28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sieve had me move some boxes, which was fine. Manual labor doesn’t bother me. However, coming to a homeless shelter was not what I expected Kyrielle to show me.
Until tonight, it wasn’t clear to me the life she’s lived. She mentioned an abusive step-father, but seeing her here, clearly comfortable, it sinks in. After everything that happened with my father, I was fortunate Fynn was there to offer a place to live.
Kyrielle had no one until Talia appeared. The image of a younger version of her, standing on the opposite side of the table, breaks my heart.
The rest of the dinner goes off without a hitch. After everyone’s gone through the line, we’re free to grab food. When I’m reluctant to take food from a shelter, Kyrielle assures me no one is going hungry.
She finds us a spot at the end of a table, sitting across from me. After taking a sip of her water, she says, “So, what do you think?”
I look around while ripping a roll in half. “I don’t know what to think, honestly.”
She scrunches her brow, scanning my face, not understanding. I motion to the city beyond the walls. “How a city, this wealthy and seemingly beautiful, can have a homeless population. How do they get around? Dragxis are affordable, but still cost money.”
I point at her translucent, glittering wings. “You could fly around, but what about non-fliers? The children?” My skin heats as I scoff in disgust. “I think it’s repulsive that this place is even necessary.”
Kyrielle stopped chewing, watching me rant.
When it’s clear that I won’t say anything else, she continues chewing her bite, swallows, then says, “All excellent questions. Ones the city doesn’t seem interested in answering.
I do what I can: raising money, teaching self-defense, and even babysitting sometimes.
But let me tell you more about what no one talks about. ”
Each word coming out of her mouth cracks another layer in my heart.
When she texted me, I thought this would be — at minimum — infuriating.
At worst, so traumatizing that it makes me take my last flight.
Instead, I find myself reluctantly admiring this beautiful dreamsicle everflame that brings her righteous intensity into deserving places.
Granted, she hasn’t asked her question yet. There’s still time to be pissed off.
Refusing to think about it, I listen to her rant about the things that could change in the city. All excellent points. Cost of living, diminished living surfaces, and the lack of protection for domestic violence survivors.
By the time she takes a second to catch her breath, I want to kiss her. Badly.
“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I get really passionate about social programs.”
“I like watching you be passionate.” My eyes flare with surprise at the innuendo. “Sorry, I swear that wasn’t a reference to anything, you know, sexual.”
Kyrielle laughs. “Innuendo disregarded.” Her expression softens. “And thank you.”
“For what?”
She shrugs, collecting our plates. “For caring.” We walk toward a trashcan. “It was crazy to me that when I was begging for money or food, so many didn’t ask why a teenager was on the streets. None of them, actually. Not until Talia.”
She might as well be holding up a mirror. Collecting our empty cups, I say, “I understand that. People tend to ignore what they don’t care about, even if someone is literally dying in front of them.”
That came out deeper than intended, considering what I said to her in our last conversation. I still regret mentioning that I’ve thought about killing myself. Even though it’s true, it’s something I’ve never told anyone. Not even Fynn.
Kyrielle’s inner eyebrows raise, her sympathy bleeding through. “I like people, but I hate them at the same time, you know?”
Letting out a wry chuckle, I toss the cups into the trash. “I absolutely know.”
Slapping her hands together, she gives me the same grin from the night at the battle arena. “Speaking of hating people — are you ready to go kick some ass?”
“Just point me in the direction.”
***
Kyrielle sits on my head, and not in the preferred way. I’m shifted, and she’s perched right behind my ear, lounging against one of my spikes. I use my magyck to keep the wind off her face so her pretty hair doesn’t turn into a mess.
We don’t speak at first, too lost in our own thoughts. It feels peaceful; right, even. There's a discernable glow to her body. She’s a bright light in the night sky, like a firefly.
I don’t know what to think of this scheme she clearly has.
The more time I spend with her, the more bitter I become about the choice we made all those months ago.
While I wouldn’t give up the memory of her creamy thighs between my teeth or the way she clung to me like I was the lone anchor to gravity …
It’s also a painful dichotomy. Just how it’s impossible to experience true gratitude without experiencing true loss.
Was the chemistry actually there, or am I so pathetically lonely that the thought of chemistry brought me to my knees?
There’s one way to find out — and the only thing I won’t do.
“What are you thinking about?” Her voice is quiet; contemplative.
Is that your question?
“No,” she says defensively.
What is your question?
“You want me to ask it right now?”
Yes. Then I add, Please.
One of her hands softly rubs my scales as she thinks. Does she realize she’s petting me? My Fyre, normally ignored, sparks.
“If there was one experience in your life you could change, what would it be and why?”
Fortuna save me; she went right for the jugular. These questions are going to fucking suck, aren’t they?
She laughs softly. “I want to know you, Trinte.”
This body can’t cry or frown. All it can do is ache between my ribs.
No one in my entire life has ever said that.
Kyrielle could’ve asked anything — I would’ve honored my word and been honest to a fault.
She could ask for my bank account information, and I’d give it.
I pride myself on being honest when it matters most.
This is the question she chose?
I could refuse to answer, but … don't I want to be known? Haven't I always craved someone to ask me something about my life? My hurts?
Kyrielle truly wants to know me. It's why these questions are difficult. But I can't beg the goddesses for someone to give me a chance, and then reject her the first time it falls too out of my comfort zone. The least I can do is be brutally honest.
It takes a moment to assimilate the words in my head, then push away the instinct to never share my pain. How would it feel to share? To tell someone what that woman did to me?
When I was twenty, I went on my first date. A woman in a local Weyr social club. Fynn said she was a nice woman.
“She wasn’t?” Kyrielle whispers.
No. She wasn’t. I didn’t understand what happened at the time, but she had drugged me. Raped me repeatedly while I was passed out. Gaslit me; told me I wanted it. It took me years to understand what she’d done — that I had technically lost my virginity to a predator.
“Technically?”
Nope. One question for today. Thinking about that rapist bitch makes me want to do awful, terrible things that I can’t entertain. Keeping tight reins on my emotions, I admit, I’ve never told anyone that; not even Fynn. I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.
“Of course, Trinte,” she says vehemently.
She's rubbing my scales more insistently, as if her sincerity's transferred into the motion.
It makes me want to purr and panic at the same time.
“I would never violate your trust like that. Ever.” She pauses.
“This is probably obvious, but … why would you change it?”
If she knew half the things I’ve experienced, she’d know it actually isn’t an obvious answer. There are so many things worth changing, including him.
I diminished the experience so thoroughly, it altered the way I viewed sex.
When you run so far from a memory that it becomes subconscious lore, it can affect your every decision and perception of reality.
For years, an experience that could be special with someone became reduced to physical impulses and a refusal to connect. Because …
A wave of exhaustion almost makes my wings falter. This is the most I’ve ever thought or spoken about my trauma. The fact that I can articulate this much is impressive.
“Because?” she prompts.
I sigh in my Dragon form. Because of my formative experiences with sex, I don’t think I can ever view it normally. Which is why I would change it.
It’s something I’ve spent years thinking about and yet steadfastly ignoring.
There’s a wall between me and the part that could possibly allow me to connect with someone.
The older I become, the more clear it is.
It’s like standing in front of a smooth, steel wall and being told to climb over it without a ladder.
Her sweet voice interrupts my thoughts. “Thank you for sharing, Trinte.”
Saying nothing, I begin the slow descent. The moons rise slowly into the sky, casting a pale, eerie glow on the clouds, homes, and lawns.
Silent as a cat, I land. Kyrielle flicks her wings to land gracefully on the grass. I shift and crack my joints.
She pulls out her phone, then points to a house across from the landing pad. It’s a two-story home, with a single light on in the upstairs bedroom.
“What is he again?” I whisper, stepping in close enough to catch her scent of vanilla.
“Forest Sprite.”
Damn; mostly impervious to electricity. I can only use fire in Dragon form. Kyrielle’s probably our best bet today. “Okay. Do you want to take the lead?”
Kyrielle flashes a grin. “Are you allowing a little girl to take the lead?”
“No offense, Kyrielle, but you scare me. You can take the lead all you want.”
Slapping a hand to her mouth, she stifles a laugh. “Why do I love the idea of me scaring you?”
“Because you were put on this earth to torment men?”
“Maybe just you,” she whispers back.
“I think there’s a certain Forest Sprite about to have a similar opinion.”
Fire literally burns in her irises. It’s mesmerizing. “Let’s go find my next victim, shall we?”
She holds out her hand. With the sweetest, most hopeful smile. My heart holds its breath. It’s utterly impossible to deny her. Fortuna, what the fuck? So much for having resolve when it comes to her.
My hand slides into hers, and we walk toward the home.
We stand outside the house for a few minutes to ascertain who might be inside. That one bedroom light isn’t enough information to go on.
“Should we wait for daytime?” I ask, looking at the determined firefly next to me.
Kyrielle shakes her head. “Better to take him by surprise at night. Forest Sprites are stronger during the day.”
“True.” I shove my hands into my pockets, straining to hear something; anything. The house is silent. “Do you just … go in?”
She holds up a key. “I have a key. Legally, I can say she gave me permission to have access.”
“Good enough for me. Lead the way, little girl.”
Kyrielle gives me a withering look before marching down the pathway to the front door. We pause, listening, then she slides the key into the lock.
Pause again. Nothing.
The door swings open silently into a dark foyer. No movement. My adrenaline’s kicking in, heightening my senses. There’s a small scuffling sound upstairs now.
“Shit,” Kyrielle hisses, looking down. It’s a vine laid across the floor.
The shuffling turns into full on footsteps. It must be the Forest Sprite’s version of an alarm system. Clever.
A man's angry voice sounds from above. "Hello?"
“Wait." Kyrielle looks up the stairs. Is that her fear I scent? Frowning, I examine her expression. The determination is melting into something … dread?
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
She looks at me, shaking her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Boots stomp across the upstairs hallway. Kyrielle takes a step back. The smell of fear spikes.
I sidle in closer. “What is it?”
“Janeeka? That better fucking be you,” a male voice snarls. I see a pair of brown boots pausing at the top of the stairs.
Kyrielle lets out a tiny whimper. Immediately, I step in front of her, focused on the boots. Who is this person that suddenly has her afraid?
“She said his name was Laurice,” she says, sounding lost, muttering to herself. “Right? Laurice. I’m sure she said that name.”
“Janeeka?” The boots walk down a couple of steps; two large hands come into view. Kyrielle shifts, taking a step back. I’m torn between focusing on her and the approaching threat.
“We have to go,” Kyrielle says, starting to sound panicked. “Come back later or something.”
“Why?” I hiss, finally chancing a glance at her. A fine sheen of sweat beads across her forehead. What the Hells?
The boots continue down the stairs. I’m forced to look back at the green-skinned man coming down. The moment his face appears, though, understanding clicks.
He’s an ugly man, even if half of his face wasn’t burned off by a small handprint. Kyrielle’s breath quickens; she takes another step back. Her panic is turning into mine, because I’m realizing the danger we’re in if she can’t engage.
A dark chuckle makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “Cockroach, is that you?”