Page 16 of Bound By Thorns
It wasn’t until the sixth day that I managed to stand on my own, albeit with trembling legs that threatened to give out with every shaky step I took. Garret, ever so calculating, decided I wasn’t fit to be seen in the dungeons yet, preferring to hide my weakened state to preserve the illusion of my unbreakable demeanor. He needed to mask my weakness and keep me in line.
By the eighth day, walking became a bit easier, though each step was still laced with pain—a reminder of the brutality I had endured, not that anybody cared.
Today, I felt ready to face the world again, or at least the small, grim part of it that was my reality. Apparently, three residents had died in my absence because they didn’t get medical attention on time. I was glad to hear that none of them were Logan.
Logan
I thought she might be dead or had escaped. There seemed no other reason for her weeklong absence. Despite my attempts to suppress it, worry constricted my chest, a relentless grip. During the torture sessions, my pain blurred into a wish for severity, hoping it might summon her.
Or perhaps she was here but chose to stay away from me.
No, that can’t be it.
After a rather colorful date of Tyka’s fist and my face, I could only hear ringing in my ears. I was so dazed that I even forgot to worry about Kaylan. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, or whether it was evening or night, but soon, the familiar red stilettos showered my blurred vision.
I couldn’t have heard her coming, because I couldn’t hear shit. But when I slowly looked up, I suddenly didn’t care about the agonizing ache in my jaw, the stinging in my ears, or the steady trickles of warm blood running down my face. All I cared about was her. She was wearing a dark teal dress again that ended at her knees and haltered over her shoulders. Then I saw her face.
Exhaustion was evident, yet she radiated a certain luminescence, her skin starkly pale yet flawless.
When my vision cleared further, I saw faint smudges of darkness under her eyes, like she hadn’t been sleeping.
Then I realized who could’ve been keeping her up, and fury like nothing else, stabbed at me. I averted my gaze and my face morphed into one of revulsion.
She entered my cell with her usual first aid box, and I struggled not to look at her. After cleaning my face, she assessed my head injury first and did the stitches while I kept my eyes closed. I knew my rage was radiating off of me, and I didn’t want to see her icy cold eyes.
I tried. I really tried. But then I failed and opened my eyes to face her. Starting from her knees where she perched, my gaze drifted upwards, over her tense shoulders, up to her face.
I braced for detachment, perhaps disdain, or signs of weariness. Yet, what I didn’t anticipate was the sorrow in her eyes. There she was, her gaze shimmering, hands quivering, as she concentrated on stitching the gash on my head.
“I can’t hear anything,” I whispered, but whether the words truly left my lips, I couldn’t tell.
Her eyes snapped to mine and I saw her blink rapidly. She carefully shifted to my side after finishing the stitches and grabbed a tool and a flashlight from her kit. She examined my ear, her mouth forming words I couldn’t hear.
I attempted louder, “I still can’t hear you,” noticing her startle, perhaps from my raised voice. I faced her to read her lips; my elbow brushed against her belly, sending her reeling slightly. A flash of pain crossed her face, quickly masked as she glanced at Tyka behind me.
Her lips silently formed, “Heal on its own,” and I nodded in understanding. She held up a finger, and mouthed, “In one day.”
With a nod, I acknowledged her timeline as she wrapped up tending to my other injuries.
After she left, I couldn’t help but wonder why she winced when I accidentally knocked her down. Had I hurt her?
SIX
Kaylan
Not here. Not now. Not yet.
Skipping lunch with Martha, I slid out of the kitchen, my heart pounding, my mission clear. The vast grounds of Ravenrock loomed before me, a sprawling expanse of manicured lawns and ominous gazebos. I scanned the area, my eyes catching a lone figure shrouded in a haze of smoke behind a distant gazebo.Noel.
His figure was tense, alert, as if the air around him buzzed with unspoken threats. I tread lightly, my steps muffled against the lush grass, each footfall a silent plea to remain unnoticed. But Noel was sharp, his instincts honed in shadows and secrets. His hand darted to the gun at his belt, drawing it with a fluid motion that spoke of routine, of countless drawn weapons and faced dangers. Our eyes met, and a flicker of recognition passed through his gaze, lowering the gun with a reluctant ease.
“Kaylan,” he greeted, his voice as smoky as the cigarette dangling from his lips. The smoke from his cigarette danced between us, a ghostly mediator.
I edged closer, the grass whispering under my feet. “I was wondering,” I ventured, my voice a careful blend of casual inquiry and veiled desperation, “If I could maybe go see my parents soon. Just a quick visit.”
Noel’s eyes flicked to mine, a sharp, assessing glint in their depths. He exhaled, a cloud of smoke billowing between us, his expression unreadable.
I held my ground as he leaned in, his face inches from mine, his eyes piercing through the haze.
