11. Ember #2
I stumble to the second floor bathroom to avoid being tracked. The guys won’t check here first. My knees soon give out, and I land in the middle of the bathroom, jolting the still-healing bruises and scrapes that cover my body.
Hopelessness isn’t all that familiar. Sure, there were plenty of times in captivity when my situation felt bleak. Inescapable. But if I’d allowed myself to wallow in the defeat, I never would’ve survived. I had to shut that voice out to keep going.
Disassociate. Bury. Survive.
Now there isn’t an ounce of strength left inside me to hold the floodgates at bay as the bathroom dips in and out. Defeat infiltrates my last conscious seconds, bringing that soul-crushing despair into sharp focus.
I can’t fight this any longer. Not as my whole body tenses and spasms, a thick layer of sweat soaking into my spasming limbs. The bathroom ceiling flashes bright-white then fuzzy darkness invades, but in the involuntary surrender comes silence.
At least I’m out of sight.
No one can see my weakness.
The vast, empty expanse of nothingness is a welcome break. Pops of colour shift. Shadows morph before the black cloak returns. Pain ceases. The shaking stops. I don’t have limbs, fingers or even toes to feel the discomfort caused by the seizure taking hold.
I’m floating, untethered and numb, while time ceases. Free at last. An untethered balloon testing how high it can climb before the atmosphere causes its exoskeleton to rupture. Only I can’t break when I’m already shattered beyond repair.
“Easy, sweetheart.”
Who…
“Come back when you’re ready. It’s okay. You’re safe.”
No.
Voices don’t belong in this floating nothingness. Not even that ridiculous, aristocratic drawl. This is wrong. I don’t know why… or where I am… But no one is allowed to be here. It isn’t safe. I can’t let them see me like this or they’ll surely leave me.
“I’m here with you.”
Through the mental blackout, a flicker unveils glistening emerald eyes. The scent of peppermint cuts through my confusion, wrapping me in an embrace.
“You’re not alone, Ember.”
So many times, I wished for my brother to hold me tight. During countless, terrifying attacks. Sprawled out on bloodstained concrete. Petrified and utterly alone. I longed for him to appear like a guardian angel hovering just out of reach.
But he never did.
And now… he’s unable to.
Something soft penetrates my mental fog. A feather-like brush against my skin allows sensation to sluggishly return. With it comes blistering pain that’s too much for the darkness to contain. Lightning splits the blackness behind my eyelids, the strobes scalding my retinas.
Cold sweat suspends me in a frozen prison, each limb still locked tight in total paralysis. A pained keening fills my ears. It sounds so broken. So afraid. Like a wounded animal caught in a trap and forced to gnaw its own leg off.
“Sweetheart… Fuck, I’m shit at this. Just breathe. You’re going to be okay.”
The sobs rattle my bones and bring my awareness back to the burning that slices through the core of my being. The sound isn’t distant after all; it’s echoing inside my skull, bouncing from throbbing bone to bone.
Wait… I’m the one crying. It’s my dry throat smarting. My lungs gasping for air. My arm being rhythmically stroked. This is my failing body, wracked by fiery needles penetrating my skin to drag me back down to Earth.
“Breathe,” the voice croons. “Come on. You can do this.”
“T-Tom,” I whimper.
“No, Ember. I’m sorry… It’s only me.”
“Who…”
When my vision clears, the emerald eyes that shine with love and care inside my head are replaced by midnight-flecked obsidians. Pitch-black hair that looks like it has been urgently shoved from his forehead unveils worried grooves in his skin.
Tom isn’t here. I’m squinting up at a familiar, cocky criminal with the kind of smile that causes wars to break out. And he’s touching me. A lot. Calloused fingers smooth over my skin with a welcome coolness.
“We need to stop meeting like this,” Blaine jokes.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “Where?”
“Bathroom. You didn’t hide well enough.”
When I attempt to move, nothing responds to me. Not even my fingers will twitch. Blaine kneels at my side, stroking my arms and bruised face. From the scent of leather, I think his jacket is cradling my head like a pillow.
“Take it easy.” He continues caressing me. “That was an intense one.”
“How… l-long?”
Blaine glances at the silver Rolex on his wrist. “About three minutes. I read somewhere that you’re supposed to time it. You took a bit to come around after.”
My eyes squeeze shut as tears pool in the cavities, threatening to break cover. The cold hand running up and down my arms stills.
“Hey, I can go get someone. If you’ll just let me?—”
“No,” I bleat.
“You don’t have to hide this from them, Ember.”
“N-No.”
“Alright, then. You’re stuck with me.”
“Go a-away.”
He scoffs under his breath. “Unlikely.”
I’m unable to move or shove him aside. Frankly, his chilled fingertips feel great on my clammy skin. Blaine pushes hair from my face, adjusts his jacket to support my neck better then resumes rubbing comforting circles on my arm. It’s soothing.
“F-Feels… nice.”
He smiles faintly. “I’ve got you. Just focus on breathing.”
We fall into an easy silence until the excruciating needle-tingle phase has come and gone. Relieved that my body is my own again, I let my lungs expand on a deep inhale. I’m exhausted and aching like I’ve been hit by a loaded truck.
“Water… p-please.” My voice is wispy as it pulls from my dry throat.
“Hang on.” He climbs to his feet. “There’s a vending machine outside.”
When Blaine returns, I’ve managed to wrestle my trembling body up and weakly shuffled to rest against the stall door. My hand wavers as I wipe tears from my face, avoiding the cuts and scrapes from Carlos’s beating.
“Here.” Blaine sits next to me, extending a water bottle. “Drink up.”
Once he’s popped the cap, I take several long gulps, ignoring the trickles running down my chin because I can’t hold the plastic steady. Embarrassment forces me to look ahead, avoiding his stare.
“What else do you need?” he asks.
“Just rest.”
“I’ve come to realise you’re pretty terrible at that. I have half a mind to kidnap you and not return you to those assholes until after you’ve had some real rest.”
“Doubt Sabre would agree to that.” I laugh hollowly.
“I’m excellent at making people disappear. They wouldn’t find you.”
His long leg brushes mine where he sits next to me on the floor. Too tired to fight, I let my head slump to the side, resting it on Blaine’s shoulder. After a pause, his head leans against mine almost tenderly.
Around the others, I want to be tough. Unbreakable. The powerful warrior they all seem to think I am. With Blaine, it’s different. He saw me in the cage, made to fight and save my own skin. He already knows the worst parts of me, and still, he chose to save my life.
There’s comfort in that. An acceptance.
I can’t scare him into leaving me.
“Want to talk about it?” Blaine offers.
“You can’t help.”
“Try me, sweetheart.”
Taking another gulp of water, I attempt to moisten my parched mouth, hoping it will allow my voice to come out more steadily.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“We can go back to the hospital, see if a different doctor?—”
“No, the case. The constant fight. We’re getting nowhere.”
“Right, I see.” Peppercorns and citrus-spiked bergamot seep from Blaine’s presence beside me. “Some fights feel insurmountable.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“Because if we don’t fight, then nobody will. I’ve been trying to find my father for years, and he feels further away than ever. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give up.”
“Don’t you get tired?”
Briefly, I think he won’t open up. Then his posture softens.
“Sometimes,” Blaine admits in a gruff tone. “But in my world, weakness isn’t tolerated. Whether I’m tired of this or not, I have to find and eliminate Nolan Madden.”
“But what if you gave up?”
“Impossible. My father used us all to inflict suffering behind my back. I intend to right that wrong even if it’s the last thing I do. He has to pay.”
Blaine is usually too cool and aloof to reveal anything that could amount to true emotion. Unless it’s confidence or swagger. Which he has in spades. But at his harsh tenor, I can’t hold in my curiosity.
“Will you tell me why you hate trafficking so much?”
“What?” He laughs bitterly. “Because criminals aren’t allowed morals? Perhaps I despise the exploitation of innocent lives.”
“Perhaps. But I think you have a personal stake in it.”
Rather than refute my statement, Blaine’s laughter trails off.
“Why?” I press again, desperate for him to reveal more about himself. “You can trust me. I’d never judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“And why not?”
“Look at the state of me, Blaine. Yet you’ve never judged me.”
He contemplates that. “I would never.”
“Then trust me to do the same for you.”
In the bathroom’s solitude, sprawled out on the floor, Blaine’s scar-warped face cracks. Just a fissure. A tremor in his usually unshakeable surface. But it’s enough to glimpse the abused kid who lives behind his smirking mask. The same kid who earned that scar.
“I was raised motherless,” he whispers like the words might just hurt him. “But I idolised my father, so I didn’t care. The great Nolan Madden… I wanted to be just like him for the longest time.”
Placing the water bottle down, I command my fingers to obey as they wrap around his. Blaine hesitates for a second then squeezes my hand in gratitude.
“When I was a teenager, the punishments began. Light beatings at first before he graduated to knives and cigarettes, using my body as a blank canvas for his violence. That idolisation turned to terror, then later… hatred.”
My molars grind together. “You were just a kid.”
“But old enough to understand real evil.”
Bitterness spreads in his voice like a viral contagion. I hold my tongue, giving him time to choose how much to share.