31. Helene
Helene
They’ve branded themselves inside of me.
My body remembers everything, each invasion and tiny death.
Sleep leaves in whispers. My senses come alive first, before my eyes have pried open to greet the day.
I’m sore in the best places. The ones that haven’t been touched in too long to remember. Nicholas was right.
There are certain things only three men can accomplish.
I slap my palm to my forehead because seriously, what the fuck am I doing?
I’m messing up beyond belief. Now is the time to come to my senses instead of losing them.
But no. I just come. Plain and simple.
Although there’s nothing simple about what happened last night. Nicholas had warned us about danger, and I hadn't known what he meant. Something piqued my curiosity, a challenge, and outside of unpacking new books from estate sales at the store, nothing like that had happened to me in a long time.
The sound prompts a groan from Forest, his muscular legs trapping both of mine to the bed.
And that’s not a pillow behind me. My head nestles on Nicholas’s lap, his back propped up to the wall and his eyes shut tight to combat the glow of morning. It filters under the door and my breath catches.
How long were we out?
Or better question, how long did we play?
Pieces of our night return now, like I've stumbled on a secret by mistake.
Wren’s shadows are silent, sleeping. He rests on my other side, not thrown across me like Forest, but touching. His hand is settled over mine, and his face is near my breast. Possessive.
My next inhale lands as far as my throat and no lower. he air stays lodged along my tongue, tasting faintly of sex, sweat, and panic, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shove it down into a full breath.
And because of the surprise, because of the stupidity, I unwind myself from Wren. I push Forest’s leg aside and he groans again, reaching in sleep to drag me closer.
Nicholas sighs.. His eyes remain shut, his lips plump and slightly open. No hint of fangs.
I’ve fucked up.
I scramble off the bed until I hit the opposite wall, the dresser rattling.
Sexual attraction is one thing but an all-night fuck fest when my sister is passed out on the couch? When there are things hunting me?
My life changed when these three came knocking on my door. The past is a recurring nightmare, but the choice has to be mine. Doesn’t it?
Otherwise, they’ll wear me down like a pencil, scratched down to a nub, writing out the same horror life after life.
They made the decision to find me, and my weakness turned them into victims.
I enjoy a puzzle like the rest of the world and something about them dared me to give chase. An emotion lurking in their eyes, the weight of more secrets. They poke out one moment and dart away like silverfish in the next.
Go. Go now.
Those two words form from the abyss in my head. In the blank white space between them come wisps of memory of the aftermath of one such coupling centuries ago.
The strangeness of it is uncomfortable. New. From a desert to an oasis in terms of sex and fulfillment, and I’ll hoard that like a camel with water. But this isn’t me.
This is her.
These are the actions of the person I used to be. These men are only here because of her, and the love they felt for her. The soul might be the same, but I’m not.
Whatever I am...
I’ve changed. I had no choice.
My chest tightens, pushing closer to my struggling heart. I stare at the cuddle puddle.
Where is the breathing room to think or to breathe? Where is the space to exist underneath their lust and expectations?
Palms sweaty, I force my bare feet across the floor, hissing at the chill. My clothes are somewhere in a pile of discard.
I nudge Forest’s cloak with my toe and shiver, my arms wrapped over my breasts. They tingle with a combination of use and cold, my nipples pebbled and raw.
My thighs shake as I pull on my yoga pants and hoodie.
None of the men have moved. They rest together, the mattress shrunken and bowed underneath them. The door squeals when I push it open but another frantic glance of assurance over my shoulder shows the same picture.
It’s homey and warm, the three paused in repose, no tolerating or sniping or bleeding each other in shallow cuts with their words.
Throat constricting, I head out into the false cheer of sunlight through the windows.
Audra lifts her head from the kitchen table and blinks to bring me into focus. “I thought you’d need the sleep,” she whispers.
I’m the worst kind of selfish—
I grind my knuckles into my eyes. “What time is it?”
“It’s about eight. You could have rested a little longer.”
Not with the way my stomach has taken to doing the samba like it’s a full-time job.
“Coffee,” I tell her. “I'd rather have an entire luxury yacht of coffee.”
“I’ve already got a pot going.”
Audra doesn’t move from the table. From the way she’s got her forearms resting and crossed and her neck slung down, she appears a swan ready for the ax.
Caffeine will fuel my logic, I’m sure of it. Something has to work. Blacker than pitch dark roast generally provides the kick in the ass I require, but today, it’s not the black gold that throws me eagerly into the line of fire. It’s my sister herself.
The ghost of dark circles above her cheekbones, the pull of her skin over bone, the lank way her curls fall...
Her youth, her vitality, has been ransacked long before now, but the stark reminder stings.
“I shouldn’t have—” I start.
She shakes her head with an inhale. “It’s not your fault, Helene.
There are things...whatever is happening to us....
” She trails off with a moan, rising to rub her temples.
“I don’t remember much but I know it wasn’t me.
It was different from a normal seizure. And I haven’t had those in a long time. ”
My throat clogs, my hand stalling on the handle of the coffee pot. “No, you haven’t.”
I know what I have to do.
We’ve got to escape.
“Where are your crutches?” Ignoring my favorite mug, I reach for the dented travel cup on the middle shelf of the cabinet.
“They’re outside the door, I think. I’m not sure.”
I’ve got a change of clothes in my purse. I always keep something there in case...
Mom’s go bag.
She taught us more about survival than anything else. How to run, how to make each move count. How to go when the money was up.
I inherited more from her than I want to admit. The strangeness, the call to use the stones, the paranoia, those are her legacy in me. Part of the hypervigilance includes being ready for whatever the unexpected or unforeseen shit the universe tosses you faster than a four-seam fastball.
I fill the travel mug to three quarters and the rest with creamer.
“Get your coat,” I tell Audra.
“Why?”
Heart racing, skin cold, my eyes fall on the door separating us from the dark bedroom.
The phantom of a snore reaches us.
Audra is alive. Relief hits me, intense and immediate. Get her out of here, and she’ll stay this way.
No more nightmare for either one of us.
It starts and ends with me.
“How much money do we have together?” I ask instead. “Right now? I think I’ve got about fifty bucks in my wallet. I can put more on the credit card.”
“Helene, you’re scaring me.”
I’m spooking myself. But time is ticking, and if we can’t make it out the door before the men wake, then we’ll never leave.
We’ll never escape this surreal version of existence. The monsters will keep coming, whether they wear the face of a lover or not. Audra will never be safe.
Whatever those Norns want with her, they’ll target her repeatedly, as long as we’re around Nicholas, Forest, and Wren. Then I won’t be me anymore. I’ll be her. Hellevi.
I screw the cap on the mug and look at her. “Grab the keys. I’ll be ready in a second. I want to pack a few things.”
Her eyes are wider than grapefruit. “Helene.”
“Now, kid.”
Tiptoeing to the bag, I quickly loop a scarf over my neck, my stare latched on the bedroom door. By the time I drag on my coat, Audra has limped over and gotten her own winter coat over her shoulders.
The keys jingle when she palms them, and I wince.
“I’ll explain it in the car,” I grunt, tossing my head toward the door. “Manny dropped it off for us after fixing the belt. The key will still be in the ignition. No one wants to steal the old thing. And hopefully the fix gets us a few hundred miles down the road.”
She pulls it open into a bluster of cold from the rest of the house. It sinks into my skin, and I clamp down tight on my lower lip, using the pain to get me over the threshold. Her crutches wait outside the door.
She loops them underneath her arms and pauses there, squinting her eyes against the exhaustion.
“Come on. Let me help.”
“You’ll only trip me up. I’ve got a rhythm.”
Normally she doesn't need the crutches to get down the stairs. The banister is sturdy enough for her to grip to traverse the narrow treads. Today is different.
Today everything is different.
Tears burn the lash line of my eyes as we make it to the ground floor, time ticking down behind us.
Out on the street, snow packs the windshield of the old beater car we only have for emergencies. It got us from Tennessee to Massachusetts in one piece and promptly ate it.
I brush flakes aside with my bare hand while Audra takes the stairs, careful of black ice. The engine requires an eternity and a blood sacrifice to crank over and belch cold air through the vents. How long until it warms?
How long before our slim chance of escape disappears?
I lift my go bag and toss it on top of the pile of crap in the backseat, trying not to read too much into Audra’s limping gate as she walks around the side of the car.
She settles in the front and slides the crutches past the center console, clutching her purse on her lap.
After shoving the wheelchair into the trunk, I finish brushing off the rest of the windshield, fingers numb, and scurry to the driver’s side. Sneakers seep through immediately when I step in a puddle of slush at the curb.
“Hey, at least it's dry snow. Like dandruff,” I tell her with a falsely bright smile.