Chapter 16 - Trina
The next morning, there is a vase of tulips by the bed when I wake. A storm of feelings rises in me immediately, leaving me so frustrated and confused, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The gesture feels hollow. Like he’s trying too hard, or offering me a Band-Aid when my chest has just been slashed open.
When I start to get dressed, I realize I’m still wearing Owen’s robe. Last night, it was big, cozy comfort, a gentle caress on my skin, tinted with his scent.
Now it feels gross, like I’m chaining myself to my kidnapper.
I feel so fucking stupid!
I manage to get ready without crying, but it isn’t easy. I feel like every inch of progress Owen and I gained over the last few weeks just blew up in my face the second he said “face your past” in a cheery voice.
How do I face him now?
When I go hesitantly into the kitchen, Owen isn’t there, but he’s left some muffins on the table, wrapped up in a pretty basket. The note says he stopped at the bakery that morning before going to the infirmary and he hopes I’m feeling better.
While I wait for Lacey, I eat a few muffins, feeling wary of his gesture but too hungry to ignore the treats.
Honestly, what good would it do to not eat the muffins? I’d be punishing myself, not him.
By the time Lacey picks me up, I’m not feeling any better, but I manage to put on a brave face. Work is too busy for me to think much, and I’m grateful for it, even with Angela over my shoulder, constantly checking on me.
It’s like she wants to be mean to me because I’m with Owen—but she doesn’t want him to hear about her nasty behavior, either.
I survive the day, but by the end of it, I’m almost completely exhausted. Lacey notices, but I just tell her I’ve been restless over the big event at the museum, and she doesn’t pry.
I’m surprised to find Owen home already, and I avoid the kitchen when I go to take a shower and get changed. He knocks on my bedroom door when I’m getting dressed and tells me dinner is ready if I want it. He goes away without waiting for an answer.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped against my chest as if I can stop the pain building there. It swells inside me, years of torment that I hadn’t even been fully aware of until that first night with Owen.
I thought I was in the best possible place to heal, but then Owen had to go and trample all over my pain like that. Now I feel like I can’t trust him.
The ache in my chest gets worse, and tears threaten my eyes. Going through this alone seems unthinkable, but it would be better than revealing my pain to someone who can’t respect it.
My stomach growls, cutting through my emotions. I know that food will make me feel better. Plus, going to bed on an empty stomach would be another stupid way of punishing myself more than Owen.
Besides, I can’t avoid him forever. I might as well face him now.
I get up slowly, my body feeling so heavy, it’s as if I have a piano on my shoulders. Every step down the hallway feels even heavier, and by the time I reach the kitchen, I’m genuinely scared.
“Trina,” Owen says. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. I was going to bring some dinner to your room.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
Owen gives me a look, but it’s full of sympathy, devoid of judgment. He doesn’t say anything, just sets the table and serves the lasagna.
I sit down across from him, words bubbling up in my throat as I try to figure out what to say to him. I don’t want to scream at him or cry, but I don’t know any other way to let these feelings out.
You kidnapped me, you fucking jerk. You did the exact same thing to me that my aunt did—and then you joked about it.
I don’t even look up at him while we eat, and Owen doesn’t say anything. Interestingly, the silence doesn’t feel awkward but peaceful, and I find myself calming down a little.
“Are you done?” Owen asks, reaching for my plate.
I nod, wiping my hands as I get up.
“Wait,” Owen says. “Please. I got you some cake.”
I don’t want to be tempted, but he just said the magic word. I sit back down again and can’t help but look up at him eagerly.
“Okay,” I say. “What kind of cake?”
“You mentioned that bakery on the corner once,” he says. “And when I went in there, I got to talking with Hyacinth.”
“Oh,” I reply. “Yeah, I know her.”
“She told me you would love this,” he says, putting a small pink box on the table.
“Thank you, Owen,” I say, meaning it.
There is no problem that can’t be fixed by cake.
He goes to walk away, and I feel something turn deep in my chest. “Wait, Owen.”
“Yes?”
“We should eat it together.”
“Are you sure? I meant it as a gift for you.”
“And I want to eat it with you,” I reply, smiling. “Sit down with me.”
Owen is visibly pleased. He gets plates and spoons, then sits down next to me. I carefully open the box and slide it up, revealing a small but high circular cake with perfect pink icing and a white chocolate design on top.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, leaning over to smell it. “I think it’s raspberry.”
“Honestly, I didn’t know cake could be so pretty,” Owen laughs. “I’m even more scared of baking now.”
As I watch Owen cutting the cake, I realize that these gifts aren’t a ploy or a trap—Owen is genuinely trying to make me feel better, and essentially apologizing for what he did.
How to tell if you’re having a valid emotional reaction or a trauma response? I could write a book on it and still never know the answer.
Owen cuts me a big piece, and I see it’s a light, fluffy vanilla sponge with layers of cream and raspberry jam. My first bite sends shockwaves through me as my body reacts to the perfect, creamy sugar with the sweet, rich raspberry mixed in.
“Wow,” I mumble through a big spoonful. “Hyacinth outdid herself with this one.”
“She sure did,” Owen says. “I like cake, but damn. I can’t stop eating this.”
“Well, it’s not that big of a cake,” I say jokingly. “We should probably just finish it.”
“Yes,” he agrees sagely. “It’s our duty. To the cake. We wouldn’t want it to spoil.”
“Exactly!” I reply. “We have absolutely no choice.”
Owen cuts up the remaining portion and fills my bowl, and both of us exchange silly looks as we stuff our faces. The sweet treat has gone a long way towards making me feel better, and something deep in my chest eases.
Owen is not my abuser. He screwed up, that’s all. Everything’s okay.
Owen smiles at me, and the warmth in my chest continues to grow. I’m not ready to completely forgive him and pour my heart out, but I do trust that he never meant to hurt me.
While we’re still grinning guiltily and finishing an absurd amount of cake, Owen’s phone buzzes. He flicks it open, and immediately his face twists.
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry,” he replies. “I’ve got to go to the infirmary for a few hours. Don’t worry about the kitchen—I’ll clean it up later.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind. Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, you rest up. I won’t be too late.”
Owen finishes the last bite of cake, then stands up, looking at me intently before he leaves. He looks awkward for a moment, as if he doesn’t know what to say, then waves clumsily and gives me a short “bye” as he turns around and leaves.
After he’s gone, I realize he might have wanted to hug me or kiss my cheek, but didn’t ask. It makes me a little sad, but I don’t worry too much about it. I finish the cake, practically licking the plates for every last scrap of jam and cream.
I’ll have to thank Hyacinth. This was truly one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.
I clean up the kitchen just to give myself something to do, then go outside into the backyard for some air. I’m thinking about going over to the infirmary when I hear footsteps coming around the side of the house.
“Hey—you!” someone yells. “Good. You’re here, and I won’t have to hunt you down. You have to answer for what you’ve done.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, turning to see a small group of people coming into the yard. “What’s the problem?”
As they get closer, I realize it’s the same pack members who confronted me before, and they look hostile. I take a few steps back, but I’m too far from the house, and it would be far worse to run and be chased down than to stand my ground.
“You are the fucking problem!” the one in the lead says. There are five of them, three men and two women, and all of them look exhausted as well as angry.
“I’m here to help,” I say calmly. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“What’s happening is that you are killing the pack!” the man hisses at me. “Since Owen brought you here, more people get sick by the day—and more people are dying! It’s happening faster than before!”
Guilt twists in my heart, but I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself—and the others—down.
“We are trying,” I say. “Owen and I have been working on a few solutions. I promise you, we are—”
“No, no,” the young man says, shaking his head. “We can’t. We’ve had enough. This is clearly your fault, and you can’t be here anymore.”
He lunges towards me, and I can see anger on his face, but also desperation. He means to hurt me, that much is certain, and he’s angry enough to do something truly terrible, even if he doesn’t really mean it.
He lashes out, and I throw my arms up to protect my face, feeling contact but not really noticing it. I try to plant my feet and not run away, because I know it will only make the situation worse.
I feel compassion for all of them in that moment, and still the same hollow, desperate sense that I’m supposed to be helping, but I can’t. I’ve been worse than useless this whole time, and it tempers my fear and any bad feelings I might have towards these people for attacking me.
I step backwards, but he comes after me, and the two other men do as well. Without thinking, I throw my hands up, and a powerful vibration hums through me, like a soundless clap of thunder that ripples through me from my feet all the way up to my head.
To my shock, the three guys get blown backwards off their feet. I watch them get picked up and tossed through the air like dolls—only a few feet, but enough to frighten me, and them. As they fall heavily on the ground, I run towards them, terrified that I’ve hurt them.
Did I do that? Was it my powers? What the fuck?
I check on the three young men. They’re winded and bruised, but not badly injured. That’s when I notice one of the women has fallen, but I didn’t touch her with my power.
If that’s what it was.
I kneel beside her, leaning over to look into her face. Instinctively, I lift her eyelids, seeing her eyes rolled back. She’s having trouble breathing, and her lips are so pale, they’re tinted blue.
I take one of her hands and put my other on her forehead. Recalling the feeling I had a few seconds ago, where I seemed to be connected to the earth, sky, and everything in between, I reach into my core, calling up my power.
I’m surprised but pleased when the strange tingles flow through me again, and a breeze immediately comes along to ruffle my hair. I can’t help but smile as the power moves through me, a sweeping sense of purpose and harmony that soothes me and energizes me.
I watch color come back into the woman’s cheeks, and eventually, she opens her eyes.
“What are you doing to her?” the noisy guy yells, getting up from the ground. “You evil witch, you just used your powers on us. Now you’re hurting poor Janice—”
“I’m not hurting her,” I say, standing up and turning to face him. “I’m helping her. She’ll be up in a few minutes. You’ll see—”
“All I see is her on the ground and your evil powers at work!” he yells. “You just tried to kill us!”
“Who tried to kill who?”
Owen’s voice rings through the air, and I almost collapse with relief to see him striding out of the woods towards us.
I could handle this on my own, but I don’t know if I could do it without scaring the shit out of them, if not hurting them.
“Alpha,” the young man says. “We came to—”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea what you came to do,” he growls. “But we’re all going to have a talk. A nice, calm conversation where everyone explains to me, in detail, what’s happening here.”
As he approaches, I notice him tilt his head to the side, turning his nose up to the air.
“Trina,” he snaps. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh,” I mutter, looking down at my arm. The sleeve is ripped, and there’s a long gash on my forearm. “I didn’t notice it,” I reply. “It’s nothing.”
Owen’s face darkens, more stern and frightening than I’ve ever seen it. I can tell by the way he turns to face the others that his body is radiating pure menace. To him, my injury is far from “nothing.”