Chapter 43 Nightmare
I stay standing in the empty dining room, in silence, until my muscles ache.
All the while, Kane’s words repeat, echoing in the desolate space and with it come memories of the disasters I’d brought: the way I’d forced myself into my family’s lives, Brutus’ curse coincidentally appearing when I did, August’s emotional turmoil, the attack.
What would their lives have been without me?
Easy; faultless.
I was an unnecessary piece.
Even here, when I tried to escape from the interrogation, leading the Green Cloaks directly to us. In the cell, my attempt to free the girl leading to another escaping and her being lost.
Today, the pain I’d inflicted upon that poor boy and whatever the fuck I was allowing to happen between Sai and Julien…
I did bring disaster.
My stomach grumbles then, as though reinforcing Kane’s words that I need to “fucking eat” .
I can’t even feed myself.
I can’t even remember ever having to make a single meal for myself. There was always someone offering to help or bringing food over. Was I always so dependent?
Pathetic.
I remember the machine-made coffee and battered paper bag I’d left in Ezekial’s office and my stomach groans in response. Then I remember the bag with my phone in it, left in the atrium with Kacey.
“Shit.”
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I spent a little longer swimming in my own self-pity, allowing myself to feel even shittier than I did after hardly eating or drinking all day. Until I decide to enter the kitchen.
Conjoined to the dining room, I didn’t expect it to be so large but it seems ‘big’ and ‘black’ where the only adjectives the enforcers had given their interior designers. One wall is entirely composed of square, glass panes, all framed by black metal. It allows light to pour into the room and reveals the thick forest Ezekial showed me on the map. Nothing but trees and sky for miles.
It’s beautiful, especially during the sunset, but everything feels so empty.
Throughout the kitchen I found appliances I’d never seen before, gigantic machines that didn’t even look like they were supposed to be inside a house never mind a kitchen. I did recognise the basics: three ovens, two microwaves, a granite stove with a ridiculous number of hobs and the current object of my desire, a coffee machine.
At one point, we’d discussed the possibility of getting one in the club after Javier, Lewis and I had become obsessed with watching coffee art videos, we’d started with a cheap one Javier found online but soon realised we needed the real deal.
Needless to say, our dream never came to fruition but our love of caffeine continued.
I pat the cold, dark stained metal in a reassuring manner just as the microwave pings. There wasn’t anything in the large fridge.
Ironic.
At first, I found it comical that a fridge so enormous, that opened like a wardrobe, was empty but I soon came to the realisation that no one really lived in this house.
It was just a building. A beautiful building filled with pretty things but cold.
Thankfully, after rummaging in a few drawers, I’d managed to find some tinned food. I didn’t bother checking the dates. I was happily removing my steaming bowl of noodle soup from the microwave, my stomach rumbling with anticipation, when I felt a feather-like chill.
Then it was gone.
Upon the dining room table were two large bags, steam emitting from the openings and beside them was my small handbag.
I could have been stubborn. I could have refused to even acknowledge the food... but I didn’t want to be wasteful.
Right?
Right.
I still made a point of eating my self-heated soup before even touching them.
After stuffing my face with too much food, happily indulging with no one watching my every move, I clear everything away. I even wrap some leftovers and store them in the once empty fridge, before grabbing my bag and heading upstairs .
Kane hadn’t left the house after leaving the food. He was somewhere but I wasn’t going to venture anywhere near him, his words repeating in my head every time I allowed it. I headed straight to my room feeling heavy, exhausted and very much alone.
I didn’t dare look at my phone, meaning I’d spent a ridiculous amount of time stalling.
I took a scalding hot shower before picking out something that wasn’t made from silk or velvet to wear to bed. Refusing to unscrunch Sai’s t-shirt from the corner of the cupboard as I grabbed one from Alexis’ bag instead.
Now in bed, I still refuse to look at my phone, even if a niggling sensation keeps urging me to do so. It's a slight crackle of heat accompanied by a breeze which caresses me whenever my glare lingers upon the cursed thing.
I force myself to hold onto the frustration and anger Kane initially created when he'd dragged me back here, against my will, and then insulting me.
But my annoyance flickers when I remember the truth of his words and the bags of food awaiting me, my bowl of lukewarm soup not quite hitting the mark. It was the fact he'd even bothered to provide for my basic needs after my rage was so pure.
He still made sure I had food. He wanted to make sure I ate.
Infuriating.
He infuriates every single cell of my being.
Yet, when he allows that stoic calm to fracture, giving me just a glimpse inside that mechanical head, my irritation melts away.
I lay in bed battling these conflicting thoughts and feelings. Trying not to dwell upon how I truly felt, how my entire body seemed to ache, my darkness coiling tightly inwards to feel some comfort.
To feel something .
I push myself under the covers, clench my eyes and force myself to sleep, feeling more alone than I ever had… All the while trying to ignore the softest touch of ice tickling the edges of my body, until I finally sink into the dark.
Pain.
Immense pain courses through me. Kicks to my stomach, ribs and head, blow after blow igniting white hot licks of agony over my skin. I cry out, protecting my body by coiling in but the pain never stops.
And my power... Gone.
Nothing .
I'm hanging by my wrists, blood drenching my body.
No. Not again. Not here .
The chemical smell mixed with my coppery blood, the cell... I'm back. And as the spikes begin to pierce my skin, I scream.
I can see myself. I hover over my bent body, watching the soundless screams erupt from my bloodied mouth.
"No one is coming," a cold murmur echoes around me. "You're mine and you'll always be mine."
The room changes. I'm covered in a thick, heavy material and there's a man.
"Jasmine." His voice splinters the image, fragments of my vision begin fading into black. "Wake up, you're dreaming."
But his desperation is so unfamiliar, is this part of the dream?
"Let me remind you of that."
I watch my body, a smaller, skinnier version of myself, convulse. More pain, fire, burning from inside my lungs.
"This is more than a nightmare." His concern breaks the pain again and the image of my body bending at unnatural angles blurs even further. "Jasmine, listen to me. This isn't real. You need to wake up. Wake up."
How can this acidic agony melting my skin not be real?
The burning tears streaming down my face?
The blood pooling in a thick coldness around me?
The cold.
That's wrong.
Shouldn't it be warm?
I hold onto the cold, cling to it, push myself towards it.
"That's it, I've got you. Open your eyes, open your eyes for me." His voice is so pretty like this, soft and gentle, deep and soothing. I want to see his eyes when he speaks this way.
The agonising scene continues but now, I’m no longer the girl that hangs, I'm removed from her, I’m floating above her as she screams.
Even as I fade away, I watch her, my heart pounding as I take in the pain being inflicted upon her.
I have to save her.
I have to—
I inhale the icy air with a gasp, my lungs burning as if I’d been suffocated. My entire body aches. Even as I try to open my eyes, I wince at the stinging sensation.
Cool fingertips trace my cheek, brush away strands of damp hair, ease the discomfort.
When my eyes fully open, and my blurry vision regulates, it seems I'm greeted by another dream .
Rich, inky hair, normally perfectly styled, is now ruffled and wild, much like the gaze fervently assessing me. His pupils are blown wide, merging with his dark irises like glittering slate specked with granite grey.
I don't move, speak, or breathe as he continues to hold me. His cool hands grasp my waist in a strong but gentle grip.
My eyes sluggishly trail over his honey skin, following the contours of his bare chest as I admire his athletic form. Even in the dark, even half awake, it’s clear his body is a honed weapon: each muscle is tense and bunching as he moves us into a sitting position. My cheek becomes smushed against his cool chest and I finally breathe.
I could admire him forever but his voice fractures any thought of this being a dream.
"Look at me." My eyes flicker up to his at the command.
It's hard to maintain eye contact because I'm still so tired, but also because the last time he looked at me like this—with regret and hatred intertwined—was when they found me in that cell and he was about to dismember several guards.
"She's awake," he says to an empty room, eyes locked with mine.
Responses echo loudly beside me, and I recognise every utterance. My power swells in response, pulling me further out of my deep slumber. I try to seek them out but squint at the bright light emitting from a screen. Kane turns slightly to block it from my sight.
"What happened?" I whisper, dazed by his touch. I swallow and my throat stings, maybe those screams were real.
"I thought it was a nightmare," Kane replies, he's so close to me, peering down at me with those dark, eternal eyes. "It started like that but then it became something else."
"You saw it?"
"We all did," Ezekial answers. His calm voice is soured by anger.
"I believe it was a memory," Julien adds. His smooth timbre coils around me, warms my skin, and harmonises with Kane's cool touch. "I'm sorry you had to relive that, but we will stop it from repeating."
"Did you know that man?" Kane’s eyes search my face carefully.
I have to tilt my head to catch his gaze again. "No, I've only ever seen him in my dreams."
"You've dreamt of him before?" I nod in response, or try, with my cheek squished against his chest it's difficult and my eyelids begin to flutter .
"I’ve got a guy scrying for the fucker as we speak." Sai's growl is so unlike his easy-going mockery I almost laugh but my head is so heavy and Kane’s touch is so soothing…
"Hey, stay with me," he whispers, fingertips tracing my jaw and encouraging my eyes to flutter open again. "When did it last happen?"
My brain is fuzzy, cradled by his dark caress, making it very difficult to form thoughts. Even words are a struggle.
I just want to sleep, but there's a part of me battling—a part desperate to answer his question and another part terrifyingly desperate for more of his touches, to engrain the sensations into my nerves, mould them with my DNA, so I can never forget the way he's touching me right now.
Those terrifying thoughts are enough to push through my exhausted needs.
"They stopped. The dreams stopped after... after I met you."
He doesn't look away. I can see him processing the words and weighing what they reveal. "Who knew about these nightmares?"
"August." There's a crack in his cold composure at the name. The temperature chills and I feel the need to squirm away but his fingers won’t allow it. "And Ferne, she gave me herbs to try and stop..." My words fall into whispers as my eyes close again.
This time, he doesn't try to stop me.
"To stop what?"
"My screams. So loud... his pack would howl."
"I'm gonna have to pretend I never heard that." Sai's terse words pierce the otherwise calm silence.
"Why would they start again?" Ezekial questions, not directing it to anyone in particular, and I decide it's time to rest. I feel Kane's darkness cocooning me in agreement.
"Memories can be triggered by similar events or feelings, especially ones created by trauma," Julien states. But it’s the unspoken words which create even more silence.
Because we all knew of one event which could have triggered it, the first part of my nightmare flickers to life for a moment.
"But it seems our presence has been enough to keep the distasteful ones at bay."
“Someone’s been near her every night since 'The Inferno' fuck up, so why is that fucker back in her head now?”
“The proximity may need to be adjusted.”
They continue speaking but all I hear are odd words like ‘distant’ and ‘touch’. I think they begin discussing my memory in more detail too, trying to remember more specific elements and there's a mention of a ‘rota’.
But their voices are just too transfixing in their low, focused murmurs. They harmonise together like my own personal lullaby, easing my power, mind and body simultaneously.
My head droops further down Kane's chest but I jolt myself back up.
"She's exhausted," Kane says without a hint of malice or irritation. It halts their conversation instantly.
Even as I feel myself being moved, and I slip under the covers, there's a small part of my mind making me very aware that there is a shirtless Kane in my bed, and I’m only in a t-shirt, and he's still touching me… but I'm already falling under again.
Another conversation ensues but I can't keep up. I can’t fight the effect of them and the rumble of Kane's chest as I lay beside him, it all soothes me. Until the weight upon the bed lightens, and the soothing touch completely dissolves.
My power and my hands reach out.
"Stay." I don't open my eyes, filled with the desperate need to sleep. "Please. I don't want to go back."
The mattress dips once more, cooling hands return. "You won't," he whispers. "You will never go back."
It's the last thing I hear, and his darkness sinking into my bones is the last thing I feel.
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