Page 91 of A Voice In Chains
Arkin broke me.
After he left and didn’t make contact, the appeal of parties simply wasn’t there anymore. I fucked a girl, barely… But it’s progress. What else do they want from me?
The soft ground shifts to something hard beneath my shoes. We walk some more. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots,the sound more haunting than I want to admit. My friends whisper to each other, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.
At this point, I’m too fed up to demand answers. The only option is to wait for them to do whatever stupid shit they have planned. The sooner it gets done, the sooner I can return to the house to unpack the boxes stacked in the corner of my room.
It won’t come to that, though, not tonight. I have a feeling I’ll collapse from sheer fucking exhaustion by the time we return.
The initial adrenaline kick I experienced when Ryan attacked me back at the house has worn off, and now my battery is drained. But trust me—as soon as I wake up in the morning, I’m kicking the shit out of him.
After what feels like hours but is only a few minutes, they push me to my knees.
The ground is soft, like grass… Yes, it has to be grass. I’m sure of it.
I wriggle my wrists, the restraint chafing against my sore skin. “Untie me.”
When I feel nothing but the soft, slightly cool breeze, I frown, turning my head left to right, straining to hear. “Harrison? Ryan?”
What the fuck are they playing at? This isn’t funny anymore. I’ve had enough of these games.
“Just fucking untie me.”
I sense the shift in the air behind me as one of my traitorous friends kneels to free me finally. It’s about fucking time. To say that I’m seething would be an understatement.
Fingers work on the restraints—rope, I’m guessing—untying the first knot, and I grind my teeth to stop myself from spewing obscenities.
Strangely, they don’t untie me all the way, leaving me with enough wriggle room to free myself.
Confused, I pull on the restraint, wincing at the bite of pain. While it doesn’t hurtthatbad, it stings.
Finally, after what feels like forever, one of my tender wrists slips free, and I remove the rope before ripping the sack off my head. “Real fucking mature,” I mutter under my breath, rising and dusting off my knees.
As I look up, I gasp.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of fairy lights glow softly in the ruins of the abbey, strung across the crumbling arches and winding ivy.
The gentle light shimmers like the stars overhead if they fall and get caught in the stone, illuminating the moss-covered walls in warm, golden hues.
It’s beautiful. Ethereally beautiful. But none of its beauty, no matter how breathtaking, holds a candle to the man standing in the center of the ruins in front of the arch framing the stone bench, which is bathed in light that casts delicate patterns on the ground beneath it. My breath catches, and I glance around quickly to check for my friends, but they’re nowhere in sight.
Heart pounding, as if I’m not ready to believe this is real, as if it’s a cruel dream, I slowly look back at Arkin.
Surrounded by the soft, golden glow of the countless fairy lights, the light catches in his dark hair—hair I’ve run my fingers through.
The loose strands across his forehead cast small shadows over his face, his blue eyes vivid even in the dim light.
Arkin, dressed in a simple dark gray T-shirt, an unzipped black jacket, and jeans that are slightly worn at the knees, watches me intently, the way he did the first time he laid eyes on me.
But now it’s a predatory look, a look with intent.
I don’t know what to say or do, though, so I simply stare at him.
It’s sensory overload seeing him again after all this time standing there amongst the ruins and fairy lights while the dark, silent trees tower like sentinels in the background.
This is the man I fell in love with—the man I’m still madly, deeply, unconditionally in love with. As he walks closer, bathed in the flickering soft glow, I realize I would wait for him forever, no matter how long.
Mum was right all those months ago when she told me to trust in Arkin and the love that we shared. One day, he would return to me. One day, when he was ready.
