Page 80 of Searching for Hope

A hand on the back of my head. Pushing. Shoving. Pressing me downward. Flesh—both soft and hard—forced into my mouth. I bite. The hand on my head fists into my air and yanks my head back. I’m greeted by dark eyes flashing in anger. A low and menacing growl sounds. And then a wound opens on his neck. Raw and gaping. Blood starts to trickle.

“Are you feeling sick?” Barrett asks, his eyes darting between me and the dark and winding road.

I want to say yes, but I don’t. I can’t tell him that the stress of the evening, of seeing Jericho and Hope together, is causing my brain to fire weirdly, spitting unwanted flashes of dark and depraved images into my mind. I can’t tell him they excite me. I can’t tell him I’m that sort of sick.

So instead I sit back up, giving him a hesitant smile. “It’s the winding road.” I nod out the window. “I guess it has just brought on a little nausea. I’m fine though.”

Fine. It’s such a non-descript word. Fine. Not good. Not bad. Fine. It’s nothing but a lie.

“Sure,” he replies, drawing the word out with a chuckle.

He doesn’t believe me. No one would. He knows the sweat that dots my head, the raised hairs on my arms, the paleness of my skin and the swirling nausea in my stomach don’t come from motion sickness. But he doesn’t push it.

The car clings to the road as it slices through the darkness. Barrett keeps looking behind as though he’s expecting flashing lights in the distance. Part of me expects them too. Even the whir of the engine reminds me of the sound of the gunshot.

Closing my eyes, I attempt to count to five and breathe deeply and slowly. I picture myself forming the first five positions in ballet, moving through the motions and trying to take my mind away from the events that brought us here, escaping through the darkness, eager to get back to the Sanctuary.

But it’s pointless. That sound of gunshot has brought back memories I thought long banished.

Flames leap up a building. A sinister smile spreads across a face too handsome to be recognized as evil. Cold metal between trembling fingers.

“Keep the gun on him, Everly.”

The voice is faded and distorted. The past collides with the present and Aaron Keating’s face dances in the shadows of my mind. I’m holding the gun, fingers trembling. Keating laughs. Another wave of nausea twists violently in my gut.

“Stop,” I plead quietly, not knowing whether I’m talking to Barrett or the mangled memories in my head. I open the door even though the car hasn’t slowed.

“Fuck,” Barrett mutters as he reaches across my body and yanks it shut again. “Okay, okay. I’m pulling over. Just wait, okay?”

“What’s happening?” Jericho’s deep voice sounds from the backseat.

No one answers him as the car slows and Barrett guides it into the gravel on the edge of the road. I open the door and basically fall out, using my hands to crawl, not caring when the small stones dig into my flesh. When I feel the damp grass, I press my head to the softness.

Ragged breaths wrack my body. It’s as though I can’t control them. They’re brutal and harsh as I struggle for air.

Please stop, I beg myself internally. Not now. Not with them all watching. Not after everything that’s happened. Hope is the one just rescued from a life in captivity, but I’m the one broken and useless on the ground.

A car door opens. I hold my hand behind me, begging them not to come over. I don’t want comfort. I don’t deserve it.

Dragging myself to my feet, I don’t look behind as I stumble further into the field. There’s a copse of trees nearby, offering me a place to hide.

“I just need a minute.” My voice comes out less desperate than I feel, something of a relief. Hopefully they can’t see how messed up I am. Hopefully they truly believe it’s just motion sickness.

“Berkley.” His voice is low and deep as he says my name. Everything within me wants to turn around and throw myself into his arms. I want to find comfort and solace there. But I can’t. Not now. Not after everything Hope has been through.

A pathetic laugh stutters from me. “I just need some fresh air. I’ll be back soon.” I still don’t look at him as I say it. I know I will crumble if I do.

It only takes a few strides for him to catch up with me. He grabs my arm, whipping me around to face him. “Berkley,” is all he says.

“Don’t.” I pull my arm away. I can’t stand for him to touch me right now. It hurts too much. “I just need a minute, just a minute.”

I half stumble, half run into the woods, falling to my knees only when there’s no breath left inside me. My throat tightens as I try to suck in air. The edges of my vision begin to blacken and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“No, no,” I silently plead with no one. “Please, not now.”

Images burst like fireworks through my brain. The scar on my shoulder burns.

A ragged wound weeping as someone laughs. My knees sinking into blood-soaked carpet. Lifeless eyes. Nails digging into my hips. A bullet bursting from the barrel of a rifle. Keating’s face melding into Dominic’s.

---