Twenty Kassen
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
––––––––
THE GENERATOR TURNED OUT to be an easier fix than I’d thought. Which was a good thing, seeing as I hadn’t brought any tools with me. I should’ve. I would’ve if I had half a working brain and not this mush of concussion. How was I supposed to fix anything without the necessary tools?
Idiot.
At least nature had taken pity on me and the issue turned out just to be debris.
The turbine was buried beneath a pile of muck.
I’d been right that the storm, when Gemma climbed up the cliff and tried to drive herself away, was the reason for the unworking machine.
Mulched grass, twigs, and rotting bracken had wedged around the blades, tangling into a nest that wouldn’t allow water to spin the turbine.
After a few minutes of pulling, yanking, and struggling to hold my balance as I stooped over and worked, the first groan of the ancient propeller twisted and water coaxed it to move quicker.
I cleared the rest and waited for a little while, partly to get my nausea under control and partly to check that no other debris arrived from upstream to clog it again.
The steady whirr of power being conjured from the water, and stored in the bank of batteries that would one day likely cease working, filled me with relief.
For now at least, we had power. Electricity that meant we could continue living in a mansion with privileges such as an oven, fridge, and pressurized water to flush toilets and grant showers.
Cold showers, mind you. And fucking icy in winter, but the electricity quantity only stretched so far.
Standing, I cricked the new twinges in my neck and rolled out my spine that made sure I understood it wasn’t happy about my current state of health.
My gaze ran over my valley to the cliff beyond. I didn’t go blank again. My thoughts remained my own and I shook my head for the hundredth time that I was still alive after a fall that high. Honestly, I couldn’t believe I’d survived.
Surely, something like that wasn’t survivable. Either it was some sick twist of fate or I was the butt of some obscene joke: permit the man who was more than happy to die but was too cowardly to do it himself an almost immortal ability to walk away from something that should’ve left him in pieces.
Literal, actual pieces.
Yet I’d walked away.
Well, she’d pulled me away but that was beside the point.
I still had full range of motion and wasn’t crippled.
I still had my mind, even if it was a little scattered and sick at the moment.
And sure, I had kinks where there used to be no pain, most parts of my body didn’t feel put together right, and my arm was taking its sweet time to knit together, but all in all, I’d been lucky.
So, so fucking lucky.
So...why do I feel so wretchedly lost?
Taking my time to climb from the concrete box, I gritted my teeth against the vertigo that clung to me like a bad smell, and planted my foot on slippery water-rippling rocks.
Everything inside me ordered my head to come up and check that she’d stayed. I’d fought the urge to look at the bank ever since I’d left her coughing because of what I’d done. But...I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t look because if I looked and she wasn’t there—
Fuck me, I couldn’t even finish that thought without clutching at my heart and rubbing at the agony inside me. An agony that hadn’t been brought on by falling off a cliff but by falling in an entirely different matter.
Focus.
Get back across the river without drowning.
Haze flickered over my eyes as I kept my attention steadfast on the rapids and squinted as the sun bounced off crystal clear water. A few fish scattered past in the current, seeking deeper pools, while the crayfish in this area favoured the shadowy inlets closer to the cave system.
Slipping into the swimming hole, the urge to look to see if I’d lost my captive once again crushed me.
Look!
You need to know!
Get ready to run after her.
I ducked under water instead and screamed.
Bubbles shot from my mouth as I clutched long, tangled hair floating by my ears, and fought the urge to cause myself physical harm. I’d been down that dangerous road and didn’t like how good it’d felt. How it offered a release valve to all the shit I’d endured.
My hand went to the splint covering my broken arm, rubbing over the marks that were entirely self-inflicted and not guest given.
It hadn’t been my idea. I was always more focused on my family’s misery than my own, but I’d caught Quell hurting herself one afternoon.
She’d smuggled a pencil into the dorm and put herself into a trance by stabbing the nib through her forearm, again and again, leaving pinpricks of silvery lead and bright blood like a morbid constellation.
I’d taken the pencil off her. I’d held her as she cried.
I’d understood her self-harm was a cry for help.
A scream for freedom and a primitive urge to control her own pain after she’d been hurt by others for so long.
As her tears had dried, I’d been curious and punctured my own arm with the pencil. Surprisingly, the tip went in easier than I imagined; a sharp pinch and then nothing. I was well acquainted with my blood and swallowed against the rush of sick satisfaction as I bled.
Quell watched silently as I punctured myself again and again, slipping into the same trance she’d been in. It’d felt good. Powerful. Addictive.
I’d wanted to stay in that power.
With a kiss to my cheek, she’d stolen the pencil and threw it out the window. It’d landed on the roof outside with a soft clatter, just as Jareth walked in, white faced and hollowed eyed, his body showing multiple wounds from serving a sick and twisted guest.
He’d given us a wobbly grimace.
Quell and I had looked at each other and then to our bleeding arms and shuddered. We had no words why delivering our own pain felt so good after being at the mercy of others. We recognised that if we went down that path, it could result in not just drawing a little blood but taking an entire life.
And that idea...of finally being totally free was far, far too enticing.
“Promise me, never again,” I’d murmured, linking my fingers with hers as Jareth threw himself face-first on his bed with a tortured groan.
She’d nodded and vowed, “Only if you promise me the same.”
I’d nodded and let her go. We placed our branded arms together, relishing in what we’d done and vowing never to do it again.
We had a matching tattoo. The lead from the pencil had stained us.
No one else knew how such a dotted design ended up on our skin but whenever we looked at each other’s, we’d stare, we’d nod, and we’d keep our joint secret.
I never told her but I was sickly proud that out of all our wounds and all our scars, we’d taken a sliver of power back by marking ourselves. We owned us, not them. Our blood had said so.
Stop it!
I shot to the surface for air, drinking down oxygen and shoving away memories. They weren’t permitted in the light of day. My mind and walls knew that. So why the fuck had I had two in such a short amount of time?
My fingers burned as if I still held Gemma’s throat in my hands.
My head automatically snapped to the bank before I could stop myself, my eyes unwilling to see the truth. The truth of an empty riverside, of no one there.
Wait, what?
I flinched and coughed as my legs forgot how to swim and I drank a mouthful of river by accident.
She’s...she’s still here.
I blinked.
I couldn’t understand.
Why?
She was free.
I’d let her go.
I’d hurt her again.
In some broken cavern in my heart, I’d fully expected her to run as far and as fast as she could. I’d almost snarled at her to get away from me before I could hurt her again.
So...why hadn’t she gone?
Panic suddenly flared down my limbs.
No.
She was lying down.
I could barely see her, enveloped by the long grass swaying softly in the sun.
She’s lying down...
She wasn’t hating me, cursing me, or plotting my demise. She was...
Dead?
Holy shit, did I kill her?
I bolted. I swam like a drowning otter and shot across the pool as fast as I could.
Please, please, please...
I couldn’t breathe.
My head pounded.
My body throbbed.
I was two seconds away from hurling up our meagre breakfast. If I’d killed her now? If I stole the only thing in my life that granted a second’s worth of peace? If I hurt the one person who actually tried to help me?
Christ, I’d do a hell of a lot more than just self-harm.
“Shit, Gemma!” I ducked under the water and swam until my entire body burned. I grabbed the shore and hauled myself up, ignoring my staggers, my injuries, my goddamn concussion and fell to my knees beside her.
I went to shake her, to snap her awake, but at the last second, I froze.
If she was dead...God—
I pulled back, hesitant to discover my worst nightmare. Staying back, I reached shaking fingers, softly, reluctantly.
“Gemma...” I grazed her cheek, dripping wet beside her.
Nothing.
Gritting my teeth, I dropped my unwilling fingers to her throat. Her skin was mottled from my strangulation. I snarled as I waited for her pulse.
Please. Fucking, please!
There.
Thud-thud, thud-thud.
Not faint, not flickering. Strong and bold and the entire embodiment of the brave girl who continued to fight me head on.
I collapsed, giving in to the swirling pain inside my skull.
Thank God.
Just asleep.
She’s just asleep.
Why she hadn’t woken and why she lay so disturbingly still didn’t matter. If she was half as exhausted as I was from the past month of existing together, I could understand her body had finally reached its limit.
I was very familiar with that limit.
I’d reached it multiple times over the years when trying to prepare for winter all by myself.
I’d reached it while living at Fables and having to serve for fourteen hours straight.
Sleep wasn’t a luxury when you were worked to the bone and terrified to your core.
Sleep was a necessity that could only be ignored for so long before it snatched you anyway.