8. Chapter 8 #2
The bright corridor of Sexton Hall filled her vision; the obnoxious orange doors of lecture room two came into view, and freshman Yareli opened the doors, mortified that she was ten minutes late to her first college class.
She scanned the room for a seat. August gestured next to him, mirth dancing in his then-dark-brown eyes, and her embarrassment skyrocketed.
Not only was she late, but a hot guy was laughing at her and offering her the seat next to him.
With little choice in the matter, she sat.
Yareli gasped, ripping her head away from Scar-face’s hands.
“Those are mine.” That was her memory of the first time she met August. The back of her eyes throbbed. She shook her head when he brought his hands near her again.
Scar-face smiled. "Nothing belongs to you anymore.”
He took hold of her face once more and dove back into Yareli’s memories.
Yareli lost her sense of time. Her days revolved around Scar-face’s sporadic visits.
She was confident he kept them spontaneous to further confound her, because he liked routine.
He would wake her with pain—a boot, boiling water, fire.
Then, he’d force her to walk to the “reeducation” room.
Each step was like a concession from her—an acceptance of what she deserved.
Revulsion at her complicity festered in her stomach, growing until she couldn’t bear it any longer, and she’d lash out at Scar-face, cursing and hitting him.
He’d always keep her longer after her defiance, snuffing out any lingering rebellion.
She’d return to her previous state of detachment, to the mental cell of her own making, believing pain was a natural consequence of her existence.
On rare occasions, she’d wake from her torpor, and she’d attempt to escape—she’d pull at the cell bars, work on the loose bolt on the cell door—only to feel déjà vu and remember she had already attempted to escape earlier that day.
Scar-face’s intrusive dives into her memories had damaged them.
Her memories were a jumbled mess. Her short-term memory was as reliable as a fast-food ice cream machine.
And her long-term memories? Those were hazy and blurred.
Memories that Scar-face had scrutinized were the worst to recall.
They had static over them, concealing the contents of the memories.
Yet, Yareli pressed on. She clung on to life because people were waiting for her, and on nights that she allowed herself to hope, looking for her. She had to hold on.
Fleeting dreams were her only respite. She’d see a laughing, black-haired girl sharing food and presents with others.
Other times, it would be a crisp morning with a flurry of red and brown leaves falling onto the ground.
Whether that dream reflected where she used to live or if that was where her heart longed to be, she didn’t know.
Either way, she welcomed them, soaking up the dreams’ warmth like a starved plant that had long lost the sun’s rays.
She was always reinvigorated after, as if she remembered what it meant to be alive, and soon after, she would defy Scar-face again, unable to stomach the falsehoods he kept trying to etch into her soul.
After one of her dreams, she heard a voice coming from outside her cell. She chalked it up to one of her mind’s tricks, and she ignored it, but the voice was persistent.
“Hey!”
Annoyed, she snapped, “Stop talking to me. You’re not real.”
It wasn’t the first time she had hallucinated voices.
“No, I am real!”
She paused. Usually, after acknowledging the voices, they stopped, but this one kept going.
“I’m going to escape from here, and I’ll take you with me.” There was an urgency to their tone.
She shook her head. It wasn’t real; it couldn’t be.
“Yeah, okay.” She rolled onto her side, ignoring the rest of their chatter.
It also wasn’t the first time the voices had promised to save her.
Yareli sat on a wooden bench, watching the fall leaves twirl in autumn’s gentle breeze. She caught a red leaf. She knew she was dreaming, but she took pleasure in the fantasy. The leisure was a nice change to her reality.
Someone clasped her shoulder, and she turned, a smile playing on her lips. She went to say their name.
“Wake up!” A deep voice thundered, shattering her dream.
She squinted against the sudden light.
“Take my hand. I’m going to get you out of here.”
It was the same voice from before, except this time, there was a physical body with it. Yareli scanned him, taking in the bruises across his face and the dirt that clung to his clothes. She lingered on his pointed ears—another Fae.
“I’m human,” she said.
He blinked, his eyebrows furrowing. “That’s why you can’t stay here. He’ll kill you.”
No malicious intent radiated from him, but Yareli hesitated. She had grown accustomed to the four walls of her cell. She eyed the open door, and apprehension battled her desire to flee.
“Hey,” the Fae said, holding his hand out, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
She weighed her options. If she stayed, she would die. She could feel the certainty of it in the marrow of her bones. If she took his hand, there was a fifty-fifty chance that she would be exchanging one imprisonment with another, but on the chance that he meant her no harm…
She took his hand. “I’m Yareli.”
“Leo,” he said, helping her to her feet.
She hissed. Scar-face had broken her ankle earlier.
Leo frowned. “Sorry, we don’t have time to fix your ankle. I’ll have to carry you.”
She nodded, allowing him to pick her up.
“I’m going to move quickly. Closing your eyes might help with the nausea.” His white locs, covered in grime, hung loose around his lean face.
His concern for her made her uncomfortable. Why would a Fae care about her well-being? The thought exhausted her. She closed her eyes, accepting what would come.
If a horrible death awaited her outside, at least it would be because of her decision.
Her life. Her death. Her choice. The Fae, whose name she had already forgotten, moved, and wind rushed past them, raising goose bumps on her exposed skin.
She huddled closer to his chest, turning her face inward.
It was like riding in a… car with the windows down.
But the idea of a car was fleeting; her understanding of it slipping through the crevices of her brain.
She was certain that at one point in her life, she had been proud of her memory, being able to memorize information with ease, but now, information fled from her.
It curled around her like mist, teasing her with knowledge of her past but slipping through her fingers if she tried to grasp it.
They came to a sudden stop, her injured ankle bumping into the other, and she flinched.
“Sorry,” the male Fae whispered. “Let me take a quick look…”
“Leo,” someone hissed. “What did you do?”
He tensed, and Yareli had the sense to feign sleep. The newcomer had a pretty voice, smooth and commanding.
“I couldn’t leave her, Bri. He was going to kill her.”
“You nearly jeopardized the entire operation!”
“They’ll be fine! I made sure to be discreet. Besides, I set off the signal, didn’t I?”
There was no response, but the other Fae’s ire was evident. Yareli resisted the urge to scratch her nose.
“Who is she?” Bri finally asked.
“I don’t know, but she’s human.”
A sharp intake of breath. The sound of shuffling.
Yareli tensed as Bri’s presence drew nearer. She risked opening her eyes, and a pair of dark eyes met hers. Bri must have seen her apprehension, because she took a step back.
“How did you get here?” Her tone was gentler than it had been a few minutes ago.
Here. Where was here? Yareli answered honestly.
“I don’t know.”