Page 30 of Beyond the Cottage

She’d buryhim, for good this time.

When she straightened, Ansel reached for her. She backed away, coldly repeating his words from the day before: “Never touch me again. I don’t give a fuck who you are, it changes nothing.”

He planted a foot in the mud and hoisted to his feet. “It changeseverything.”

“Not for me. As far as I’m concerned, Ansel is dead.” Andhekilled him. Grief stabbed her, but she hardened herself to it. She’d mourned him once, she wouldn’t do it again. This Ansel wasn’t worth it.

Wincing against the rain in his eyes, he cupped her jaw.

She knocked his hand away. “I said don’t touch me!”

He recoiled. His eyes pleaded, and they followed her as she brushed past him toward the prison. Returning there sickened her, but she had no choice. She would not die in a swamp because of him.

She didn’t look back but sensed him behind her. The rain poured harder as they left the canopy. She let him open the door then plowed forward until she reached an intersection in the hall.

She turned, evaluating each corridor except the one she’d escaped from. “I’m not going back to the cell. Point me in a direction, and I’ll find some other room.”

“Gretta, will you please just talk to me?”

“I guarantee you do not want to hear anything I have to say.”

“Ido.”He came closer. “I want all of it, every thought in your head!”

She opened her mouth, ready to oblige him. Then shut it.

What was the point of getting into it? She no longer cared about him enough to waste the energy. If he didn’t already know what she thought of him, he was welcome to fill in the blanks any way he pleased. “I want a room with a bed and clean water for washing. A room withoutbars, if you don’t mind.”

His face twisted. “Gretta…I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry, I’m a piece of shit! I don’t even have the words to—” Blinking fast, he tipped his head back and held it there. When it came forward again, his bloodshot eyes had trouble meeting hers.

Gretta yawned. If he ever got around to giving her a decent bed, she’d sleep like a corpse. She’d spent the night sharpening her stick, and it felt like weeks had passed since Seven brought the abandoned breakfast tray.

Her stomach grumbled. “I want something to eat, too.”

He stood in a daze, clutching his hair.

“You know what, forget it.” She chose a hall at random. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Wait! I’ll take you. Come with me.”

Gretta wrapped her quivering arms around her waist and followed him. With his mouth blessedly shut, he led her through wide, arched corridors. Water trickled between the old bricks. The luminescent mildew was brighter here, lighting the way well enough for her to keep her distance from him.

They reached a narrower hall with ordinary, moldy doors. He unlocked one, and she cautiously followed him inside.

It was a spacious bedroom with the same stone floor as the rest of the prison. Two windows let in fetid light, their glass rattling from the wind. The ceiling dripped on a rag rug, creating a dark spot in the middle, but the room was otherwise dry. Anunmade bed dominated the corner, and a cold fireplace took up a wall. Clothes and books were strewn all over, as well as papers containing handwritten notes and diagrams.

His scent was everywhere. It had changed over the years, darkening somehow, but she recognized it. If she hadn’t been screaming so hard when he’d been dragging her around, she might have smelled him and put it together sooner.

For all the good it would have done.

Ansel frowned at the disaster. Casting her an uneasy look, he rushed to swipe a shirt off the floor and tossed it in the fireplace.

“Don’t bother tidying up,” she said. “I’m not staying in your room.”

“I can’t let you stay anywhere else. The pixie quarters don’t have locks, and you’re not sleeping anywhere Jonas can access you.”

She touched her sore cheek. Avoiding Jonas had recently shot higher on her priority list. “I imagine Seven’s room has a lock. I’ll bunk with her.”

“Seven and Jonas share quarters.”

---