CHAPTER 38 FAE
FAE
Pain arrives before memory does. A dull, spreading ache that lives behind my eyes and seeps slowly into my bones like cold water through cracked stone. My limbs feel weighted and heavy in a way that doesn’t belong to sleep. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
There’s something wrong with the air. It smells stale.
Metallic. Damp. For a long moment, I don’t open my eyes.
Because opening them would mean acknowledging whatever this is.
My head throbs in a slow rhythm. Each pulse feels thick and distant, like it’s travelling through syrup before it reaches me.
I try to move my fingers and they respond but sluggishly, like they’re not fully attached to the rest of me.
Where am I?
The thought drifts lazily, like it doesn’t quite care about the answer. Something rough scratches against my cheek.
Not sheets. Not my pillow.
The surface beneath me is thin and unforgiving, barely cushioning the hard ground underneath as cold seeps through my clothes. A shiver moves through me but even that feels delayed. Then I hear it.
“Babe… wake up for me.”
The voice doesn’t land properly. It bends around my consciousness, garbled and distorted like it’s travelling through water. I try to focus on it but my thoughts slide away before I can hold them still.
“Come on girly pop, you can do it.”
Girly pop? The words feel absurd. Out of place. Like glitter scattered across concrete.
My eyelids flutter but the effort is monumental. The world behind them is heavy and grey and spinning slowly on its axis. When I force them open a fraction, the light that greets me is wrong - it’s dim and flickering, not warm or natural.
Shapes blur above me. Metal beams? The ceiling is too high. I blink again and regret it instantly because the motion sends a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.
My throat tightens.
My head feels packed with cotton.
“Girly pop… stay with me.”
The voice is closer now. I try to turn my head toward it but even that small movement makes the room tilt dangerously. The air tastes like dust and rust and something that hasn’t been aired out in years. Memory flutters at the edges.
Car.
Dark road.
Trees swallowing the sky.
Quinn.
The thought jolts weakly against the fog but doesn’t fully break through. I swallow and it hurts. My lips feel cracked. My body feels disconnected, like I’ve been unplugged from myself and left somewhere cold.
My hand twitches against the surface beneath me and I register it properly this time. A thin mattress. The floor beneath it is concrete. My heartbeat stutters, it’s slow and irregular like it hasn’t decided whether it’s meant to be afraid yet.
“Come on babe, open your eyes for me. That’s it.”
I drag them open again, wider this time and the room swims. In front of me are industrial walls, shadowed corners, a single hanging bulb swaying gently overhead.
Cold presses in from every direction. It’s the type that creeps under your skin and makes your teeth want to chatter even when you’re exhausted.
My mind feels fractured. Why does everything feel… wrong? I try to sit up and my muscles protest instantly. My arms tremble as I push against the mattress and I collapse back down with a soft, frustrated breath.
“Hey, hey careful now, don’t rush it. Babe, wake up for me.”
The voice cracks slightly on the last word.
That’s when it registers. There’s fear in it.
It’s not playful, or teasing. Just pure unchecked fear.
My pulse spikes weakly in response, with it comes the first real shard of clarity.
This isn’t a nap. This isn’t my bed. This isn’t safe.
The cold no longer feels distant. It wraps around my spine and tightens.
My thoughts begin to sharpen at the edges, slicing through the drugged haze in uneven pieces.
Barn.
Gravel.
Her pale coat.
My engine cutting off.
I inhale too sharply and the air burns on the way down.
“Girly pop, look at me. Stay with me.”
Fuck, I was drugged.
A dull ache spreads from the base of my skull down into my neck.
“Come on girly pop, you’re stronger than this.”
Her voice trembles. And that, more than the cold, more than the pain, pulls me another inch toward awareness. I am not alone. And wherever I am… It is not somewhere good.
The blur in front of me shifts. My vision struggles to catch up but the outline sharpens inch by inch.
She’s small. Five foot one at most. Dirty blonde hair falling past her shoulders in messy waves like it hasn’t been brushed properly in days.
Bright blue eyes that are too big for her face when she’s emotional…
eyes I would recognise in a crowd of thousands.
No.
My breath stutters. That’s not possible.
My brain rejects it immediately, violently, like it’s protecting itself.
I blink hard. The figure doesn’t disappear.
Watery blue eyes. A tremble in her chin.
Her soft mouth trying to smile through fear.
I must still be unconscious. I must be dreaming.
Hallucinating. The drugs haven’t worn off properly yet.
Because that…
That looks like…
“Robyn?” I croak, my voice barely sounds human.
The name scrapes out of my throat like it’s cutting its way free. Her lips wobble.
“Hey girly pop…” she whispers before she smiles at me in that small, crooked way she always did when she was trying not to cry.
The world splits open. I scream. It tears out of me raw and broken as I lurch upright too fast. The movement sends a violent spike of pain through my skull and black spots burst across my vision but I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!
I scramble forward and crash into her. My arms wrap around her shoulders and she’s solid. She’s so warm. She’s so real. She’s so… alive. She makes a small sound as I almost knock her over and then she’s clutching me back just as tightly.
“Oh my God,” I sob, the words dissolving into nothing as tears flood down my face. “Oh my God.”
I’m shaking. Actually shaking. My entire body trembles like it’s trying to vibrate apart as I grip her harder, terrified she’s going to vanish if I loosen my hold for even a second.
“I thought you were dead,” I choke. “I thought…”
My voice collapses. Her fingers dig into the back of my shirt and she buries her face in my shoulder.
“I know,” she sobs. “I know.”
I pull back just enough to cup her face between my hands. Her bright blue eyes stare back at me, rimmed red with pain and tears. Those familiar freckles spread across her nose. It’s her. It’s actually her… Tears blur my vision again and I laugh through them, hysterical and disbelieving all at once.
“Fuck,” I breathe, fresh tears spilling over. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
The words break in half. She presses her forehead to mine.
“I’ve missed you too,” she whispers.
“Where are we?” I demand, moving my head away from her as my hands still clutch her arms like she might disappear. “What is this? What happened?”
Her expression falters as her smile fades and fear slides into her eyes.
The reality hits me in staggered waves. I take in more of her features, the bruising on her wrists and neck, the new scar on her eyebrow, the dried blood around her nails and it dawns on me…
If she’s here. And I’m here. Then this isn’t a rescue. It’s a cage.
“Are you okay?” I ask desperately. “Did they hurt you? Robyn, are you okay?”
She nods too quickly.
“I’m okay. I’m okay.”
But her voice trembles and that tells me everything. I pull her back into me and hold on like she’s oxygen.
She’s alive.
But we are not safe. And the dull ache in my skull is nothing compared to the terror now blooming fully awake in my chest.
“Tell me everything,” I demand even though my voice is still fragile from waking up. “Don’t soften it. Don’t protect me. I need all of it.”
For a second I think she won’t. I see the hesitation flicker across her face, that instinct to shield me the way she always has. Then she exhales shakily and pulls me back down with her.
“Lie down,” she whispers. “You’re still weak.”
She tugs the scratchy blanket around us and forces our bodies together on the thin mattress.
It’s filthy and smells damp. The concrete beneath it steals heat from my bones, so we press closer, our thighs tangle together as our foreheads brush.
How many times have we curled together in one of our beds, sharing secrets and desires or stories from the night before?
I place my hand on her hip and that’s when I see it what she’s wearing.
It’s a dress.
It’s my dress.
It’s white and loose, with a high neckline and short sleeves. It’s so childlike that my stomach drops so violently I have to swallow a gag. It’s identical to the one I wore when Dr. Fisher trained me, when he taught me discipline, preached purity, and spent nights giving me corrections.
I focus on her bruises next, cataloguing them without meaning to.
Purple fingerprints bloom along her arms. Scratches ooze blood between her thighs, almost like they’ve just been inflicted.
I can see cuts on her knees, and a healing burn that sits near her collarbone.
Rage bleeds through the confusion like something molten.
My sweet angel being debased like this. Again.
How many more times does she need to be hurt by monsters?
Robyn’s hands tremble as she cups my face and makes me look at her.
“I was at home,” she starts quietly. “There was a knock at the door,” her breathing shakes, but she keeps going.
“They said they were escorting me to a meeting. Something about the school and a curriculum review. I’d never seen the man before, but he knew my name. He had paperwork with an official letterhead.”
My chest tightens as I watch her gulp.