15. Fae
FAE
One second, I am being held up by Roman, the next my hands are closing around the hammer, and my feet are carrying me towards that son of a bitch.
Chains rattle as Jack tries to move his blood-slicked and swollen body away from me, but he is not getting away from me now.
The hammer comes down before I even finish inhaling.
The impact shudders up my arm, rattling my bones.
Jack’s scream tears out of him, raw and primal, as his ribs crack.
I barely register it and I swing again. Harder this time, aiming for his kneecaps.
There is no rhythm to it, no grace, just rage.
Each strike is powered by memories I never asked for and answers I never wanted.
My wrists burn and my grip slips as my hands sweat.
He tries to curl inward, tries to protect himself and that only fuels me.
He will never be protected from me, like I was never protected from him.
“You took it!” I snarl, my voice breaking as the hammer slams into his stomach. “You took it from me!”
The noise is awful. Metal meets flesh and bone, his breath punching out of him in wet, strangled bursts. I feel it in my teeth, in my skull. The room narrows until there is only him, the hammer, and the pressure in my chest that will not ease.
“WHO ELSE!?” I scream as I bring the hammer down on his foot.
I want to ruin him.
“WHO ELSE DID THAT TO ME!?” I walk around his limp body and slam the hammer into his back, watching him jolt in the chains.
I want him afraid.
“ANSWER ME!” I demand.
I want him to understand my pain.
My arm is shaking now, muscles screaming, but I keep swinging anyway.
Each blow lands heavier than the last, driven by rage rather than strength.
My vision blurs at the edges, spots dancing as my pulse roars in my ears.
The hammer slips from my fingers, clattering against the concrete as my strength finally gives out all at once.
My arms drop uselessly to my side as I grab him by the face, watching as his breath grows laboured.
“Answer me.” I whisper.
The realisation of what has been done washes over me.
Is this why Father threw me to the wolves?
Does he know what his fucking friends have done to me?
Why? I want to know why. What did I do to deserve this?
I don’t understand. Am I that disposable that my own Father would not even protect me? Does he hate me that much?
“Answer me.” I repeat, hoping, praying I can get something.
I can see he doesn’t have long left. His body is nothing but pounded meat now and every second counts.
The fear that I will never know consumes me, crawling up my skin like ants as I run through every possibility.
It could just be Dr. Fisher and Jack, but what if it is not?
What if it is another professor? Another doctor?
Hell, what if it is one of my friends or their fathers.
“Please.”
My voice splinters as the first tear falls on my cheek.
It lands warm against my skin and something inside me caves in with it.
Rage drains away, leaving only the hollow terror of what I do not know.
I am drowning in questions, suffocating under the weight of all the hands that might have touched me while I lay unaware.
It is in that moment I realise this will never be finished. That even when Jack dies here today, the damage does not. Pieces of me are still missing, scattered across nights I cannot remember and I will never know where they were taken.
“L… Longstaff. Get Longstaff,” Jack rattles out and I turn to look at the crestfallen face of Roman. His sympathetic gaze is too much to bear, I turn away, but I can still feel him stepping closer to me.
“What do you want Roman for…” I say with strength I don’t feel. I swear Jack moves his head, just a tiny, immeasurable amount, but I see it just as Roman’s heat radiates against my back.
“L… Long…” Jack breathes a death rattle as his eyes glaze over.
“No.” I slap his face, hard, but he makes no reaction. His eyes still staring into nothing. “NO!” I scream, shaking him this time.
“Tell me!” I wail. Somewhere in my brain, I know he is dead, but I refuse to believe it. I refuse to believe I had a place to get answers, and it is gone.
“Tink,” Roman speaks softly behind me, gently touching the tops of my shoulders.
“Get off me!” I snap, shaking his hands off me and going back to slapping and shaking Jack.
“He can’t die, Roman, he can’t.” My hands keep moving, slapping his face, shaking his shoulders like force alone can rewind time. “I need answers. Please, I need answers. Please.” The words tangle and fall apart as a sob rips through me. “Please.”
Jack’s head lolls uselessly. My palms press harder against his chest, frantic, useless. I shake him again. Once, twice, like a child who refuses to believe something is gone just because it stopped responding. My throat burns. My lungs seize. Panic claws its way out of me in soundless gasps.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
My knees hit the floor and I fold in on myself, the weight of it crushing my ribs inwards.
The answers died with him. Every face I will never know.
Every night I will never remember. The truth is gone and I am left holding nothing but the echo of it.
Roman drops behind me, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me into his chest as I sob and wail like something feral and wounded.
He sinks down with me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other locked tight around my shaking body.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, over and over, rocking me gently like I am something fragile instead of something shattered. “I have got you, little one. I have got you, Tinkerbell.”
I clutch at his shirt, my fingers fisting in the fabric like it is the only thing anchoring me to the world.
My cries come hard and broken, my whole body jerking with them as he holds me through every ugly sound, every heaving breath.
The dungeon fades until there is only the ache in my chest, the loss of what I will never get back, and Roman rocking me slowly back and forth while I come undone in his arms and the world dulls at the edges.
Roman starts to speak, but his voice sounds like it is underwater.
Someone says my name. Someone touches my cheek.
Someone else moves, but I recognise nothing.
Chains click around me and boots scrape the concrete, and none of it feels real anymore.
I barely register Roman lifting me, my arms hanging uselessly as he carries me through the dark with my cheek pressed to his chest. I feel the steady thud of his heart and the warmth of him, but it feels distant, like it is touching someone else instead of me.
At some point, cold air hits my skin and my body shivers.
Roman’s arms tighten around me before warmth returns and a door slams. An engine starts and the motion rocks me gently as my head lolls against the window.
Streetlights smear into pale streaks of gold and white as they pass, but I do not really see them.
My hands feel sticky and when I turn them slowly, I stare at them as if they might explain something if I look long enough.
They don’t.
The engine stops and I am jostled around again.
Warm, strong arms undo the seatbelt I didn’t register being put on and I am lifted like a bride.
Roman’s grip tightens, like he is afraid I might slip through his arms if he loosens even slightly.
I barely register us moving through the guys’ house before I am placed gently on a cold countertop.
Water runs somewhere behind me as I stare at nothing but black tiles.
Steam curls in the air while Roman stands in front of me.
He presses two fingers under my chin and tilts my face up, leaning forward to kiss my forehead.
He studies my face for a moment before his hand comes up to stroke my cheek.
“Can I take your clothes off to wash you?” I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
Roman lifts my hands above my head and slowly pulls my top off.
With careful movements, he unzips my skirt and lets it fall to the floor.
Then he unclasps my bra and eases it away, never letting his eyes linger on any part of my body for too long.
I register, distantly, that I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t. I feel safe, cared for… special.
He lifts me into his arms again and carries me to the bath, lowering me in as I hiss softly at the warmth against my skin. He climbs in behind me, fully clothed and draws me back against his chest. His arms wrap around me, steady and grounding, as he picks up a flannel and begins to wash me.
The scent of jasmine surrounds me and my body softens into his. The cloth moves over my shoulders, my arms, my hands, slow and thorough. Again and again, like he is trying to clean something deeper than what sits on my skin. My head rests against his shoulder as his chin settles into my hair.
“It’s over,” he murmurs, though his voice sounds strained, like he is trying to convince himself too. “You are safe, Fae. You are home.”
Home.
What a strange concept. I don’t think I have ever had one.
I stare at the surface of the water as it ripples around us, my reflection fractured and wrong. My chest feels hollow, like something vital has been scooped out and left behind in that room. Not pain, just absence. Roman rocks us slowly back and forth, the motion steady and patient.
We stay like that long after the water begins to cool until he lifts me out and places me back onto the countertop.
He takes a towel and dries me like I am something sacred.
The fabric moves slowly over my skin, like he is afraid of startling me back into reality.
He doesn’t rush. His hands are warm, steady and impossibly gentle as he pats me dry.