeah, I don't blame you." She shrugs.
When we crawl into bed that night, I expect the energy pulsing under my skin to simmer down but if anything, it's worse.
I try everything: reading, writing, deciphering the Farra's nonsense that she whispers in her sleep.
The pressure seems to build until I toss the blanket off myself with a huff and slip on my shoes.
I thought the longer walk back to base would've helped tired me out, but I feel anything but tired.
It feels like the night before a big test; one where you know you're supposed to get lots of sleep, so you accidentally spend the night counting the hours and minutes left for rest until suddenly you have no time left at all.
The sun should peek above the walls in an hour or two, so I might as well get my run in early.
I stretch briefly. You'd think by this point I'd take that part more seriously, but I still half-ass it and then pay for it afterwards.
As I turn to enter the track, I glimpse something high up on top of the men's dorm.
I stop, squinting my eyes at the vaguely familiar shadow.
There's definitely someone up there. Maybe Leo's found out about our secret spot on the girls dorm roof and decided to explore his own?
Without thinking, I take off towards the men's dorm doors. I frown, realizing I don't have the key, and it's too early for people to be coming in and out. I give it a tug, just in case, and I am pleasantly surprised when it opens.
Maybe they don't bother locking this one anymore?
I jog up the steps on soft feet, trying not to make too much of a racket, not wanting to wake people up. My legs burn, and I revel in the way I no longer need to stop to catch my breath. I lose myself a bit to the rhythm of it, wishing I'd done this earlier, so maybe I could have slept afterwards.
I reach the top and am surprised by how little I want to vomit. I must actually be in shape now.
I climb the rickety metal ladder, twin to the one in our building, and push open the hatch with a thud.
I pull myself gracelessly up and over the side, giving myself a minute to catch my breath.
Turning, I see a familiar shadow in the corner, leaning over the tiny wall.
Instinctively, I know who it is, and all rational thought leaves me as I walk over to stand beside him.
"Treow," Tane says, without looking my way. His eyes are locked on the horizon.
"How did you know it was me?" I mumble, some of the bravado leaving me at the sight of him.
He doesn't respond. He looks... different.
Disheveled... lost, even. I look him over.
He's in his Lieutenant's uniform. They look filthy.
He must've just gotten back from an assignment.
His hands are clasped in front of him, and I notice that mixed in with the dark grime, is blood.
I can't tell if it's his or someone else's.
"Rough night?"
He grunts. I sigh and look out at the horizon. Dawn has crept closer, and there's a purple hue mixing between the dark of night and the impending sunrise. We stand in silence for a moment, appreciating it.
"I think this might be my favourite time of day," I offer, staring out at the landscape.
I see him shift on his feet slightly, and he sucks in a sharp breath.
"You're hurt."
"I've been in worse shape," he responds, and the hollowness of his voice unnerves me. I hate it, I realize.
A tiny drop of blood lands on the ground below his arms, and I can see as the light brightens around us just how bad his injuries actually are.
Gently, as if I'm approaching a wild animal, I slip my hand into his.
He looks at me finally, something raw and agonizing passing across his face.
I start to pull him towards the hatch, he resists, but I shake my head.
"Let's get you cleaned up," I say just above a whisper.
He searches my face, like this small kindness must be a trick, but I reassure him with a nod while pulling gently. I let him go first, and despite his condition, he glides down the ladder effortlessly. I climb down behind him, shutting the hatch.
Before I can jump from the last rung, hands grip my hips firmly, as he lowers me to the ground. I turn to thank him, and my breath hitches a little as my eyes roam over his arm.
"We should go to the infirmary. You need stitches." I motion to the slash on his arm that I could barely make out earlier.
"No. I have some supplies in my room," he responds, and for a moment I hesitate, but he glances back at me, motioning for me to follow.
His room is slightly bigger than ours, and he has it to himself. There's a small kitchenette to the left and a bed in the far-right corner. "You have a med kit?"
Using his good arm, he opens up a cupboard and pulls out a bag.
"You don't have to help me, I…"
I put up my hand to cut him off. "Go wash up," I demand.
His eyes widen slightly, but they don't meet mine and my heart sinks a little.
He comes back out of the bathroom ten minutes later in clean clothes, soft cotton pants and a grey shirt, his arms and face washed. It's the most casual he's ever looked, and it somehow conflicts with the harshness emanating off him. His inky hair is wet from the shower.
I motion for him to sit on the stool in front of me. To my surprise, he listens. I grab his hands gently, examining them to see where I should start. I draw in a deep breath when I see the gash on his arm, now that all the grime and blood is washed away.
I pour some rubbing alcohol onto a clean cloth, and start gently dabbing at the larger cuts on his knuckles. He hisses, scowling at me.
"Oh, hush... big baby, it just stings for a few seconds." I give him a cheeky look, and I finally see the hint of a smirk dance across his full lips.
"This one’s going to sting a little more," I warn, before dripping some of the liquid into the wound.
He curses, trying to pull away, but I hold him in place.
Bending, I blow on the cut gently, trying to take away some of the bite.
I look up when I feel Tane's burning gaze.
His eyes are almost black as he watches me, and I feel heat wash over my body, settling just below my belly button.
I grab the needle and thread I found in the bag, and start to stitch up the torn flesh as best I can. Tane doesn't even flinch at this, his breathing relaxed and even. Once that's done, I use tape to pull together the smaller cuts.
"Want to tell me what happened?" I ask quietly.
"Not really."
The hollow look on his face threatens to pull me under. I can't take it, so I start to ramble, mostly to myself.
"Do you ever feel like everything you do takes away a piece of you?
Slivers of who you are are cut away for others, until you're not even sure what you're left with?
It's almost easy to justify in the moment, but.
.. later on," my voice fades away as I study his face.
There's something there now— a spark of recognition. Regret. Understanding.
I look over my work on his arms with satisfaction then look at Tane’s face again. He has another cut above his left eyebrow.
"Can I...?" I ask, pointing to his forehead.
His eyes meet mine, and he nods slowly, pain still pinching his features. Somehow, I doubt it's from the cuts.
I step between his legs, willing myself to focus and not get lost in his nearness. He leans into me so that our bodies are nearly touching everywhere. Grabbing the cloth, I dab the cut. This time he doesn't hiss or grumble. His eyes just stay locked on me, his breathing uneven.
"You’re good at this," he whispers.
"I've been fixing burns and bumps since I was a little..." I trail off, thinking of my dad. "My dad used to fight in the rings," I offer, pulling back to look at him. "I used to patch him up."
I wait for a moment, as Tane's eyes bore into mine. He offers me nothing, so I finally say. "I saw a man at the underground Games once; a fighter, like my dad. He had tattoos like these." My finger taps at the dark ink peeking up from underneath the collar of his t-shirt.
I search his face for something. Slowly, he nods. Understanding floating between us.
"You did?"
"I did."
"And you didn't use that information..." He trails off, like the idea that I didn't extort him is unfathomable.
"You didn't tell Kethler what really happened with that extraction, either."
Neither of us says anything more as I finish cleaning the cut. Again, I get the confidence to blow gently on the cut on his forehead, my lips hovering close enough I can feel the heat radiating off him.
He inhales sharply, his hands flying to my wrists.
"Don't," he growls, through clenched teeth.
"Don't what, Tane?" I challenge.
"Don't... or I'm going to kiss you. And that would be a terrible idea."
He's giving me the option—the power—in this moment, to pull away, and it lights something on fire in my chest. I lean forward, locking eyes with him with a defiant grin, and whisper, "And what would be so terrible about that?"
For a moment, he's as still as death. His nostrils flare, and I wonder if he's breathing me in, like I am with him. His scent wraps around me like a warm blanket. His grip tightens on my wrists like he's willing every muscle in his body to stay still.
But the moment ignites in just a breath when our mouths finally collide.