Page 18 of Wreck and Ruin
“What did they do to you?” His voice is even worse than the look he’s giving me, and it only makes every sore muscle in my body tighten. The spiders in my chest start dancing again, sending shivers of unease down my spine.
He needs to eat. He needs to drink something, and fast.
I grab a water bottle, hovering it in front of his face, shaking it gently. He finally takes it, and I step back, putting as much distance between us as possible so he can’t reach me. There is a good chance he’s starting to lose it, but hopefully, once he gets some food in his system, he’ll pull himself together.
I spent most of the morning by the rocks, my fingertips numb from scraping and digging through the shallow pools, gathering whatever clams I could find, all so he could eat.
The idea I had of sharing whatever rations Father gave me was poorly thought out. Swimming would only spoil the food, and the only way out of my cave is to swim. Or through Father’s gate, but he locks it behind him when he leaves, and despite trying, there is no way I can break through it. For now, he’ll have to make do with eating the tiny, stubborn shell creatures I’ve gathered instead.
Chapter12
EZEKIEL
Iset the now empty water bottle down on the ground beside me, my eyes lingering on the woman, my captor, standing far enough away so I couldn’t hurt her.
Not that I would ever try to, but she doesn’t know that.
She’s protecting herself. She’s learned how to survive in a world filled with corruption and cruelty, and has no idea that we have that in common.
She’s alive.
That’s all I can think about as the hunger gnawing at my insides dissolves into nothing, my only focus is her. I’ve spent days thinking she was dead because of me, because she saved me. Torturing myself with the memory of her agonizing screams and the haunting silence that followed the moment they stopped.
I pleaded, hopelessly begging the phantom in the sky for a sign that she was still alive, if for no other reason than to give me hope that there was still a chance that I could save her. I heard nothing above the crashing tides and the wind blowing through the hollows of the stone formation until, finally, the exhaustion of staying awake for who knows how long knocked me on my ass.
I didn’t hear her when she arrived, much less register that she was trying to wake me.
I pieced it together once I was awake enough and came to my senses, realizing the position I had her in.
Nope. Don’t think about it.
She stands unnervingly still, frozen beneath my gaze as I try but fail to hide the anger and revulsion clawing its way up my throat, forcing me to speak before I think.
“I heard them,” I choke out, clearing my throat before continuing, “what they did to you. Your pain, I mean. I knew it was you, I just…” I trail off. My voice is hoarse, but my eyes are glued to the bloodied and burned crucifixes sliced and branded deep into her frail, delicate skin.
They’re dead motherfuckers.
Her aquamarine eyes, now even brighter in the daylight, lock onto mine, but there’s no understanding there. Only confusion as she gives me a look that lets me know that she thinks I’m out of my fucking mind. I’m a lot of things, baby, and crazy may be one of them, but I’ll be damned if I let what they did to you slide.
“Your body is covered in scars and wounds from those fucking assholes. You can’t hide the truth from me, beautiful,” I say as she plays with her hair, hiding as much of her nakedness from me as she can with the long, red strands. She’s embarrassed by her scars, but there is no reason for her to be. I avert my gaze anyway, giving her some privacy.
I meant what I said. She really is beautiful. Mesmerizingly so. In fact, of all the women I’ve met in my life, the glamour, the money, the falseness. I hate all of it. And if you ask me, this Little Siren leaves them all for dead.
Her scars aren’t ugly. The rotten fuckers who put them there are. They’re proof that she’s a survivor, just like me. And after what I heard her go through the other night, and live to tell the fucking tale, not that she’s telling me anything, but we’ll work on that. Hearing the desperation in her cries did something to me.
Maybe it was the guilt I felt, thinking she was only being tortured because she saved my life, who knows? What I do know is that this woman endured unimaginable torture a few days ago and is standing before me like nothing ever fucking happened. That automatically makes her stronger than half of the trained men I worked with back home. Maybe it’s that common ground that we share, that familiarity, that has me drawn to her.
She should stay far a-fucking-way from me.
Of all the things I imagine this world has given her, a man like me barging in and adding to that fucking list is the last thing she deserves.
“What’s your name?” I ask. Her eyes instantly snap back to mine, but she doesn’t reply. “Do youhavea name?” I add. Reminding myself of the situation she’s in. I didn’t have one until I was fourteen, and that only came to be because I chose it for myself.
When Titan found me, that was one of the first questions he asked. Ezekiel was the only name I had heard of before that day, and it belonged to another kid in our cellar who unfortunately didn’t make it.
Not acknowledging my questionsat all,she crosses the cave with purpose, scoops up a handful of…clam shells,and drops them on the ground at my feet. She doesn’t meet my eyes once as she spins on her heels, putting distance between us again. I look up, confused, and her gaze flicks to the clams, then to her hands, mimicking an eating motion.
Gotcha.
