Page 98 of Wanted

Waves of all the torment and anguish I’ve locked away over the past decade rip and tear through me. Threatening to destroy what little of my sanity is left.

All the threads of my existence that make me who I amfray, ready to snap…

Then the pain is suddenly gone, pouring out of me like a raging flood released from a dam.

My eyes fly open, and I see Raphael on his knees in front of me. One pale hand clenched in a fist at his side, the other holds my arm in a death grip.

Head thrown back, face twisted in misery, the veins in his neck bulge and his body spasms as if he’s being electrocuted.

Knowing I’m somehow causing his suffering, I try to yank my arm out of his hold, but his fingers only tighten in determination.

Unable to stop what’s happening to him, I watch helplessly as he jerks and spasms for what feels like an eternity.

Tears pour down my cheeks as I watch and hope his pain stops.

But tears have never been enough to stop any of the horrors I’ve endured.

“Is this…” Raphael groans when the trembling finally begins to slow to involuntary twitches.

Slowly peeling his eyes open, he looks at me with bloody tears trickling down his pale cheeks. “Is this what you have walled up inside?”

Ripping my arm out of his weakened grip, I clutch it close to my chest.

Gaze dropping to my arm, he frowns. “Did I hurt you?”

Didhehurtme? Is this man serious?

All that supernatural grace he naturally moves with is gone as he sits up straighter and reaches for me.

Head buzzing, ears ringing as if I’m in shock, I don’t try to stop him when he grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me closer.

“Alena, talk to me,” he pleads. “What was that?”

I press my lips together and resist the urge to shove him off. Afraid I’ll hurt him more.

I may despise him for everything he’s done, but I absolutely don’t want to hurt him.

He’s the last person I want to hurt.

“Alena…” he drawls out with a growl, refusing to let the matter go.

Figuring it’s the least I can do after what we he just went through for me, I answer, “I’m not sure, but I think it’s everything I don’t want to feel.”

“Everything you don’t want to feel?” he repeats in horror and disbelief.

Hating the look on his face and the bloody tears dripping down his cheeks, I snap defensively, “How else was I supposed to survive?”

His fingers squeeze around my shoulders, as if he’s both surprised and concerned by my answer. “How long have you been doing this?”

Glancing at my wall, I see the cracks growing even wider. Is the entire thing going to crumble down?

Shaking me gently, he forces me to focus back on him.

“I don’t know!” I answer in frustration, just as confused by this situation. “Ten years?”

He stills, doing that freaky thing where he becomes a statue. And I have no idea what he’s feeling or thinking.

Until I dare to ask, “Can you help me fix it?”

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