17
EMERSYN
The waves pounded the shore and hissed across the pebbles as each one fought to reach me.
They came close, but none ever succeeded.
The hypnotic cadence of the ocean drove me in and out of consciousness and made dissociating extremely easy.
The wind continued to throw sand and salt against my skin, and while the weather was definitely turning, it hadn’t started to rain yet.
I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to rain so I could quench my raging thirst, or if I would rather stay dry.
Not that my opinion mattered, but I spent a ridiculous amount of time internally debating the issue.
The drugs had bled away long ago and left my body weak and heavy. My arms hurt and my wrists were raw, but I had no tears to contribute to the salty wind that whipped across my face. The sad truth was I’d been in worse situations before, and suffered far worse discomfort.
The storm made telling time difficult with the way the clouds shifted and darkened with intensity, but night had fallen twice since I had seen or heard another human.
It was about to consume me again if the deepening shadows were any indication.
A younger version of me would have been terrified of that darkness.
She would have watched those shadows inch closer, convinced they hid claws and gaping maws of memory meant to tear her to shreds.
These days I welcomed the darkness. It was, after all, what both broke me and put me back together. The paradox that light cannot exist without its counterpart gave me hope that even when I was suffocated by shadows, somewhere there existed a light that could lead me back to myself.
If I wanted it. If I needed it.
The truth was, sometimes I liked it better in the dark.
I could let out every demon inside me and let them roam.
I could rage and destroy without feeling—a glorious escape into the depths of hurt and suffering, until I alchemized it into power.
There was something divine in that. Not God.
But, something older and definitely otherworldly.
Or maybe it was just madness disguised as wisdom—fuck if I knew—and maybe that was the point: to realize there weren’t finely constructed boxes to put this or that in, and be able to label them.
I sighed. I really needed to stop with the box metaphor.
Sometime in the night, I jolted abruptly into awareness. The wind whipped around the beach and the air was heavy with static electricity. At first I thought it was the pain that had awoken me—my entire body ached and my wrists were numb—but slowly the feeling of being watched crept over me.
Someone was out there.
Two shadows materialized out of the gloom and while my pulse picked up, I couldn’t do anything but watch them advance until they loomed over me. Dread filled my stomach and I gripped the chains in my fists. I knew I didn’t have the strength to fend off whatever they’d come here to do.
A gloved hand snaked into my hair and firmly yanked my head up.
He was a mass of shadows—his features obscured by both a facial covering and the darkness.
All I could see was the occasional glint of his eyes whenever they caught the meager light from the lanterns that flanked the iron door where they’d come from.
“Open your mouth,” he demanded gruffly.
Absolutely not.
I pressed my lips together and glared hatefully up at him. I heard a rumble of displeasure and his grip tightened.
“Open your mouth,” he growled.
I wanted to cuss him out—tell him exactly what I thought about that request, but that would be opening my mouth, and my stubborn streak was not about to do that.
The shadow gestured with his other hand and his partner, who was keeping watch, came and put a hand over my nose.
His entire glove covered my face and obscured my vision, causing panic to flood my system.
I tried to struggle but neither hold weakened.
I held out as long as I could but my air inevitably ran out.
I gasped in a breath and—
What the fuck?
Water flooded my mouth, and the man’s hand quickly disappeared from my nose as I choked and sputtered. I recovered quickly and frantically drank as he slowly poured from a flask close to his hip.
I wanted to cry at how good the water tasted on my parched tongue, but I didn’t have the breath to do both.
The man pulled the flask away far too soon and as I fought to steady my heaving chest, I also resisted the urge to breathlessly beg for more.
A gloved finger slid across my jaw as he released his hold on my hair.
“Good girl.” His words were a quiet caress in the dark—firm and all consuming.
I waited for them to take more, to demand more, but instead I watched them retreat into the night where they dissolved into the shadows and left me alone once more.