Page 109 of Alchemised
“Slight fracture,” he said, and the remaining pain had mostly seeped away before he finally let her go.
She stood, empty and lost. He’d gutted her emotions so deeply, it was like trying to reach into the bottom of a well.
She looked towards the bloodstained window and considered a second attempt, but there was no point. He’d just do it again until she was hollowed out and compliant. A statue worn featureless.
Ferron turned her to face him, his eyes still silver-bright. “Why?”
She stared dully back at him; her head was still throbbing. At least something hurt.
“Why what?” she asked.
“Why this sudden need to go so far?” There was movement behind him. One of the necrothralls entered the room, both hands full, the door left open behind her. It was the older woman, but for a moment there was something strangely lifelike about her.
She was not as stilted and blank as Helena was accustomed to; she moved more like a lich.
Under Helena’s scrutiny, she slowed and grew more mechanical as she brought a bowl and cloth over and began wiping Helena’s face clean.
“Why not?” Helena said in a dead voice. “I’ve always been trying to kill myself. You know that.”
His eyes narrowed. “You know as well as I do that that wouldn’t have killed you.”
She made no response.
“If you won’t tell me, I’ll look for myself,” he said when she refused to reply.
Helena recoiled, jerking her face away from attempts to get the remaining blood from the corners of her eyes.
She opened her mouth several times before she could speak. “I think there’s something wrong with me,” she said at last.
He gave her a sidelong glance which communicated that this was obvious.
“It’s a survival instinct or”—her body was so taut with humiliation that the words choked her—“a coping mechanism, maybe.”
She looked away. “I read this research proposal once at the Institute. The author had an idea of trying to make test subjects emotionally attached to their—superior.”
Her voice was straining, threatening to fail.
“He believed that with his methods, he could make subjects proactively compliant. That if they were conditioned with a sufficiently strong sense of dependence, they would begin to rationalise and justify any—any harm they suffered, and even try to form an emotional connection or even feelings towards the person controlling them, as a sort of survival instinct.”
She felt as though she might pass out. She could feel the weight of Ferron’s eyes on her.
“It was just a proposal, I don’t know that there was any truth to it, but lately, I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said, her voice straining.
She stared across the room to the bloodstained window. “I would rather spend the rest of my life being raped in Central than spend a minute of it having feelings for you.”
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
“Well,” Ferron said after a long silence, “with luck you’re pregnant, and there will be no need for either choice. You’ll be left to yourself.”
He turned away, and Helena’s resolve shattered. Her hand darted out, catching hold of his coat to stop him.
Her body was shaking but she couldn’t let go. She gripped harder. She didn’t want to be alone; she couldn’t bear it.
His hand rose, resting on her shoulder, and that was all it took. She crumpled, huddling closer. She could barely feel his fingers on her arm, but breathing no longer felt like a rope burn dragged through her lungs. She dropped her head against his chest.
She was so tired of the space around her always being cold and empty and endless.
Ferron’s head suddenly whipped around as he shoved her away. Helena stumbled back, falling against the bed. His eyes had gone wide and there was something strained in his expression, his gaze flicking around the room and then towards the open door.
