Chapter 4 #4
The silence in the room is deafening, heavier than the static on the screen. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel my hands. Everything is blurred, the edges of the room bleeding into a grey, suffocating fog. I feel like I’m floating, drifting away from my own skin.
"Ophelia?"
Rhys’s voice reaches me, but it sounds wrong. It’s distant, like he’s shouting from the bottom of a well, or maybe from another fucking room entirely. I can see his lips moving, see the concern etched into his sharp features, but the sound is a million miles away.
Then, the first sob breaks through. It’s a jagged, ugly sound that rips out of my throat, shattering the numbness. I can’t breathe. The image of my mother—broken, bleeding, dying in a pool of her own gore—is burned into the back of my eyelids.
Suddenly, a surge of blind, primal panic hits me. I need to get out. I need to run until my lungs burst. I scramble up, my movements clumsy and frantic, and bolt for the door. I don't even know where I'm going, I just know I can't be here anymore.
I don't make it.
Rhys is faster. He catches me right at the threshold, his arms slamming around me like iron bands, pinning me against the doorframe. I collapse against him, my whole body shaking with violent, racking sobs.
"I want my mum!" I scream, the words raw and desperate. I clutch at his clothes, my fingers digging into the fabric. "Take me to her! Please, Rhys, please take me to my mommy!"
I’m not a woman in this moment. I’m that tiny, screaming infant on the blood-soaked sheets. I’m a broken child begging for a ghost.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his voice thick, grounding me. "I'll take you to her, sweetheart. I promise."
But the promise is a lie. She’s in a box. She’s dust and rot and memory. The realization hits me like a physical blow, and the grief turns into something colder, something final.
"Just let me die," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Let me go to her. I can't do this anymore. I can't fucking live with this. I don't want to be alive, Rhys. I just want to die."
Before he can react, my hand darts out. I don't think; I just act. I snatch the gun from his belt, the cold steel feeling like the only honest thing in the room. I jam the barrel under my chin, my finger tightening on the trigger.
"Ophelia, no!"
He lunges. He rips the weapon from my grip with a violent jerk just as the hammer falls.
BANG.
The shot echoes through the room, a deafening crack that makes my ears ring. The bullet flies harmlessly into the air, but the intent was there. Rhys doesn't hesitate; he rips the gun completely out of my hand and hurls it across the room. It skids across the floor, landing far out of reach.
He slams me back against the wall, his grip bruising, his eyes flashing a dangerous, predatory red. He grabs my face in both hands, forcing me to look directly into his gaze. His expression is a terrifying mix of fury and absolute desperation.
"You think you can just leave me?" he snarls, his voice a low, vibrating growl.
"You think you can just fucking vanish? Listen to me, you stubborn, beautiful little thing.
You are mine. Do you understand? Every breath you take, every drop of blood in your veins, every single fucking inch of your skin belongs to me.
I didn't pull you out of the dark just to let you slip away into the void. "
I look into his eyes, my vision swimming with tears. "I'm a product of torture and rape, Rhys," I choke out, the truth feeling like acid in my mouth. "I was born from pain. I'm nothing but a fucking mistake."
His grip tightens, not to hurt me, but to hold me together.
"You are not a mistake," he says, his voice dropping to a fierce, intense whisper.
"Your mother... she endured that hell for you.
She didn't starve herself, she didn't give up, she didn't let that bastard break her spirit entirely because she wanted to find a way to get you and your sisters out.
She fought every single second of that nightmare because she loved you more than her own life. "
He leans in, his forehead pressing against mine. "The last thing she ever did—the very last breath she had—was to say your name. Ophelia. You were her victory, you little fool. You were the only thing in that room that was pure."
I sob, a broken, guttural sound, and for the first time, I see it. A single, solitary tear escapes Rhys's left eye, tracing a path down his cheek. The sight of it freezes the air in my lungs. The Great Rhys Castellan, the monster of the Menagerie, is crying.
"I can't lose you," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I can't fucking lose you, Ophelia. I love you so much it fucking kills me. I will burn the whole world to the ground before I let you leave me. You are my heart, my soul, my obsession. You stay here. With me. Always."
He pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me so tightly I can feel his heart hammering against my chest—fast, frantic, and utterly devoted. He begins to rock me slowly, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses to my temple, my forehead, my tear-stained cheeks.
"Shhh," he coos, the psychotic edge replaced by a tenderness that is almost more frightening. "I've got you. You're safe. I'm here, and I'm never letting go. Just breathe for me, sweetheart. Just breathe."
He continues to murmur sweet, possessive nonsense into my ear, his voice a hypnotic drone that slowly lures me out of the darkness.
He strokes my hair, his touch grounding me, pulling me back from the edge of the abyss.
Slowly, the shaking stops. The world stops spinning.
I collapse into him, completely spent, my spirit extinguished.
Without a word, he scoops me up in his arms, carrying me as if I weigh nothing. He walks through the dim corridors of the carnival, his stride purposeful, until he reaches his private chambers.
He kicks the door shut and carries me to the massive, velvet-draped bed.
He lays me down with an almost reverent gentleness, but he doesn't pull away.
Instead, he climbs in beside me, pulling the heavy covers over us both.
He wraps his large body around mine, shielding me from the rest of the world, pinning me to his chest.
I close my eyes, listening to the steady thrum of his heart, feeling the possessive heat of his skin. For now, the ghosts are silent. For now, I am just his.