Chapter Three #3
“Do it.”
Do what? Cut her?
“Kill me, Altair. Get it over with.”
Stars above, she wanted me to kill her?
“What? No!”
“Why?” She relaxed her hold, breaths coming slow and steady, wide eyes on me. Her curls were matted in some areas, wrapping around her throat and clinging to the blade. She had stolen one of my kitchen knives, her desperation clear.
“What’s wrong with you?” I looked her up and down, realizing how far she had fallen. How unwell she truly was. But that pain, it seemed fresh. New. “Who did this to you, Little Void? Who hurt you?”
Her eyes fell, the loss of her dark gaze doing something odd to my skin. It felt like it was buzzing.
She didn’t respond.
I so wished she would.
Every second of silence was excruciating as we stood there.
My own words haunted me as the thick, tension-soaked air stuck to my face.
Truthfully, I didn’t care who did anything to her.
Why would I? She didn’t matter. The only reason that being with the rebels was necessary was because I needed help taking down my father.
I couldn’t forget that, even if she seemed determined to make me.
After another minute or so of me staring at her, her staring at her feet, and the damn cat twirling through our legs, I finally caved.
Taking a step back, I moved the blade away from her throat, tugging it gently.
Her grip was loose, fingers sliding right off as if she didn’t actually care that I was taking her only means of defense.
So very unlike her. She didn’t give up. If there was one thing I knew about her, it was that.
If roles had been reversed and I had been her, I would’ve given up years before. I would’ve stopped trying. I would’ve just existed with my family. Well, her family.
Her very dead family.
Yes, that must have been it. The realization. The memories. The inevitability of loneliness. That was probably why she was so devastatingly empty.
“Are you hungry?”
She remained still with her head down, as if I hadn’t said anything at all. I was going to lose it if she kept doing that. I couldn’t stand the sight of her cowering. It wasn’t who she was. I had seen her experience a lot, and she’d never been this bad.
“What about some water? Are you thirsty?”
This time, I didn’t wait for her to answer.
I knew she wouldn’t give me one. Instead, I walked over to my sink, pulled a glass from the cabinet, and filled it to the brim.
As I walked back to her, the liquid splashed out, drenching my hand and the edge of my long-sleeved training top.
It was too cold. I should’ve thought of that.
Her throat probably hurt—everything probably hurt.
Healing didn’t take away the bone-deep pain that came from that sort of physical trauma.
I wasn’t sure what I was meant to do for her.
I’d never taken care of anyone in my life, because I’d never needed to.
Now, I didn’t know how. Celeste was wrong.
I was hands-down the worst person to be taking care of Tershetta right then.
With that dark thought in my mind, memories of continuous failure flooding my head, I slowly made my way back towards her. She still hadn’t so much as glanced up. In fact, I could’ve sworn her chin was lower than before, tucked fully into her chest.
I held the glass out, making sure it was low enough that she could see it, and I waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.
I wasn’t a particularly patient man. I never had been.
Another thing that had never been taught to me.
I’d always learned that patience was a waste of time.
If you wanted something, you got it. If you weren’t given it, you took it immediately without pause.
Patience was for the weak. Those whose only option was to wait.
“That’s it!” I slammed the glass down on one of the small tables near the tiny blue sofa against the wall, bent low, and swept her up in my arms. She yelled, her fist pounding on my chest as if by habit, because I could’ve sworn she didn’t actually have that energy in her.
In all reality, Tershetta was lifeless. Only those final instincts could be making her do that.
“Put me down! Get off me!”
“Anything for you, Little Void,” I whispered into her ear.
Then I unceremoniously threw her back onto my bed, a short scream coming up her throat, one that must’ve hurt by the way she winced.
When she looked up at me, big black eyes watering slightly and making the silver dots brighten, she seemed to visibly deflate.
A whoosh of air could be heard as her body sunk lower into the bed, her back pressed stiffly into the mattress.
She didn’t get back up. Didn’t fight. Didn’t even move. She lay there, eyes flicking up and staring off into nothing, resigned to what I would do. That was exactly how she looked—like someone preparing to be a victim again.
Stars above, did she think I was going to rape her?
“I’m not going to hurt you, Tershetta.”
“Of course you will. That’s what you people do.”