Chapter 17
Zayne
Keeping my composure, I lead the way up the stairs.
I’ve tried to prepare myself all day for this moment.
The minute she turned around and saw it was me, the reality around us faded away.
I’d felt her without even touching her. Her emotions bled into me, and I fed on them like a starving vampire.
She owns me without even lifting a finger, managing to burrow into the deepest parts of my emptiness, making me feel more alive than I have in months.
“So, an elevator, huh? Small world!” Knox attempts to break the silence as we walk to the staircase leading to my office.
“Yeah,” is all I can muster as we begin to climb.
This battle between my head and my heart, which is telling me to conquer and make her mine, is not helping with the self-control I’m trying so hard to maintain. The logical side of my brain keeps repeating that saving Aetheriem, and potentially our world, is top priority.
Unpacking what this is between us is a risk we cannot take.
She needs to be aware of what is happening, and she needs to process her new reality.
For that reason alone, my brain is begging me to enforce the boundary.
But my heart is desperate to feel her soft skin against my fingertips again.
My tarnished soul wants to nestle up to hers and find the peace it so desperately craves.
Opening the door, I invite them both in, and Myssa slowly moves around the room.
It’s nothing special. Multiple camera feeds showing different angles of the club are displayed on monitors attached to the wall on the left.
My antique mahogany desk sits in the middle, the dark stain giving it a gothic vibe, matching the aesthetic of the club.
A crimson glow fills the room, illuminating its features.
She stands by the opposite wall; my concert memorabilia collection clearly having grabbed her attention.
Signed posters with ticket stubs from my adventures meticulously hang in frames above the mini fridge and filing cabinet.
Groups like Skinny Puppy, KMFDM, Ministry, and Bauhaus, to name a few.
I stand adjacent to her, observing her silhouette as she examines each one.
I find her curiosity enchanting as she studies the artwork.
I can’t help but wonder: is this what it feels like?
Finding your true soulmate? I have contemplated this question for weeks now.
Now that we know she is an Original, can she be mine and I hers?
As challenging as it is, my head wins, and I lock these thoughts and questions away, putting on the best passive face I can muster.
“Quite the collection you have, and all signed. I have to admit, I’m envious.
” She smiles as our eyes meet briefly before she goes back to examine them.
Using this as an excuse to get closer to her, I close the gap, feeling the heat of her skin radiate against my own.
My hand brushes against hers briefly, and the shock ignites me.
Quick pulses thrum through me for a split second.
Leaning down, I linger near her ear.
“Guess you can chalk it up to being at the right place right time.” My soft words send goosebumps down her neck. Restraining my impulse to trail my lips after them, I watch as her cheeks heat.
“Hi, remember me?” Knox’s sarcastic tone cuts through as he waves like an idiot.
I snap up, looking back at him while clearing my throat.
“Yes, Knox, who can forget?” she quips sarcastically.
She steps away from me, and the pulsing connection between us diffuses. I suppress a smile, seeing the slight disappointment lingering on her face.
A pouting Knox huffs loudly and collapses into the chair across from my desk.
I gesture for Myssa to have a seat across from him. As I step in front of both of them, I shuffle some papers around, clearing a spot, and turn to taking a seat on the edge of my desk.
The awkward silence lingering. I pause, considering how to broach this topic, but Myssa beats me to it.
“Knox said you’d be able to help me?” The desperate look in her eyes guts me. I know that look. It’s the same one Knox gave me when he opened up. I can remember the first conversation I had with him about this.
“I promise I’m not crazy, but man, something is messed up in my head.”
Knox and I had a plan, one that was painstakingly crafted to ease her into all this information.
But as I watch a tear fall down her cheek and feel the pain displayed in her eyes, it takes all my restraint to not reach forward and wipe it away. Her face falls as she mumbles, “I am crazy, aren’t I?”
Any plan I had evaporated, and I just begin to ramble.
“It starts with dreams,” I spurt out.
Her eyes flicker up to mine, realizing that I have her complete attention I nervously grip onto the edge of my desk as I continue.
“You fear your mind is playing tricks on you. Visions and flashes of what seems like lives you have lived in the past. Visions of this different world like our own. You struggle, wondering if you are in the reality, you know, or another one altogether.”
Her mouth parts as shock blankets her face. All I want to do is comfort her and tell her it’s ok. But her hypnotic gaze has me in a vice grip, and it’s too much. I break free and stand up, taking small steps around the room, looking at anything but her as I continue.
“You’re starting to question everything you’ve been taught—what has been imbedded in you as truth,” I say.
“Yes.” The confirmation is barely a whisper past her lips.
I close my eyes at the admission.
I wrestle with the uncertainty creeping over me.
How much should I expose right now? The inner conflict is keeping me tongue tied.
There’s so much at stake, and reading her reactions is difficult, as they muddle with my own.
The anxiety plaguing her, the excitement for answers, and the relief it’s real, mixed with the despair of the last six months. And I can feel everything she feels.
Cautiously, I teeter between ripping the band-aid off and giving her all the answers she seeks or giving her small quantities to swallow and digest. Either choice will have an impact on her perception of her life, regardless.
Any of it is a lot to take in. But after our conversation with Jess and Steph, I fear we’re running out of time.
Glancing back at her, I notice she’s looking as uncomfortable as I feel. She takes off her sweater before draping it on the back of the chair. That’s when I see it, the aftermath of Jasper's sick game.
And once again, the rage claws its way to the surface.
Before I know what, I’m doing, I have her wrist in my hand, examining her arm. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry.” My remorseful confession leaves my lips before I can stop it.
I hate myself for not being there, for not reaching out faster. I was a coward, but I was attempting to shield her from the fucked-up darkness I live in.
Never again.
Impulsively, my hand twists into a fist, and I close my eyes.
Jasper will die for what he has done.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispers softly.
But as her eyes find mine, I silently disagree.
She may not know it yet, but she is mine. My responsibility.
And I will gladly give up my soul for hers to remain whole.
Knox clears his throat, breaking the frequency between us.
I release her wrist, as I find him glaring at me with a what the fuck are you doing, bro? face.
Probably realizing my internal struggle, he turns to face her. “Myssa, what’s happening to you is real. All of it,” he says bluntly.
Guess we are going the route of ripping off the Band-aid, then.
I lean back on my desk.
She looks at Knox, then back at me, the expression in her eyes a mixture of relief, confusion, and a hint of fear. Despite her attempts to mask these feelings, the tear escaping down her cheek tells me that all of this has definitely taken a toll on her.
“After my sister Nicole died, and this started, I really thought I was losing my mind, or at the very least I was having a nervous breakdown,” she states, looking up at me, and wiping her face quickly.
Knox takes her hand in his and gestures to me with a soft, quiet tone.
“Myssa, I know this is hard, but we need you to tell us everything,” he stresses gently. “And I do mean everything. Don’t leave anything out. Every detail is important.”
Myssa
I’m not going crazy.
This is the first thought that enters my brain after Knox’s statement.
This is real—this isn’t just in my head.
And yet, saying that, there’s still a small part of me that hesitates to accept it.
I mean, any sane person would, wouldn’t they?
I look at Zayne as I unravel it all again for him.
I walk him through all the things I told Knox yesterday.
The threat to my sister, Jasper, the dreams, the harsh reality of my mark.
Every part of this terrifying enigma that has plagued me for the last six months.
Watching the looks exchanged between them and the silent conversation they seem to be having is making me uneasy. I shift in my chair, picking at my nails.
“And that’s everything?” Zayne asks, his brow raised.
Instantly, my stomach tightens.
How does he know?
In my recollection, I deliberately left out my encounter with Lily, unsure if I should divulge those details to him.
And yet it’s like he’s reading my mind, or at the very least sensing my hesitation.
What part she plays in all this I’m not sure, but I feel a strange need to be cautious with that information, if only to protect her.
But now the silence fills the space between us, and it’s deafening. Unable to tolerate it any longer, I stand up, needing to move around. I open the fridge without even bothering to ask for permission. After grabbing water from the shelf inside, I twist it open and take a few gulps.
I hold on to the fridge for a moment, bracing myself for what’s about to come.