Chapter 24 Anachronism
Sapphire
Albatross releases a scream, a string of garbled scripture, fused by the spittle forming on this inside of his lips, and uncontrollable anger.
A rush of bruising, veiny maroon saturates his neck and face from the sudden outburst. He shrieks at me like a frightened priest exorcising a poltergeist. As if he is about to search for holy water to throw in my face. For a cluster of rosary beads to wrap around my neck.
“You are a disgusting, stupid, blasphemous woman!” Albatross curls his fingers around the air in a fit. “I almost took pity on you! I nearly impregnated you with my seed and blessed you with my offspring!”
The word impregnated makes me want to dry heave until blood splatters from my raw throat.
“No, I pitied you. Look at that hideous face. You will forever be Dessin’s bitch. It’s just a shame you didn’t leave your mouth stitched close.” I glare into his scarred face. “Do all women a favor and hide in the shadows for the rest of your life, you pathetic, ugly piece of shit.”
That signed my death certificate.
Albatross snaps, throwing his upper body in my direction in a fit of rage.
His skinny arms flail, pummeling my face, chest, and stomach.
And I tighten my muscles as much as I can to protect vital organs, squeezing my eyes shut, and baring my teeth as the blows drill rounds of pain through my clenched frame.
There’s a distant pounding that fades in the background behind Albatross’s furious grunts. Then he grows tired, and his hands lock around my neck.
What the fuck is it going to take for me to travel again?
His hands squeeze so tightly, a real set of panic takes hold of me.
He’s going to crush my trachea. He’s going to kill me.
I didn’t get to say goodbye to Krimson. To my mom.
I didn’t get to hold my father’s hand one last time.
To sit with DaiSzek in the summer rain, watching the sunset across the ruby-red trees in the horizon.
He’s going to kill me.
My eyes involuntarily flood with tears. My face swells and blood vessels burst under the throbbing pressure. And all I can do is buck and thrash under his psychotic hold, unable to even scream or cry—my vocal cords have been smashed down. My airway flattened. I have nothing left. Nothing.
“There he is!” That voice. Soft. Sweet. Innocent. It smears across the chaos exploding in the back of my head.
Something rips the weight off my body. The knobby knees jabbing into my sides are gone.
The heavy breathing, grunting, and whining is now across the room.
A gust of wind replaces his presence. A coughing fit secures my survival, wheezing and gasping as his hands have been torn away from cutting off my air supply, though I can still feel the sting from where his fingernails cut into my neck.
I fight to blink away the tears and blinding blurriness, but it won’t go away. All I hear is what sounds like the smashing of fruits. Over and over again. Splatters of liquid. Grunts. Moans.
I turn my head to see black hair. Five o’clock shadow. A shirtless back. Bloody knuckles and forearms. Albatross lying on the floor like a sack of raw meat.
The relief shoots through me like an arrow directly into my gut. I fight to breathe. To keep my eyes open. To swallow down my surprise. It’s euphoric. He broke out. He found me. He saved—
The familiar sensation floods my senses. The dusting of stars across my vision. The hook that pierces my gut and tugs me into a black hole. Oh god, this is it…
“Niklaus!” The sound is a garbled rasp at best. It hardly touches my own ears much less his. My vocal cords are destroyed and mangled in my throat. “Niklaus!”
The man I’ve known my entire life turns to look at me. Blood streaked across his jaw and left cheek. Eyes dazed and furious.
“Niklaus—leaving…”
His eyebrows shoot up, and he jolts forward, throwing himself over me.
His hands are careful not to touch the places that are bloodied, blossoming with black bruises, or visibly injured.
Carefully, Niklaus grabs my shackled hand.
Even though we haven’t needed to be touching when I travel, I accept the touch.
Even though it’s him, I sigh with relief. It’s the first bit of human contact that hasn’t been nonconsenting, predatory, or abusive since we got here. It’s a silent action that waves a white flag for a moment.
The room trembles and darkens as that hole wraps around us, tugging me backward. Falling. Floating. Tumbling. And Niklaus simply rests his temple against my wrist, allowing it to take him too. Relinquishing control and closing his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
And this time blinks from existence.