Страница 42 из 154
CHAPTER EIGHT
THAT WAS THE THING about choices.
Most of the time, we made them without even thinking. Sometimes, outside influences made our decisions for us. Other times, we’d allow others the responsibility. But most of the time...it was on us.
And that was a hard fucking pill to swallow.
Because of my decisions, I’d lived in this valley like a thoughtless beast for a decade. I’d allowed a past—a past that should’ve had no power over me—to have all the power in the goddamn world over my dreams, my actions, and my heart.
I let a choice almost kill the girl I’d fallen in love with.
I let a choice cripple me until I was a pathetic, repetitive, poor excuse of a man who ought to be locked in a padded room and fed antidepressants for the rest of his life.
But I no longer wanted that choice.
I no longer wanted to be afraid of falling asleep. I didn’t want to have to chain myself to a bed so Gemma was safe from me. I didn’t want to ever run the risk of waking up and finding her dead because I let my choice to hide become so much bigger than who I’d been.
And who had I been?
Fuck, he would never have become this...this thing.
This constantly afraid, always angry, forever fucked-up thing.
Once upon a time, I’d been the bravest of us all. No matter what mental games Storymaker played with me, I never broke. No matter the physical torture or sexual perversions, I didn’t let it touch me. Jareth was right that my penance for strangling came from my own experiences—yet another thing I’d shoved so deep, deep inside me, I’d all but convinced myself it never happened.
Storymaker never touched me sexually, but he got off on taking me to the brink of death before bringing me back. It didn’t matter where I was in Fables: heading to the bathroom, coming back from a guest, sneaking into the kitchen. If he found me, his fingers would find my throat, and I’d be his to murder, only to wake up to his firm slap a few moments later.
I’d adopted his sickness.
I’d slipped into his habits of control.
And that was yet another punch to the face because I refused to be a monster anymore.
Back then, it wasn’t suppression or amnesia that’d kept me strong—it was the knowledge that I had something to fight for. A goodness that never died inside me.
I was strong and kind and, Christ, how had I forgotten that?
As surely as I’d forgotten Storymaker’s enjoyment of squeezing my throat, I’d forgotten that I never let him break me.
Sure, I’d broken toward the end.
I’d drowned beneath nightmares and could no longer touch my own body, but that was after years of abuse. That was after thousands of hours of putting myself between my family and monsters. That was understandable.
It didn’t make me weak or worthless.
It didn’t mean I had to live the rest of my life hidden and alone.
If I hadn’t done what I did...then the grave outside would’ve held Jareth, me, and our family. It would’ve housed nine slaves instead of the many guests I’d slaughtered.
Only Jareth knew why I’d struck so violently that night. He’d overheard the same conversation I had. We’d been used together—a regular occurrence by that point. Seemed Storymaker deemed we were both the dangerous ones, the ones most likely to shuck conditioning—therefore the ones who needed the most reminding that our actions directly affected the others.
It’d been a game of Mirrors.
Storymaker had come up with it himself. The rules were one guest would touch a slave, and that same abuse would be done to the other slave, only ten times worse. I always begged to be the one receiving the magnification.
Most of the time, Storymaker agreed, sitting beside me while I was whipped, fucked, or burned. His voice constantly in my ear, praising how good I was, how bad I’d been, how much he loved watching me suffer.
That night, though, he’d made Jareth be on the receiving end.
Storymaker beat me with a cane until he split my skin. But Jareth had it worse. For every strike I received, he’d gotten ten. For every thrust from a guest, splitting me in half, he’d endured twenty.
By the time we were released, we half carried each other back to the dorm, stumbling past the library as Storymaker wiped his brow and adjusted his hard-on, muttering to a guest we couldn’t see that he’d grown bored of us.
That it was time for new stock, new slaves.
We were worn out.
It was time for an upgrade.
I’d thought Jareth had forgotten what we’d heard. He’d crashed out cold when we’d fallen into his bed. I hadn’t had the strength to untangle myself from him and ended up passing out in his embrace.
Our blood mingling. Our arms entwined around each other.
And when I woke, I’d been sickeningly hard—not because I wanted him or because we’d watched each other be raped so many goddamn times, but because the comforting warmth of a sleeping body had reminded me of everything we’d lost. Everything we’d been denied. Everything we deserved.
Shaking my head, I tossed back my second drink and eyed the brother who would always know me better than anyone else. We shared a look. He climbed to his feet and crossed the room to pour me a third glass. And when he sat back down again, I grabbed Gem’s hand and released eleven years of fucking forgetfulness.
I made a choice to move on.
To no longer let it define me.
To bury it in the past where it belonged.
I looked at Jareth, answering his previous words. “You gave me one chance because we both learned that goodness can’t be faked. I deserved that chance because you needed to see for yourself that I was still me. That something inside me was still alive and would fight tooth and fucking nail to be worthy.”
Jareth nodded; Gem inhaled.
I continued, “But if I blew that one chance, you would’ve killed me without hesitation. Not because you learned what I did—that evil can masquerade as good but will always eventually show its true colors—but because of her.” I squeezed Gemma’s hand, locking eyes with her. “Jareth would’ve killed me, not because he chose your life over mine but because I’d already made that choice. If he’d let me live and I ended up killing you, then two lives would’ve been on his hands because I would’ve killed myself the moment I realized what I’d done.”
Gem’s eyes filled with tears.
I wanted to wipe them away, but I wasn’t done yet. I wasn’t done purging. “That’s not something I should admit. You shouldn’t have to carry that sort of weight, knowing the man who’s in love with you isn’t stable enough to survive without you. One day, I will be. One day, I will be strong enough to be everything you need, everything you deserve, but in the meantime, what I can give you is a promise.
“A promise that I’m done with all of this. I’m done being sick in my soul and not just my head. I’m done letting a concussion amplify all the unresolved shit inside me. But most of all, I’m done not fighting for what I deserve. And fuck it, I deserve you, Gem. I deserve you because I will fight every monster who ever dares to come near you. I will protect you, provide for you. Not a day will go by that I don’t do whatever I can to keep you safe and happy.”
I pointed at Jareth, adding with a thick voice. “It’s what I gave him and the rest of my family. It was an honor to care for them, even if it almost robbed me of everything. And I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not afraid that I have nothing left. That I can’t give you what you need. I know I can because I’ve finally made a different choice.”
I swallowed hard, my heart huge and pounding in my chest. “If the white blankness comes for me, I will wake up whole. I will not forget. Never again. I’ve made a choice to stay. To be here. To move on.”
I threw back half of my drink, needing the courage to speak the last few things that burned on my tongue. “Jareth says I’m the only one he’ll trust because he knows I would’ve died protecting him. Love makes me loyal. When I choose to care, I’m all in. You already know bits and pieces of my past, Gem. You’ve heard me screaming in my sleep. You’ve put two and two together. But if you want to ask questions, I will do my best to answer you. If you have fears about how I’ll treat you, I will do whatever I can to assure you that I’m different. It wasn’t Jareth who reminded me of who I am...it was you.” I turned to face her, my knee nudging hers. “It was you from the start, pulling me back into the light, forcing me to wake up even when I wasn’t ready. But I’m ready now. I’ve made that choice, and there’s no going back.”
Jareth threw back his third drink, raising his empty glass in a salute. “Bravo, brother.” He glanced at Gem. “Think you can handle that confession? Any questions? Want to know how many guests he’s slept with? How many toys he’s had shoved up his—”
“No,” Gemma snapped, taking a large mouthful of her own drink, finally joining us in our strange somber party. “Like I said, I know enough.”
“You sure?” I asked gently. “It’s not that I want to fill your head with the same kind of filth I carry, and I won’t deny that it still fucking kills me remembering my family’s pain when I couldn’t protect them, but you asked me once why I couldn’t speak about it. That reason is gone now. And if you need me to share—”
“I only wanted you to share so you could be free, Kas.” She gave me a tentative, almost worried smile. “I appreciate you making the decision to stop ru
When she didn’t continue, fear crept down my spine. Had I said too much? Did she think differently of me? I knew it was a lot to take on, but I thought she already understood who I was. “But?” I asked, my heart thrumming in my throat.
She sighed and downed the rest of her drink, cringing against the fire left on her tongue. “I’m over the moon to hear you’re ready to get better. I’m holding back ugly tears that you’ve already improved so much. And you know I will help you every step of the way. Love makes me loyal too, Kas, and I will do whatever I can to help you.”
“But...” I waved my hand.
She raised her chin, tears still gleaming in her hazel eyes. “But I don’t know if it’s as simple as making a choice. Do you honestly think you’re...cured? That you can sleep beside me now and not succumb to a nightmare that might end up with you trying to kill me?”
“I’m willing to take precautions to ensure I don’t get that far, but yes.” I nodded firmly. “I refuse to let Storymaker have any hold on me whatsoever. I’m done.”
“If that’s true, you know what you need to do then, don’t you?” Jareth asked slyly, pouring himself a fourth drink. At this rate, he’d self-medicated past any feeling, let alone numbing whatever pain my fists had given him last night.