Eight Gemma
CHAPTER EIGHT
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I’D NEVER WISHED FOR someone to survive and die in equal measure.
I wanted him to survive because the thought of him dying after the past he’d endured was unthinkable. No wonder he was the way he was. No wonder he’d attacked me. Didn’t trust me. And had such a complicated relationship with sex.
Each time he woke, blinked at me as if he’d never met me, let alone had his tongue between my legs, I wept inside.
I struggled not to break and cry in front of him.
I did my best to answer his repetitive questions about where his family was, where the guests were, who I was, and ensured I managed to get as many anti-inflammatories, liquids, and food into him as possible.
But then...there were moments where I wished he would die.
Not because I wanted to be free of him but because I couldn’t stand the agony he was in.
The torture of his mind. The screams of his nightmares.
The catatonic slave who bowed over his knees and implored me to hurt him but no one else.
Who trembled and begged me to release the others, and in return, he promised to do whatever I wanted.
It shattered me. Sickened me.
His own mind was killing him.
For eight long, unendurable days, I walked that tightrope of wanting my treatment to succeed and the god-awful admission of holding my breath in hope when he wouldn’t wake.
Of sitting by his bruised and scarred body while he slept, of stroking his hair, of whispering sweet nothings in his ear, praying that his mind would let him rest.
He deserved to rest. To feel peace.
But each time I believed his pulse had slowed and he was fading in my arms, he’d twitch awake, disorientated and unbalanced, and I’d have a few precious moments when I could guide him from his blankets, brace him with my body to the bathroom, and let him relieve himself.
I’d hurry and watch the clock, my jumpy anxiety justified because the sleepy, stumbling man using me as a crutch could, at any moment, snap back into his delusions and try to kill me.
On the third day, I made the decision to undo the rope from around his wrists. Rightly or wrongly, I’d had no choice. I’d been watching him. Monitoring his pain levels and growing intimately aware of his flinches and wariness.
His left wrist and arm had blown up with swelling, despite the drugs I fed him. The rope had grown too tight, cutting off the circulation to his fingers. I’d cut him free while he’d slept.
With no protection from his potential aggression, I’d pilfered a knife from the kitchen and kept it tucked down my waistband ready, just in case he woke and launched himself at me.
However, when he did wake, he remembered nothing.
Not our previous conversations. Not his past. Not his present.
He blinked at me with pure innocence, a softly spoken boy with his untainted life spread out by his feet.
“Who are you?” he’d asked in a voice that held no animosity, blackness, or derision. It was clear and trusting, kind and soft.
It made my entire body clench with longing because I knew, without any doubt or uncertainty, that in this short fragment of time, I spoke to the boy who’d lived before the man who’d suffered.
I’d dropped the books I’d gathered off the shelves in the library—medical texts and extensive surgical volumes that belonged in a hospital instead of a civilian’s collection—and collapsed on the floor.
He’d tried to catch me. Long-buried instincts hurling him out of his blankets to catch a stranger he believed he’d never met. However, he hissed and buckled. Pain jerked him back. Nursing his arm, he rocked over the mottled bruising before clutching his head with another groan.
It’d been my turn to catch him.
I’d crawled into him, not fearing my life. Not from this version of Kas. Not this sweet, sweet boy.
“Tell me what hurts.”
He blinked huge dark eyes at me, wetness glistening on his bottom lashes. “Everything.”
I took his swollen arm in my hands and pressed gently, working my way up and down, feeling bumps that shouldn’t be there. “There? Does that hurt?”
He moaned and bit his bottom lip. “Yes.”
“I think it’s broken.”
“I think so too,” he whispered. “It doesn’t like it when I move.”
“Okay.” I patted his hand and gave him a gentle smile. “I’ll fix it.”
“You will?” He looked at me as if I held his world. As if I was some mythical guardian who would protect him for always.
“Yes. I’ll be right back.”
For days, I’d suspected his arm was broken but had no way of splinting it. Now? Now I had another version of Kas that I wasn’t afraid of, and time was of the essence to help him before he switched again.
Pushing to my feet, I dashed out of the library, ran to the garden, and grabbed a small bamboo stake that I’d seen in the pea vine part of the veggie patch. Bolting back into the house, I skidded to a halt and dropped into the blankets.
For a second, I froze.
What if he’d switched while I was gone?
I’d just given him the perfect opportunity to kill me.
However, he shifted away from me as if my freezing like a cornered cat unsettled him. “What? What is it?” he asked warily, his eyes darting over my shoulder, looking for something he should be afraid of. “Is something out there?”
His voice remained sweet and young.
Unbroken before abuse.
“No.” I exhaled heavily. “Nothing is out there.” I forced myself to relax and scoot closer to him. “It’s nothing, truly. I was just worried about you, that’s all.”
“Me?” He gave me a shaky smile. “Why?”
“Because you’re hurt.” I frowned at his swollen arm he was cradling. “You remember what we talked about?”
He frowned and looked to the side, his mind obviously struggling to recall something that only happened a few minutes ago.
God, what did this mean for him?
Would he be destined to spend the rest of his life flickering in and out of reality and mirages?
Dropping his gaze, he stared at his arm, then twitched as if memories physically pinched him inside. “Oh, I remember.” He nodded. “My arm is broken. It hurts.”
“I know.” I resisted the urge to cup his cheek. To just touch him. I ached to touch him—to somehow keep his mind from straying, aging, breaking. “Should we fix it?”
He made eye contact and smiled again. This time, it was the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. It made me tremble as he carefully placed his arm into my lap and shuffled closer until our knees touched. Until his body heat from the blankets tingled over my skin.
The same chemistry that existed between us from the very first moment we met existed even now. A gentle buzzing from his body to mine, sending my blood shivering as well as my bones and breath.
He inhaled sharply.
I stiffened, ever so jumpy in case the kid had become the killer again. But instead of angry dark eyes filled with murderous intent, they stayed a syrupy golden brown filled with absolute trust and gratitude.
“I like you,” he murmured, licking his lips. “I think I know you from somewhere. I feel it...” He tapped his chest with his free hand. “In here.”
I struggled to swallow, doing my best to ignore the humming electricity twining around us. “I like you too.”
He blushed.
Actually blushed.
And I swallowed tears because what kind of boy could blush at the confession of affection after every sexual desecration he’d been through.
“Thank you for looking after me,” he murmured.
“You’re welcome.” My heart absolutely pounded, wanted.
“You’re really pretty.” His free hand came up to twist a lock of my hair, his knuckles kissing my cheek. “Want to go out with me? Once my arm is better? We can go swimming at my favorite lake.”
Despite the fire in my cheek from his touch and the constant tingle in my blood from being so close to him, I forced pragmatism to focus on the pieces of his past. He’d given me his name.
If he gave me the town where he lived, then perhaps, I could find his family.
Maybe, after years of being alone, he could go home.
“Where is your favorite lake?” I whispered as he pulled my hair, tugging me closer to him.
His eyes lit up, remembering something I couldn’t see, but then they clouded, and he shook his head. “I-I don’t remember.”
“Was it somewhere hot all year round, or did you ice skate on the lake in winter?”
His face grew darker, his forehead knotting with stress.
“I-I don’t know. I—” He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Why don’t I know? It’s-it’s...nothing is straight in my head.
It’s all jumbled and—” His eyes shot wide, flickering with horror.
“Where is everyone? I...I had a family. Wes and—” He tapped his temple as if trying to dislodge more.
“God, what were their names? Who are you?”
Worry replaced the softness of before, making me backpedal. “I’m your friend, remember? Don’t worry about anything else. Just focus on us, that’s all.” Cupping his cheek, I ran my thumb over the soft skin above his scruff. “I’m Gem, and you’re Kas, and everything is okay now that we’re together.”
He exhaled hard.
It was as if the evil trying to snatch him back receded, leaving him empty and quiet. Entirely willing to let me protect him. “Okay. I’ll just focus on you.” Swaying forward, he bumped his forehead against mine. “I really, really like you, Gem.” His chin moved, and his mouth fastened over mine.
I froze for the third time.
He sucked in a breath.
Our eyes stayed locked as if he was as shocked as me that he’d kissed me.
I waited for him to pull away. To act shy and blush again.
Instead, his lips moved over mine, hesitantly and softly. His eyes drifted closed, and he pulled me closer with the lock of my hair.
Pull away, Gem.
Stop.
I fell into him.
I parted my lips and trembled as the tip of his tongue tasted me.
As far as kisses went, this was the sweetest I’d ever had. Sweeter than my first stumbling when I was fourteen. Sweeter than my ex-boyfriend or any other kiss with Kas before.
This man had kissed me full of violence and aggression. It’d been messy and barbaric and resorted to us rolling around in the mud like beasts.
But this?