Chapter 18
1829words
I'd rather be there than here. It's quiet, dark, and no one can get through the scanners unless you're like me... it's a perfect place for me.
Nathaniel's hand was locked tight around my wrist, dragging me through the crowd like a pet pulled on a leash. His smile was flawless, sharp enough to dazzle anyone who looked. But I could see the tension in it, I can see it twitching. The anger he didn't show, but I can tell that he is already tired of everyone in the room.
We moved past many couples who stopped to greet him. Executives with many questions, daughters in fancy dresses who had all been trying to ask him for a date, which he declined. Good. He'll ruin their lives anyway, and the last thing I need is for Nathaniel to have a girlfriend who will be my tormentor. Every time someone approached, Nathaniel's smile never faltered. He shook hands. He traded words. And he tugged me just close enough to remind me that I wasn't standing there by choice.
I can tell from their eyes that they all knew I didn't belong there, especially beside Nathaniel. I was a decoration. A dog tethered to its master.
I kept my eyes low, but their whispers weren't quiet.
"That thing beside Nathaniel. It's definitely a stray he likes to drag around."
"Can't believe Nathaniel even bothers. She looks... diseased, ugh."
"Maybe he likes broken things."
The laughter was soft, but I can here it.
By the dessert table, Olivia and Sophia were surrounded by other girls who looked and dressed just like them: makeup, fancy dresses, jewelry, and polished.
Their voices weren't hushed. They didn't need to be.
"I mean, look at her," Olivia said, her laugh high and brittle, "walking around like she belongs here. It's pathetic."
Sophia smirked. "Pathetic? More like disgusting. Nathaniel must have a sense of humor, parading that thing around."
The girls tittered, their eyes sliding toward me.
"She doesn't even have power," one of them whispered. "Not a spark. Nothing. I heard she lives in the Underbelly."
"Oh gods," Another girl giggled, "that explains the smell."
Their laughter spread like a poisonous disease.
I stared past them, past the chandeliers, past the crowd. My face didn't change. I didn't give them the reaction they wanted.
But their words still lodged in me. They always did.
Andrew stood some ways from the girls, not close to them but not far either, hands sunk in his pockets, his shoulders against the wall like he had nowhere better to be. He wasn't laughing with them, not even pretending to enjoy their talk. His eyes looked bored. Empty.
But when his gaze found me, the boredom slipped.
His mouth curved, slow and deliberate. A smirk.
It wasn't amusement. I can tell what it was. I've always seen it on him. It was hunger.
Like he was telling me without words: I'm planning something for you. And when it comes, you won't escape it.
The look stayed, heavy as a hand on my throat. I forced myself to turn away first. But the weight of his eyes were still on me, even after I stopped looking.
Nathaniel's grip tightened suddenly. He didn't like when I looked too long at anyone else but him or nothing at all.
"Cease gawking," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "at least make an effort to not look like you're about to slit your wrists. People are watching."
I didn't say anything except look at the ground.
That seemed enough for Nathaniel. His grip loosened just slightly, though not enough to move my writ. His smile stayed flawless, carved just like a marble statue, while he paraded me through more introductions, more handshakes, more hollow words.
Finally, the party seem to end. Nathaniel pulled me away, down a side corridor, away from the crowd. Shoving me in a room where no one will look in.
The moment the doors shut behind us, his mask immediately dropped.
He stopped, turned, he pushed me against the wall. Leaned down close. His smile was still there, but it was sharp now.
"Speak a word of this," he said softly, almost gently, "and I will turn your brain into a vegetable. You'll be breathing, blinking, but nothing else. Do you understand?"
I stared past him, at the door behind his shoulder. Silence.
His thumb brushed my cheek. A mockery of tenderness. For a second, he lingered. His breath brushed my skin, warm and suffocating. I wanted to push him off.
"You're good when you're quiet," he murmured. His forehead dipped closer, his lips hovering just by an inch. "But it pisses me off sometimes when you are silent."
"But none the less. You did good tonight. A good girl." he murmured. "Obedient. Exactly the way you should be and that's what I like about you."
I didn't answer.
It was silent for awhile, he didn't move. He just looked into my eyes. Then he let out harsh exhale.
He stepped back. "Go home. My car will take you."
He lead me outside of the building to where we first arrived.
A car was already waiting outside... and that's his car, of course. I mean, what you expect? He's a rich kid and of course his father will allow him to have a car for his own. When the door's opened, I slid into the back seat. No driver. It drove itself.
I stared out the window. The city flying past, glass towers shining like jagged teeth. But the further the car drove, the uglier it became. Towers shrank to scaffolds. Neon bled into rust. Lights sputtered out one by one until only the underbelly was left, black smoke, metal skeletons, and streets that stank of rot.
The car slowed in front of my block. I stepped out. The engine purred once, then whisked itself away, like it couldn't leave fast enough.
Once inside the building, I stopped and looked where the dead body was. Only dried blood was there. I stared at it for while before going inside the elevator. The doors opened and of course. Or'dara was there, sitting beside his doorway, same as always.
"Slyvian, how was the-"
I didn't stop. Didn't speak. My feet carried me down the hall, to my door.
The stench hit first. Burnt smoke, sweat and the sour chemical smell.
"Where the hell have you been? And what the fuck are you wearing?"
Mother's voice lashed out first. Melody sat slouched on the couch, her eyes glassy, her lips curled. Beside her lounged Lucius Omaier, a sneer already on his face.
The table in front of them was littered with shards of crystal vials. Veyra. That was the drug.
It gave people a high that felt like flight. Take too much, and it burned them raw, every emotion amplified until rage and sorrow is all that's left.
Mother staggered to her feet. Her hand came fast. The slap stung my cheek.
"You think you can just walk in late? And wear some ugly fucking dress?!" she screamed. "Think you're better than me? Better than us?"
Lucius slammed the table, rattling the empty bottles. His words slurred but loud. "You don't respect your mother, you don't respect me, you don't respect this house!"
Melody grabbed my arm, nails digging until the skin reddened. "Answer me!"
Their anger burned hot, ugly, but it was always the same. Always the same storm. I stood still.
"Ungrateful bitch," she spat. Her nails dug into my arm more before she shoved me hard toward my room and slammed the door close, almost breaking it.
I stood still for awhile before sitting on the floor. I reached for the crow plush from the closet and held it against my chest. Squeezed it until my knuckles hurt.
Mr. S'dala...
But then that's when I heard it.
The voice.
The whispers came again. Not faint this time.
"Tu es venari. Quem pater requiir. Quem Octavian vult."
The voice threaded through the air, through my bones. I pressed my hands over my ears, but it didn't stop. Louder. Clearer.
My bruise throbbed. My chest tightened. I stared into the dark.
The whispers didn't fade.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure if they were coming from inside my head... or if something else was already in the room with me. I really am losing it.
The whispers continued.
I lifted my head.
And she was there.
The clay woman.
The one from Or'dara's sculpture room. The one I had seen at school, and again in Nathaniel's halls. She stood in the corner of my room now, hunched slightly, head looking down right at me. Her body cracked and unfinished, grooves of clay splitting her skin like veins.
She didn't move, but the shadows bent around her shape, as if she'd been there all along.
Her mouth didn't open, her face still in that rageful expression, the whispering continuing.
Over and over, the same words.
She stared down at me.
Like she was listening to my fear.
Like she was waiting for me to answer.
No. She wasn't real. She wasn't.
"No..." My said lowly. "You're not real."
I still couldn't look away.
The words curled into my mouth before I realized I was saying it.
"Tu... es... ven..." My tongue stumbled. Wrong. Broken.
The whisper pressed harder, clouding every thought.
"Tu... es venar..." Still wrong.
The voice rose louder, drilling deeper.
My lips moved with it. "Tu es... venari. Quem... pater..."
Each attempt becoming more clearer. Until I said the words correctly.
The whispers stopped. The silence pressed on, heavier than the whispers had been.
The clay woman was waiting. And then... my mouth moved again. Not because I wanted it to. Because something pulled the words out.
"Ego sum venari. Quem pater requiir. Quem Octavian vult. Ego sum qui nostrum mundum revocabit a falsis deis."
The words didn't sound right. They came out in my voice, low, hoarse, trembling. But layered beneath it, another voice. The boy's. The one I'd seen in class with the ancient clothing. Both voices overlapping, mine and his, weaving together until I couldn't tell which belonged to me anymore.
And the crow. The plushie's black beady eyes glinted in the dim light, catching a shine. Tiny lenses shifted within, whirring too quietly for her to notice. Recording every tremble of her lips. Every word. Every crack in her sanity.
Veyra: A popular but dangerous street drug that makes users feel as though they're weightless, soaring like flying. But push it too far, and the rush burns them from the inside out, every emotion sharpened to a breaking point until only rage and sorrow remain.
Redwing: Slang for Veyra
