29. Merle
Merle
The more Jay has been talking, the more upset the body has been getting, so upset that he didn’t even notice how close to panic we were until I stole up into the front and booted him out.
I glance out the windows, but we’re going too fast. The car slows and stops in the line of traffic; the red light is too bright, too brilliant.
A black car pulls up beside us, and in the shadows of that window, I see a distorted face.
A shape. It’s my imagination, but it’s not.
We start moving again, and the car vanishes, taking the image but not the fear.
They keep talking, but I’m silent, drowning in the words, the memories.
His touch, the way he would beat me senseless and then stick his gloved fingers in my mouth, ignoring the way I gagged, rubbing my teeth and rocking the loose ones.
That disinfectant smells slightly of lemon with the rotted vegetation under it fills my lungs.
He’s taller than me, almost twice as wide.
I look up, and I can see just a hint of grey hair and wrinkled skin. He’s Caucasian and older.
How do I know that? He never reveals himself, Jay said so.
Except once. When…the Robin memory tries to push in, but I grit my teeth, fighting it, refusing to look at anything but him. She attacked him. His mask moved. There was skin, hair. He’s older. Much older.
But strong, so strong.
Neither alpha nor beta, and certainly not omega.
Scent suppressant patches on his skin; that must be the disinfectant smell on him.
He pulls his fingers out, and I taste blood, but then his fingers press into the wound he made on my back.
He leans over me, not at all afraid, watching as his thumb digs in.
Hot blood runs down my skin, and I whimper.
Except this isn’t my memory; this is Kestrel’s. I never felt this; I never saw this.
A hand lands on my knee, and I yelp.
“Jay?”
I scan the inside of the car, panicked, not seeing anything but the past. A hand grabs my jaw and turns me towards a face I almost recognise.
“Stay with me!”
The alpha bark snaps into me, and I let out a shrill sound.
“Merle, you focus. You stay with me. I’m not letting you go. Nothing is going to hurt you. It's just a flashback; it’s not real.”
I blink, but tears are running unheeded down my cheeks, I’m drenched in sweat and trembling. It’s hard to swallow, and my breathing is shallow and sharp, loud.
A chest against my back, warm and safe, but it flashes, and it’s him. He’s hurting me.
“Take control, Kestrel!”
“I’m trying, she’s panicking. Everything inside her is telling her to run. She’s got no reason, she’s all terror.”
“We have to hold her, she’ll hurt the pack or herself.”
I hear their voices and the male voices.
None of it matters because his drawl is louder. He’s not shouting or even speaking loud, it’s intimate. He’s telling me how proud he is. How nicely I scream.
Everything else is a dream, he is my reality. What if everything that’s happened is just a dream, and I’m in the manacles, in his roost? What if I’m still a prisoner and this is all a dream?
What if I’m dying?
What if he’s coming back?
“Merle! Merle! OMEGA!”
I’m yanked out of the seat and into someone’s lap. Arms wrap around me. It feels safe, but nothing is safe. Nothing. His hand on the back of my head pushes my face into the crook of his neck. I inhale the alpha scent and then open my mouth and suck it into my lungs.
King!
“I’ve got you. I have you. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, holding on like he’s the only one that can keep me safe. He’s massive but gentle as he pulls me tighter onto his lap.
The car stops.
The door opens, and there’s fresh air, and then King is moving, lifting me, and we’re travelling. Until we’re in the dark, in a small room with no sounds. It’s just him and me in the oppressive darkness.
But I can breathe.
“Stay with me,” King whispers. “Stay with me. Don’t run. You don’t need to run anymore.”
I tremble hearing his words over and over. His massive hands are heavy but soothing as he strokes them down my back, one goes down, then the other, top to bottom. His lips are pressed against my ear.
His words are constant.
The pack comes into the room, I can smell them clearly, hear the different ways they breathe. That feeling of being safe gets stronger.
“Choose to stay. Don’t run.”
I reach out, finding a hand. It’s strong and calloused and huge in mine.
Sage moves closer, his scent getting stronger, as he purrs. Another notch of calm grabs at me, shoving the memories further from me.
“We are in the middle of nowhere on a farm that my family owns,” Rolly says. “I know you are probably starting to wonder.”
I open my eyes and realise I can just make out the shapes in the room. I can make out their shapes.
“It’s safe. It’s empty. No one comes here. We have food and a place where we can hang out and watch the sunset for a couple of days.”
A part of me wants to ask sarcastically if he really thinks we are safe, but another part is just thrilled to have somewhere to hide where we can relax. Trust them.
I do trust them, I think to myself.
Then why am I trying to run?
I didn’t run, though. I wanted to, but I didn’t.
To everyone’s surprise but mostly mine, I’m still here.
I’ve killed people who tried to stop me, driven cars off roads, ran off into woods and a desert once.
If I’d have wanted to run, they couldn’t have stopped me. No one is hurt, and I’m here with them.
I choose to stay. Subconsciously, but I did choose to stay.
Pix and Blaze bring us food and drink, and they sit in the dark with us and talk in low voices about all sorts of things, but nothing threatening.
King shifts me into the bed and tucks a blanket up around my chin, while Rolly comes and curls around me.
He kisses my shoulder and then starts combing his fingers through my hair.
“I cut the brakes on the doctor’s car.”
I stiffen.
“I know, ridiculous, right? To be fair, he took a bribe from my dad and took a great deal of joy from drugging me and beating the shit out of me. He hurt me a lot. Medication is a very effective way of stealing someone’s ability to fight back, and he enjoyed his prey helpless.
So, one day, I got out with the help of a friend, and I went and I cut the brakes on his car.
It was a wet, windy night with the promise of a storm. He just…plowed right into a tree.”
I sit up and stare at him.
“I am crazy; I have a long history of diagnosis’. But,” he murmurs and brushes my hair, combing it back with long fingers.
My heart is beating hard.
“But I’m your crazy alpha, and nothing will change that. Ever. Even if you’re scared, even if you run. I’ll be yours.”
My breath comes out long and slow, and with it, the last of the tension.
I curl into the alpha, my crazy alpha, and think maybe there is such a thing as soulmates.
It takes a while before I can convince Kestrel to find the information and see what the problem was.
Over and over, we go over it, trying to find the rest of the memory. We had to have seen his face, at least once. We remember it.
But do we?
Our memory can’t be trusted. I clench my hands so tightly that my nails cut into my palms. We forget things, we remember things that didn’t happen. Can we trust our memory? What if it was all a fever dream? What if it was all a desperate imagining to make him seem less scary?
He used to starve us a lot. I know I would see things when I was starving. Dehydrated. I would get sick and curl up with fevers that would leave me weak as a kitten, dried vomit all over me.
There were times he’d bring us food, and we’d get sick after. Drugged food or liquid. He would lean against the wall with his ankles crossed and just observe. He liked to hear us beg and cry.
Kestrel speaks for us, whispering the words. Telling them about these things. Whispering our fears that we can’t be a reliable witness. She then tells them about what she thinks we’ve seen.
“White, older, dark grey-silver hair. Larger size.”
She stays and answers the rest of the questions, and then backs off, letting me turn into Blaze’s arms and stare at his collarbone.
“You are braver than you know,” he whispers. “Strong, brave, wise.”
I look up, not able to see him clearly, but to see him enough. He means it. He really does believe it.
And because he does, I can almost believe it.
“Go to sleep, Merle, tomorrow we’ll explore this house and think about all the horrible things we need to think about.”
I dip my chin just a fraction.
The alphas get comfortable around us, but not everyone can fit on the bed, so Pix and Rolly go prowling the house.
I lay safe in my alpha’s arms and dream of the years I spent in a concrete cage, doing the bidding of a madman.