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“I stopped because it was either death by liquor or death by starvation.” Inhaling roughly, Kas shocked me stiff as he continued, “It was year three, I think? Three years I lasted on my own, not knowing who I was or why I was alone, eating my way through a house filled with food. But then...the food was almost gone. I was forced to make a choice—leave or figure out a way to make more.” He kept staring into the alcohol in his hand. “I didn’t know the first thing about gathering or growing. So...I ignored it for as long as I could. Each time I’d finish a packet or empty the last can, I’d be faced with a decision I couldn’t make. I didn’t know why I couldn’t leave, but if I couldn’t leave, then how could I stay? How could I stay if I didn’t know how to replenish everything that I’d eaten?”
He sighed and raised the glass to his lips, taking a small sip. “The night I took my first drink was the first night I was able to relax and not worry about a future I didn’t even know if I wanted. I drank myself into a stupor, woke up the next morning, and did it all over again. I grew addicted to the numbness, the peace from horrors I couldn’t even remember. All spring and summer, I kept drinking, ignoring the fact that my diet had become stale crackers and copious amounts of vodka. I didn’t care I lost weight and grew weak because I had plenty of alcohol. So many more bottles than packets and cans.”
He took another sip, his voice haunting and cold at the same time. “It was so easy to continue drinking, sleeping, and forgetting. And that was the kicker...I kept waiting to figure out why I liked forgetting when I’d already forgotten. I didn’t know my name, my family, or my history. For five years, I forgot about you, about Storymaker, about everything. But fuck, that dark shit stayed inside me, taunting me to remember. Alcohol helped.” He laughed under his breath. “It helped way too much. It got to the point I couldn’t function without being blind fucking drunk.”
Jareth handed me the second glass, his attention still on Kas. “What snapped you out of it?”
Kas shrugged, bringing his glass to his lips again. His eyes met mine, crystal clear with clarity instead of shadows. A clarity that was new and oh so wonderful, even while he willingly waded through his past. “I chose to live. By the end of winter, I’d almost run out of alcohol, and I’d definitely run out of food. I was starving all the time. I resorted to eating cockroaches and whatever animal I could get my hands on. By spring, I’d had enough. I wasn’t ready to die even though it would’ve been so, so easy. I turned to books instead of booze. I suffered withdrawal for a while—looking at the same bottle you just opened, salivating like an addict for just one sip. But I wanted to keep those last few bottles for the day when I couldn’t do it anymore.”
Jareth inhaled with icy understanding. “They were your bullet.”
Kas nodded, not looking at me. “The day when I finally decided to end it, I was go
I swallowed hard, blinking fast.
In just a few paragraphs, Kas had revealed more about his struggles than he had in weeks. It made me want to hug him for turning a corner and slap him for taking so long. I hurt for him, all while I wanted to jump up and down in joy.
If talking was healing, then...he’s healing.
Jareth turned his head and pi
Kas stiffened beside me. “I wasn’t ready to share.”
“And you are now?” Jareth asked, his lips tipping up in a cruel smile. “You ready to tell her everything, Kassen? The way Storymaker had a hard-on for you even though he never stuck it in you? The way he made you watch when he’d fuck Quell—”
“Shut it—” Kas hissed.
I stepped in front of him, almost brushing my chest with Jareth’s, acting as a shield between him and Kas. “He doesn’t need to tell me. I know enough—”
Jareth rolled his eyes. “You don’t know shit.” Backing up, he drank a large mouthful from his glass before sprawling into the chair by the fireplace. He winced in pain, revealing Kas’s beating still affected him; even if he was so layered in coldness he seemed impenetrable. “See, the thing about my brother and me is...we don’t need to talk about it. He looks at me, I look at him, and we know. Most of the time, we were in the same room while shit happened.” He took another large mouthful. “Remember, Kas? Remember that time Storymaker bound us together. Our wrists together, our asses up. It was one of our first times serving together, but definitely not the last.” His eyes tightened as if he deliberately relived all the pain of that night. “We held fucking hands while they raped—”
“Enough!” I shouted. Fear siphoned through me. If he pushed Kas too much, he’d snap. He’d black out. His mind would trip, and self-preservation would delete every topic he couldn’t handle. “Whatever you think you’re doing, stop it.” I balled my hands, defending Kas from someone I never thought would become his enemy.
What the hell was Jareth doing?
Couldn’t he see that Kas was fragile? That he needed psychiatrist help not to be forced down a monster-filled memory lane.
“You want to go there, Jareth?” Kas threw back his entire glass of alcohol, sitting on the couch behind him. “Fine.”
I spun with my mouth open. “What? No...you know what will happen.” I sat beside him, sloshing the strong-smelling liquor onto my hoodie. “You’ll black out again. You’ll—”
“It’s okay.” Kas patted my leg, squeezing me tight before reclining into cushions. He looked oddly resigned and...ready.
Oh, God.
Was he truly going to do this?
“It might trigger you again—” I rushed.
“I can guarantee most of the shit inside my head will trigger me for most of my life.” He tipped forward with his glass as Jareth shoved to his feet and poured another round, sending amber liquor right to the top.
“Then why?” I asked, shaking my head as Jareth tried to top off my own untouched drink.
“Suit yourself,” Jareth muttered under his breath, stalking back to this seat and pouring an equally generous second glass for himself. “You’ll be begging for some liquid courage once we get to the good stuff.” He winked. “It’s not your typical bedtime tale, Gemma Ashford.”
I squared my shoulders. “Then I don’t think it’s necessary. Kas can work through whatever triggers he has on his own time. We were doing fine before you came along.”
“Oh, please.” Jareth laughed hard, mocking and rude. “You weren’t doing fine. From what I gather, it’s been a monotony of him trying to strangle you—which, by the way, was Storymaker’s thing with Kas. Did he tell you that?” Jareth’s eyes shot with evil, glittering brown and blue ugliness. “Want to know the reason he has such a fascination with your elegant little neck?”
I held up my hand. “No. Not unless Kas is ready—”
“He might never be ready. Consider me doing you a favor, silly girl.” Jareth wedged his elbows onto his knees, his fingers turning white around his glass between his spread legs. “Kas was the favored one. And by favored one, I mean the most mentally fucked over.”
Sickness rushed up my throat. I held up a shaking hand, looking at Kas. “You’re seriously going to let him spill everything? All the stuff you couldn’t say to me? The past that has such a hold over you?”
Kas licked his bottom lip, his face pensive and wild. His long hair lay tangled over his shoulders. His scruff made him look more suited for living in the woods than drinking expensive alcohol in a decadent mansion, but beneath it all was a stranger.
A man I’d fallen in love with; a man I both feared and fawned over. A man who wasn’t just waking up but had woken.
His eyes met mine.
He held my stare until my heart jackhammered and my chest was too tight, and then he whispered with a wisdom I hadn’t heard in his tone before. “You asked me why? Why talk about the things that will trigger me? The things that I doubt I’ll ever forget? The things that bind me and Jareth past blood, past family, past hell itself?” He took my hand in his, his fingers cool from the glass and strong. So, so strong. “It’s simple, Gem.”
I swallowed hard as he traced my knuckles with his thumb. “Nothing about this is simple.”
“It hasn’t been. I agree.” Kas nodded. “But it is. I didn’t understand before. But it’s so fucking simple.”
“I don’t...I don’t understand.” Goosebumps ran up my arms as he let my hand go and took another drink.
Lowering the glass from his mouth, he gave me a gentle smile but behind it lurked steel. A rod of iron. A decision forged with mountains and stone. “A choice. Everything I’ve been ru
He leaned back, propping his elbow on the armrest and inhaling deep. “It’s taken me a long fucking time—an embarrassingly long time that I’m not proud of—but...I’ve finally made a different choice.” He sucked in a breath, his voice going as cold as Jareth’s. “For all the shit that I did remember, I forgot one fundamental piece.”
Jareth grunted, sounding just as wild as Kas looked. “You forgot who you were...to us.”
Kas shook his head. “I forgot who I was to me.”
“You were more than just our brother, Kas. You were the reason we all didn’t die in here.”
“And you were the reason I did what I did.”
Jareth pressed a fist to his heart. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll give it. If you need death, I will grant it. If you need truth, I will speak it. If you need another punch to the skull to wake you the fuck up and remember who you are, then I’ll beat you until my hands are raw.” He smiled with a reverent threat before pointing a finger at me. “You want to deserve her? Fuck that, you already do. You deserve her a thousand times over.”
I shivered as Kas didn’t speak. He watched Jareth. He breathed, but he didn’t speak.
Jareth threw back the rest of his drink and poured a third. He licked his lips as he settled back, getting comfy as if this was a casual night between friends. “Go on then, Kas. Tell me why I gave you one chance in the forest. Why I would’ve happily killed you if it meant protecting that girl sitting dumbfounded beside you. Tell me why you’re the only fucking person I will ever trust for the rest of my life. Tell her. Tell yourself. And maybe, I can be the savior in this story. I can rescue you this time, just like you rescued me.”