Page 79 of This Blood That Breaks Us
“I didn’t either, but I swear I could feel Her on the other side of the wall. I heard Her heart beatin’. I know that’s what it was. She was so close.”
Will had gone full off the deep end. He had good days and bad days. It wore off after a while, but he’d disappear and reemerge like this, talking about Her constantly and needing to be close to Her like his life depended on it.
“Have you ever noticed the little lines in Her hands? Last time I saw Her, I couldn’t stop starin’ at them. I don’t remember exactly how long it’s been . . . ”
“Will.”
“They’re perfectly symmetrical. Beautiful little lines.” He picked at the skin by his fingernails.
“Buddy, I know you can’t help it, but I can’t listen to another story about the lines on Her hands today or how perfect and glowing Her skin is. Please. Can we try to pivot to something else?”
I think She was torturing him and wiping his memory of it. He could never answer if She was giving him more blood, but it was the only explanation for this. Why She’d take Her time to dothat, I didn’t know, and I couldn’t prove it. I wanted to help, but I could barely keep Luke’s head above water, and any complaints to Sirius or Ezra about it would surely result in Will’s death. They were neutral to him as long as he wasn’t in the way.
Though I think the queen giving Her blood wasn’t exactly part of their plan, because I’d heard them bickering about it from time to time. Will having Her blood meant that he was connected to Luke and me. It was faint and not nearly as strong as what I felt with my brother. The only time I noticed was when Will was in a shit mood and his anger crept into mine. Hurting him would hurt us, and the queen and Ezra were adamant not to do anything to agitate the bond further.
It’s not like I could help him escape. So it was our only option. Me forcing a drink into his hand and trying to get him to snap out of the delusion every time it came on.
“Right. I’m sorry. I didn’t see Her today. I want to, but I feel so . . . ”
“Here.” I poured us both a glass of whiskey. “Just try to relax.”
I’d become mom of the year. If I wasn’t helping Luke to not be sad, I was trying to help Will not turn insane. Sometimes, I’d even help Thane with his annoying requests for things like distracting Ezra so he could go into certain parts of the castle. Mostly it was me listening to his theories about what happened to the old Guard. He was obsessed with the idea. I think he thought it would help us somehow, but I could give a shit less about their origin story. I had bigger problems.
Will gripped his pant legs and stared into the fire.
“Few more sips, attaboy.” Something about the alcohol seemed to help.
“Ah, fuck off.”
“There he is.”
He took another long drink and closed his eyes, concentrating I think.
“Come on, think of your sister. And think of how much you hate Her Royal Bitchness. All that hate will come back to you. Think on it.”
Another few minutes passed while Will sat quietly.
“What’s it like?”
He kept his eyes shut and spoke slowly, “Like a runaway train. Like I’m moving away from myself so fast I can’t grab the rail. But suddenly, it slows down, and I finally catch the rail. I’m back on. For now. But I can’t stay on. The train moves too fast. I know I’ll find myself on my ass again somewhere down the line.”
“You poetic piece of shit.”
He smiled, opening his eyes. “Bastard.”
We let the silence settle, and the fire crackled and popped in front of us.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I kinda miss the college boy problems your brothers used to have. Those fuckin’ lunatics were so entertaining.”
“Shit. Compared to this place? Anything is better. I’d give anything to listen to Presley tell me an hour-long story about how Jessica from Foreign Studies was totally into him and he got strung along on a double date with her and her friend, only to be told an hour in that he was third-wheeling and her friend was her actual boyfriend.”
“That’s a real story, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and he followed me around for hours to tell me every excruciating detail because Luke was busy and he had no one else to tell. I was so mad at the time, but I’d cut off my own arm to go back and hear that story again.”
I hated realizing things about myself, especially feelings, but as I took another drink of whiskey and the burn traveled down my throat, the answer stared me in the face.
I didn’t hate college. I wanted to hate it. To be angry and force it away because I knew one day I’d be here. This placewas a festering sore. A cancer. Something that demanded my attention. And no matter how many parties I went to or classes I took, I could never escape the truth of knowing my own fate.
