Page 41 of Of Gods and Pain

“It’s okay, love,” I say in a soothing tone. “You’re allowed to feel, and cry, as much as you nee—”

“No!” Her head whips to me, eyes begging me to grasp what she isn’t saying. “You don’t understand…Bren…” Her lips clamp together and she crumples forward, resting her elbows on her thighs and pressing fingers to her temples.

Casmir and I say nothing. She wants to tell us something. And I selfishly want to hear it. I want her to tell us every little detail of what that disgusting male did to her. I want to memorize it all so that I can do the same to him when the time comes.

“He—Bren—he killed himself to give me a chance.” Her words are so quiet I lean forward to hear. I glance at Casmir, who gives me a pained look, but we both nod. Maybe she needs someone to tell her she can talk about it. That it’s not something to feel guilty about.

“Nell, would you tell us how you escaped?” He asks softly. He’s always much better than me in these situations. I’m not good at comforting others. She pauses her fidgeting, hesitating a moment before nodding. My shoulders drop, and I breathe easier.

This will help her.

It won’t help me, though. The more she continues the story, the more bile rises in my throat. The amount of fae that sacrificed themselves so that she could get out…we would have never made it to her alive. It pains me to admit it, but she was right in keeping us away. It would have been devastation for everyone, including her.

“I just knew he was going to catch me.” She chews on her bottom lip. “There was a moment—I thought it was my last—that I fully accepted my death. I tried. I did everything I could; and if he was going to kill me for it…well then at least I wouldn’t have to live through his playtime anymore.

“But then I saw Xamira. I saw you, my sweet, brave girl.” She pulls the sorid into her lap, hugging her tightly. My vision blurs and I bite my cheek, using the pain to distract the stinging I feel elsewhere. “I still didn’t think I’d make it, but just seeing you one last time was enough. You strengthened me, and I pushed harder than I thought possible.” She trails off, staring at the dark, stone wall as if she’s reading off of it.

“He would have gotten me. If anything happened one second later, he would’ve won.” She yawns into her hand, looking significantly more exhausted than she was ten minutes ago.

“I’m going to grab us something to eat,” I announce, standing from my seat. I face Nell, clenching my nails into my palms. “Any requests, love?” She smiles lightly, though it stays far away from her eyes, and shakes her head.

I walk out of the door, quickening my steps until I reach a room I know will be empty. Throwing myself inside and falling back against the door, a choked noise breaks free, releasing the torrent of tears I couldn’t hold back any longer.

She’s been gone for weeks. She’s been in the hands of the most sadistic bastard history has ever known, and this is what sets reality in place for me? Her story is what made me fully understand just how close to death she was?

She and Xamira could still be there, dead on the forest floor, rotting away with no care from anyone around them.

She almost died.

She almost died.

She. Almost. Died.

How is that so unimaginable, but so utterly devastating at the same time? It feels like my chest has caved in, leaving a gaping black hole in its wake. It feels like I actually lost her. She’s here! She’s in the other room, and I’m in complete hysterics over what could have happened. It didn’t, but my soul is not comprehending the difference.

I allow myself another minute of weakness before cutting the feeling off. I fix my hair, probably having ripped half of it out, and leave to do what I said I would.

Chapter Twenty

Casmir

My stomach flexes as I retch again, vomiting the meal I just ate. I knew I shouldn’t have consumed so much. But I was so jittery and didn’t know what else to do with my hands.

It doesn’t matter. I would’ve been in here, bowed over the toilet, either way. It’s not just Nell’s story soiling my body…it was the way she explained it. Her voice didn’t hold any fear, or sadness, or anger. Just acceptance. As if she was telling us of the new clothes she bought. As if what she went through was just something to expect and doesn’t warrant any over-the-top reaction.

How do I tell her that’s fucking bullshit? It’s her experience, her feelings. But they’re bullshit. She can’t possibly be okay with anything that happened, and yet that’s exactly what it sounded like. I…don’t know what to do with that information.

Is it some kind of trauma response? Is she still in fight mode, numbing herself to all feeling to make it through? Or is that actually how she feels? I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask her right now. She needs time to process. I can help with that; I’ll be by her side for everything she needs to get through this.

Not too close to her side, though. The way she recoiled from touch was disturbing. Is it selfish of me to not want to know the details of everything? I’ll listen if she wants to talk about it, but is it wrong to hope I don’t have to? The way I’m reacting to her escape—which I’m assuming was the least horrific thing she went through—tells me I couldn’t handle the specifics.

I nearly vomited over the bedding when she mentioned Seb’s death. I think she was protecting me by only saying that she saw him die, because the haunting look in her eyes said there was so much more to that story. At least we know for sure; I have no doubt his family has been worried. I’ll need to have Leia set up a meeting with them.

I sit next to the vanity, embracing the cold tile beneath my sweaty skin. My stomach has ceased contracting, and I no longer feel so dizzy or lightheaded. I stand slowly, brushing my teeth twice before I’m not cringing at the aftertaste. Truthfully, I think one brushing would have sufficed, but the memory of the acid on my tongue was enough to have me scrubbing again.

I hope I didn’t wake her. She just about collapsed from exhaustion, so I think it would take a lot more than retching to wake her. I’m thankful for that; she doesn’t need to see me like this. She has enough to deal with.

I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a chaotic mess. There are dark circles cresting my cheeks, and my eyes look heavy. They feel heavy. Sighing, I splash cold water on my face, basking in the contrast from the heat my body is radiating.

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