Chapter 21
MY SECORA
ELLIOT
The memory ends. I stumble backward, scrambling to the tent’s exit. I don’t care that it’s dark or that dangerous predators are out for the night. I can’t think straight and the only way to fix it…
I stagger to the bushes and everything comes out. My meager breakfast, lunch, dinner. My scoured heart, lungs, soul. I’m suffocating, surrounded by oxygen. Dying without a single injury or illness.
Magic sparks through me. Courses through my arms and pulses at my fingertips. I’ve never been quick to anger, never felt this disastrous recklessness before. It’s all-consuming, wracking through my body until there’s nothing else left. There is only red-tinted vision and bone-rattling fury.
I clench my knees, staring as my vomit drips between the bush leaves. I’m prepared to stand here all night and wait for some ungodly creature to kill me. It is only Cora’s small hand on my back that snaps me back to reality.
Cora is consoling me after watching what happened to her.
It’s enough to regain control, to snap me out of the trance threatening to consume me whole. I blink and grind my teeth together, taking several deep breaths before I stand to my full height. My magic doesn’t calm, even as I force my mind to focus.
I look at Cora.
She’s a foot shorter than I am. Short. Thin.
Without meaning to, I look at her wrists. They’re free now—have been for years—but they weren’t in that memory. She was defenseless. Half his size. Without magic.
My stomach tightens again. Harrison. Everything I thought I knew of him is suddenly false. Every aspect of his personality I’ve spent years mourning is nothing but an illusion.
He raped her.
He raped a defenseless girl, half his size. He held her down, uttered horrible things in her ear, then left her, bloodied and alone.
Magic sparks from my fingertips before I can stop it. It’s directionless and shapeless, shooting between the trees before dissolving into air. And still, my hands burn.
I want to kill him. I want to destroy him for what he did to her. And I barely remember her.
I look over her again. Her wide brown eyes are on me, her full lips parted as she stares. She looks nervous, frightened. Ready to bolt, yet still standing here with her hand on my back.
“Cora,” I say. My voice is ragged, tortured, full of blistering hatred and pathetic helplessness.
“You should sit down,” she says. Her lips keep twitching, like there’s more she wants to say. “I’ll make some tea if you’ve brought some and—”
“Cora,” I say again. Her name cracks in my mouth.
“It’s over,” she says. She lifts her chin, clenching her teeth so hard her jaw sharpens. “He’s dead.”
She looks proud of that fact, and for the first time since I learned what happened to my best friend, I don’t pity him at all.
Please. Please. Please. Please.
That’s what she’d been thinking while he raped her. She was begging for someone to find them, to stop him. And I could feel it: she wasn’t hoping for just anyone. She was hoping I would find them, stop him. Save her.
But I didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I say. My eyes burn, and my mouth feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton. “I don’t—I should have—”
“It’s over,” she repeats. She grabs my hand, only to immediately pull away. Though her fingers are cold, I feel a loss of heat when she moves. “We need to go inside. It’s not safe out here.”
She returns to the tent, leaving me no choice but to follow behind her. She rummages through my pack, finding two bags of green tea. I stare at her, frozen, as she focuses on making our drinks. She blinks hard, but it’s not enough to keep tears from welling in her eyes.
“Cora, come here,” I say. Beg might be the better word.
She turns, that chin still fiercely lifted. Despite her watering eyes, she almost glares at me as she speaks.
“I didn’t show you that to make you pity me,” she says. “You wanted to know the truth, so there it is.”
“Cora—”
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, and you don’t need to change your mind about me,” she says. She opens the canister of water, lip trembling. “It’s not your job to look out for me anymore.”
“Yeah, and whose decision was that?” I snap. My skin itches with magic, pent up and desperate for release. “That wasn’t my choice, Cora. Don’t punish me for it.”
“I know,” she says. Her voice cracks, and she angrily wipes at her eyes. “I know, I’m sorry, okay? I was trying to—”
“Come here,” I interrupt. I haven’t moved from the tent’s entrance, too afraid I’ll fuck things up if I move.
“Elliot—”
“Let me hold you,” I say. A request that would have seemed ridiculous an hour ago feels essential now. “Please. I’m begging you.”
A faint blush rushes across her cheeks. She is beautiful and soft and vicious and perfect and…how dare he touch her?
She nods, the movement choppy and stiff. She moves toward me, arms tucked in front of her, and buries her head against my chest. It is the purest sensation in the world, unfazed by guilt or worry or confusion.
This is how life was meant to be. I can feel it now. She was always supposed to be here, wrapped between my arms.
Did she let me hold her? I’m desperate to know. After that horrid walk from the augur house, did she find me? Did she tell me what happened? Did she let me hold her like she is now?
Cora sobs against my chest, her hands loosening just enough to grab my shirt. I lift her, cupping beneath her thighs until she wraps her legs around my waist. Unlike before, there’s nothing sexual in my touch. I just hold her as close as physically possible, letting her cry against my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against her hair. Again and again, until I’m crying too.
I wake with sunlight on my face. It’s early morning, but it’s light enough that the vampires will be trapped inside.
The other predators—the werewolves and Nectoa—should be home, asleep.
We should be up by now. We’ve got hours between us and the Cursed Grounds, and I only packed for two more nights of sleep.
I make no move to leave. I only shift Cora farther onto my chest, letting her breath tickle my neck. When she shifts, burrowing closer, her lips brush my collarbone.
I don’t remember falling asleep last night. I only remember holding her and letting her cry.
Now, I’m dizzy with the sensation of her skin pressed against mine.
It’s beyond my control, the flashes of last night that flicker through my mind.
Images of Cora straddling my lap, moaning and gasping against my kisses.
I’d been ready to fuck her. I would have.
I would have fucked her until she only knew my name and the feel of my cock stretching her cunt.
“You’re hard,” she whispers against my neck.
I startle, twisting my head to look down at her.
I have no idea when she woke up, only that her brown eyes are now open and wholly focused on my pants.
The outline of my erection is fully visible.
When her hand brushes against it, a shock of pleasure rocks through my entire body.
I jolt like I’ve been burned, and Cora immediately pulls back.
She lifts her chin to look at me.
Her lips are so close, it would take minimal movement for me to taste them. To suck her pouty lower lip between mine until she begged for more. I’m just not sure if that’s appropriate, if she’d even want me to.
“Sorry,” I say.
“For what?” she asks. Her gaze flickers to my pants, then back to me. “I don’t mind.”
“I’m not…” I trail off, unsure what to say. My throat feels thick and dry, but I’m having a hard time explaining the thoughts in my head. “I don’t want you to think…after last night…I’m not trying…”
“I was raped, Elliot.” Her voice is quiet, but her tone is more resigned than anything else. “It was terrible, and everything that followed was terrible too. What Harrison did changed the trajectory of my life, but it’s still my life. I am not ruined. I am not broken. I am okay.”
“I know,” I say. “I know, Cora. It’s just—it’s hard for me to think straight. I want to kill him. He’s dead, and I still want to kill him.”
Cora looks away, eyes drifting to the top of the tent. Her breath is steady, eyes clear.
“A couple nights ago, I started watching some of my old memories,” she says. “I didn’t just take yours, Elliot. I took mine too, because after I left…it was hard. It was awful being without you.”
Then why did you? I want to ask. Why would you do that to yourself, to us?
I don’t let myself speak. I force myself to slow, to feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine.
My erection has died, but I still feel the high of her closeness.
This moment is as close to perfection as I’ve ever felt, and I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing.
I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to ask me to leave.
“I’ve watched several in the past few days,” she goes on. “I kept them. Can I show you some of my favorites?”
And so, we do.
One by one, Cora pulls a memory strand from her temple and drops it onto the memory stone. We sit with our shoulders pressed together, fading in and out of her teenage memories. These ones all feature me, and unlike the one from last night, they are good.
From her perspective, I watch the first time we kiss.
The first time I sneak into her bedroom with a piece of cake to share.
The first time I try to hold her hand in public, and she quietly shakes her head.
The many times we meet at the haunted tree at Ochre Primary School.
Sometimes to kiss. Sometimes to talk about the future or our hobbies or whatever gossip exists in that moment.
Every time, I watch my face heat with embarrassment.
Objectively, fifteen-year-old me is terrible at pursuing the girl he likes.
He blushes every time he talks to her, all the way up to his ears.
He trips over his words. He’s awkward and dorky and so transparently smitten. Yet somehow, young Cora doesn’t see it.