Chapter 28

I couldn't breathe.

Pressure squeezed around my throat, and I couldn't breathe.

Two cold, dead blue eyes burned into mine. Eyes that flashed to memories of laughter, of cuddles on a couch, of heated fucks and intense orgasms.

Eyes that I once found love in, slicing into mine, with nothing behind them.

No love. No laughter. No pleasure, and no bliss.

Those eyes had once been so kind, so full of life, and now, I saw nothing behind them.

He didn't speak. He only squeezed my throat with the force of a thousand suns, burning across my muscles, deep into my bones, aching and throbbing.

He didn't need to speak. His eyes spoke what his mouth never could.

Those lips would whisper love, but those eyes screamed hate.

You couldn't do this to someone you loved.

That's what I thought as it'd happened all those years ago, too. When he showed at my door, apologizing, begging me to take him back, even as he'd done it, all I'd thought was, You couldn't do this to someone you love.

He didn't love me. I loved him, I loved him like a flower loved the sun, with such need, such yearn, that I knew I couldn't live without him.

He made sure I knew that. That I was a flower, and he was my sun.

Yet, here I was. Pressed against a wall, his body flush with mine, dying beneath his fingers. Gasping for breath, swinging and flailing at the pain as everything darkened around the edges, pleading internally for a storm. Pleading for the darkness, because at least it wouldn't hurt.

Nothing could hurt the way that hand around my throat did. The way those cold, dead eyes did.

Not because it was the worst pain I'd ever felt. Not because I wouldn't recover from the bruise he'd left. Not even because I couldn't breathe.

Because those eyes that once harbored such safety, such warmth, the hand that had once held mine so softly, so lovingly, was now strangling the life out of me.

There was no pain comparable to what I felt in that moment. Fearing and desiring the darkness at once. Wishing it for it, because the shame of living once it was over, when I had to look at myself in the mirror and acknowledge that I had let it come to this would be unbearable. Living with the fact, the truth, that I had let this man I loved so dearly get close enough to take it all from me, would be unbearable. Humiliating.

I let him do it. I let him drive me insane. I let myself wind up here, with his hand around my throat, gradually siphoning the life from me.

He almost had. He almost took my life. I'd loved him, and he almost took my life.

When the darkness came, though, it hurt just as badly as the light.

Because now that it was over, long in my past, I had to do just that.

I had to live with what I'd once called love.

I jolted forward.

A canopied bed. Fluffy pillows. The smell of flowers and honey. Graham's obnoxious snoring beside me.

I was on the Fae Realm, sleeping in the palace of Queen Caeda. Graham was beside me. Ezra and Warren were a few doors down. They were my boyfriends, not him.

That was a memory. It wasn't real. It had been, at one point, but it wasn't anymore.

Andrew. That was his name. I met him at eighteen. I fell for him hard, and I fell for him fast.

I didn't remember much of the relationship now. Maybe I'd blocked it out as a defense mechanism.

But I remembered that moment. The fight that led to it, not so much. It had something to do with him cheating on me. With whom, I didn't remember.

I'd never forget that moment, however. When his hand was around my throat, when his eyes were so dead, when his teeth were gritted with such hate, and I couldn't breathe.

More than anything, I wished I could forget it.

I never would, but I wished I could.

That man hadn't crossed my mind in years. I hoped many more would pass before he did again.

But for tonight, I just had to remind myself. It was a memory. It wasn't real, not anymore.

Hands shaking, I swept the sweat from my forehead and cheeks. A few hard swallows, a dozen deep breaths, but my hands were still shaking.

Too much adrenaline. I needed to get it out. Staying in this bed, where the memory was still so fresh, wasn't helping.

Carefully, I crawled out from beneath the blankets. Graham's snoring slowed. An ache pinged through my chest.

The last thing I needed was for him to wake up, see me like this, and further convince himself that I was weak.

His snoring resumed. I had never been so grateful to hear that man snore.

I stepped slowly across the room until I reached the window. It was dark, meaning we had slept through the entirety of the day. Probably didn't have much time before Graham woke up. Then again, he was exhausted. Maybe he'd sleep for a day straight.

Gently grasping the golden door handle, I edged it open. Hinges squeaked. Graham's snoring slowed. I stopped. He snored again, and I exhaled with relief.

I tugged it the rest of the way open, stepped outside, and pulled the door into the frame. I didn't let the lock click.

The cool wind slapped against my skin. It should have made me shiver, but I basked in it. That distant scent of ocean water made the air moist, and I generally hated that, but in the night chill, it was soothing. It was real. It grounded me.

After taking a few steps forward, I gripped the banister. Cool stone bled into my trembling fingers. Every bead of sweat on my body worked with the weather to bring down my temperature. Mohawk fluttered from a perch overhead, landing on the banister before me. As he came in closer, perching himself beside my palm, those shaking hands slowed. Breaths leveling, the thumping in my chest slowed with them.

Understanding followed.

That dream came to me because it was the personification of what I feared most. A time in my life when I had felt powerless. A time in my life when fear was far too familiar. A time when, perhaps, as Amara had said, I was weak.

I wasn't that girl anymore. I was not weak. But being with that man, letting him hurt me for as long as he had, as many times as he did, was weakness.

Even if that was horrible. Even if I wished it weren't true. Even if admitting it hurt as badly around that hand around my throat had.

At that time, I was weak. I was weak enough to be with, to stay with, a man who made me fear for my life. He wasn't even the last one to do it. More came after him, and my gods, how weak I'd been to accept that treatment.

It was the very thing that left me furious with Graham, and Jake, and Amara.

I'd, at one point, been a victim. I hated that word, but I hated more than anything that it was true. I hated that I hadn't always been as strong as I was now.

I hated that anyone thought I'd ever let myself be that again. I was weak once, but I refused to ever be that again.

"Can't sleep?" someone called.

I jumped.

She laughed. "You can come down, if you want."

Peering over the banister, I saw Laila perched on a large terrace below beside a fire pit.

"But if you want to be alone, just tell me to shut the fuck up," she called. "I will."

"Love your honesty, but I could use the company."

She patted the bench beside her.

With caution, I lifted one leg over the banister, and then the other. Calling on the wind, I took a step forward. It caught me. Gently guiding it with my fingertips, I let it pull me down to the seat beside her.

"You're getting good at that," she said.

"I've played with a lot of elemental magic over the years," I said, lowering myself to the bench. Mohawk, however, joined the flock of ravens overhead. As if to say, You've got someone else to keep you company. I'll hang out up here for a while. "It's just more convenient now. No spells, no ingredients, but the same result."

"Yeah, that's the crazy thing. People always think that Angels are the strongest, or Fae are, but I think it's you witches." She lifted her stick from the fire. A marshmallow flamed on its poke. "You can do just about anything if you train hard enough."

"You can too, though, can't you? All Fae can use Elvan magic."

"But, see,"—she tossed the marshmallow into her mouth and spoke between chews—"I've never been the book smart kind of gal." After swallowing, she said, "Mad respect to you guys, though. With all the time you have, you're going to be as powerful as Luci one day. Maybe more so, because you have Graham, Warren, and Ezra to pull energy from."

"That's the dream," I said. "Did you get a full night's rest? Or day's, rather?"

"Nah, I've been up for a while. I'll try and turn back in soon." She offered me the bag of marshmallows. "What about you? Good and rested?"

Plucking one from the bag, I shrugged. "I'll probably try and get some more soon too."

She didn't make any particular expression, just kept chewing her marshmallow. "Nightmare?"

My face screwed up. I was used to her reading my mind without permission, but that was something I didn't want shared. "Did you read my mind?"

"No. I just know that face." She stabbed another marshmallow and held it above the flame. "It's the same one I saw in the mirror a few hours ago."

It was comforting to know I wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping tonight. "Shit. I'm sorry."

"Ditto." Laila rolled the marshmallow slowly left to right. She seemed so focused on the act, but then it went up in flames, and she just kept twirling it around. I wasn't sure if she liked her marshmallows burned or if she, too, didn't have the best head on her shoulders right now. "It's the weirdest shit. When I'm home, if I have nightmares, I don't remember them. Most of the time. Sometimes, something will come up, and that'll remind me of something, and then… nightmare. But then I come here, and I'm so together when I'm in the fight, but then all that blood just burns into my brain. Draws connections. The fear here, the fear there." She glanced down at the scar on her wrist. "Psychology's weird."

"You know what's weirder?" I asked.

"Hm?"

"Immediately after it happened—the thing I dreamed about—I wasn't scared. I mean, maybe I was, but I wouldn't admit it. I didn't have any nightmares that night. I don't think I dreamed at all. Then, when I haven't thought about this shit in years, it just rushes back and scares the living fuck out of me."

She traced a finger up the scar on her wrist. "Getting this was one of the worst things that's ever happened to me. But that night, when I was stuck in a cell, not knowing if I'd ever see Jeremy again, or my friends, or my family, I dreamed about Thanksgiving." Laughing, she met my gaze. "The first time I was tortured, when I got back to my cell, and I fell asleep in my own blood, I had a wet dream about my husband." Another laugh escaped her, but this one was damp. Tears gathered in her eyes. She quickly blinked them away. "When I was there, I only dreamed about the good things. The nightmares didn't start ‘til I got home."

Maybe I was demented, but hearing that story made my heart warm. "That's where you got the scars? You were held hostage?"

"For three months." She cleared her throat and turned back to the fire. "But I'm fine now. Did the therapy thing, worked through it. Most days, I'm okay. I'm sure you know what I mean."

Swallowing, I nodded.

"Have you been to therapy?" she asked. "Have you worked through it?"

"I thought I had." A half laugh. "Like you said, though. Most days, I'm okay. But what I went through is nothing like what you went through."

"What did you go through?" Her voice was so soft, so kind. Mothering. "If you want to talk about it, anyway."

Did I? Did I not?

She had shared something painful from her past with me. And hers was a lot more intense than mine. Didn't I owe her this?

Even if I didn't, didn't I want to talk about it with someone? Someone who wouldn't make me feel weak or stupid for it? Maybe I had been, but I didn't need to hear that. I couldn't do anything about who I had chosen to share my life with when I was young. I was so ashamed of it, and I didn't know who to talk to because the only thing that scared me more than the memories was knowing how people looked at me for acknowledging they existed.

"I dated some really bad guys," I said quietly. "Most of them. All of them, until my guys now. They all fucking sucked."

"They hurt you?" she asked, tone still soft.

I nodded.

Even gentler, she said, "Physically? Or mentally?"

"Both." Feeling my throat swell, I cleared it as best I could. "But I don't have nightmares about them cheating on me or calling me a bitch."

"Well, I guess it's just a different kind of fear. I bet you don't have nightmares about people you had to fight physically outside of him either, right?" she asked. "I never did. I fought beside Nix on battlegrounds. Chopped people's heads off, made them drown in their own vomit, but that's never what my nightmares were about. It was always that time Lux held me up against the wall by my throat. He beat the living fuck out of me once. Within an inch of my life." Another dry, humorless laugh. "Took my son's life in the process." Licking her teeth, she raised a shoulder. "But that moment, before I hated him, before I realized what he was really capable of, when he held my life in the palm of his hand… That scared me like nothing else."

"More than being held captive?" I asked, doing my best to not sound accusative. Her experience sounded like a horror story. Mine… wasn't. I had to make sure I was hearing her correctly. "More than being tortured?"

"It sounds crazy, doesn't it?" Laila gave me a smile, but there was no joy in it. Sarcasm, maybe irony, but not joy. "Those three months should have been the worst of any life I could've ever lived. And, in some ways, they were. But in others, they weren't. I knew that there was something to hope for while being held captive. Going home, seeing my soulmate, having a family with him. Shit, eating a burger and smoking a joint."

I laughed, and so did she.

"But when I was married to that man, my entire life was wrapped around him. I had money and resources, and it's not like I was in physical danger most of the time. But there was no hope. I loved Nix, but I couldn't be with him. I had dreams, and Lux crushed them. And the fact that he wasn't always violent, that he wasn't always abusive, almost made it worse. I didn't know when it was coming.

"In captivity, it was routine. I knew when they were going to torture me. Every three days, twice a week. I could say whatever I wanted to him, and he didn't hurt me any more than usual. He liked that I was a bitch, that I would cuss him out. He loved me, in his own sick way. I guess Lux did too, but it was more about possession to Lux. He wanted my power; he never wanted me. The guy who held me captive… He was infatuated with me. Obsessed with me. He knew who I was, even though I didn't yet. And in his own fucked up way, he was kind. Lux was, at times, but every step was like walking on broken glass. In captivity, I never stopped punching, but it was like punching walls made of pillows. Each moment was annoying and frustrating, but it didn't hurt the same way."

Somewhere throughout that, my throat swelled up and tears burned my eyes.

I knew exactly what she meant. Not about being held captive, but the way that it hurt to share your life with a man you were afraid of. One who had more power over you. One who you always had to be careful around, that you could never feel safe with.

There was a bit of grief in her eyes when they met mine, but she managed to smile. "You're not dramatic, Rain. I still have nightmares about Lux. I still remember feeling stuck with him, feeling like I would never get any better than what I had. I remember that hopelessness and that pain. Nothing—nothing—hurts like loving someone you're afraid of. And even when you don't love them anymore, all that pain, all that trauma, it sticks with you. And that's okay. It's okay that we're a little bit fucked up because of what they did to us. We shouldn't have had to live through it. No one should. But it made us strong, even if it makes other people think were weak. To live through that, we're stronger than anyone."

Lips quivering, I swept some tears from my eyes. "You learn that in therapy?"

"Or some inspirational quotes I found online."

I laughed.

So did she. Lifting her arm, she gestured for me to come in. "Come on. Collect your hug."

It was more of a chuckle than a laugh this time. But I did. I accepted the hug, and she accepted mine, and we sat like that for a moment. Side-by-side, two fucked up women who had been through some fucked up shit and had found a way to live after it.

I understood it now, why they called her the mother goddess. Even if it had more to do with creating a bunch of souls, or possessing the tree of life, I understood because, with her arms around me, I felt like I was hugging my mom.

She'd been fucked up, too. She'd been with shitty men, and she'd seen shitty things. But to live the way she had, with the pain she had, she had to have been stronger than steel. Through it all, she never lost her ability to love. One day, the weight of it all was just too much, but my gods, was she strong to have stood for as long as she had.

"So," Laila said, offering me a burned marshmallow. "Am I a better bestie than Amelia?"

Snorting, I accepted the marshmallow. "Yeah, you're a lot chiller."

"She did kind of have a stick up her ass, didn't she?"

"A big one," I said. "I do miss her, though."

"Give it a few decades," Laila promised. "You'll see her again."