Page 42 of Tainted Serenity

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says to me after what feels like hours of weird silence.

He walks closer to me, putting an unexpected hand on my shoulder, which causes me to flinch. He doesn’t remove his hand and instead meets my eyes with such sincerity it feels like a punch to my gut.

I cannot decipher why his presence calms me at this moment when he terrified me at first, but something between us has shifted, as if a deeper understanding of the horrors this place holds has forged an unspoken connection.

“Was that the man you asked me about a while ago?”

All I can do is nod; my lips dry and unable to form any coherent words. My eyes follow Daxton’s movements as he pulls out a chair and sits a bit away from me before turning to meet my gaze again. Something is up with him; his muscles tensed with apprehension. I cannot tell what’s wrong, and it unnerves me.

“Maybe he’s not the person you seek anymore.”

My body flinches at his words, a sense of rage making my jaw tense as I give him a glowering gaze. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice is cold, unmoving, leaving no chance to argue, but he does it anyway.

An audible sigh escapes his lips as he stares at me with pity; and I can’t meet his eyes any longer. Fuck his pity, I don’t need it. All I need is my Grey.

“I do. I have seen enough people lose themselves when they’re faced with horrors like this place.”

The blood rushes in my ears until it physically hurts. I am trying to hold on to the last thread that hangs between me and death, which will take over and transfer me to hell.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat, this time in a voice more agitated than normal.

“Naya,” he sighs, and his name from my lips feels so familiar yet at the same time not.

Something with him beckons me closer, and despite the horrors facing me, Daxton has been my only solid companion for the past few weeks in solitude. He cares, on some fucked-up level, and in his own ways.

“I can’t talk about this.”

This time I meet his eyes, allowing him to see all the emotions in me. Grief, rage, hurt, exhaustion. He nods and stands up.

“Okay. Let’s have a look at your wounds, shall we?”

I gulp, nodding my head. Because not obeying Daxton means disobeying Arthur, and that will only lead to more punishments I cannot handle. I’m already hurting enough as it is.

It takes him a while to go through all my wounds, patching them up and fixing new bandages. When he comes to the bruises on my lower back, I have to physically strain myself from screaming outright.

“That girl really did you a number, huh?”

I grit my teeth, not able to reply as I try to breathe through the pain. That fucking bitch deserves to burn in hell.

“There’s a ball next week that you have to attend,” he states simply.

His revelation makes my heart race; fear clogging my mind. A ball cannot mean anything good.

“According to Arthur, you have to be healed by then. I have no fucking idea how that is going to work, but he demands it.”

“And what he demands, he gets,” I whisper hoarsely.

“Yeah. I will try to patch you up as good as I can.”

I nod despite knowing it won’t work. Wounds like these don’t heal in such a quick time, and I know the punishment for not healing will leave me with even worse wounds. It’s a never-ending circle of pain and punishment, of disappointments and rages. I cannot win, no matter how hard I try.

Everything feels fucking hopeless.

“Hey, look at me.”

Daxton’s strong fingers gently coax my head to lift, guiding my eyes to his. His ocean-blue eyes remind me of the sea my grandparents took me to as a child, giving me a sense of comfort as they soften while looking at me. Despite the comfort, I don’t feel anything else; there is no connection between us except a growing friendship, even if he might want something more. Looking into Daxton’s eyes is far from looking into Grey’s, but maybe if I pretend that he is here instead of Daxton, it will hurt a little less.

“It will be okay, I promise.”

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