Fractured Souls(78)

Chapter 27
 
I want to get the hell out of here. Run. Flee. However the Ira is gone, destroyed back on the table, and I don’t know another way out of The Underworld.
The Queen locks us in a cement chamber that has a single metal-framed bed with a ratty mattress on it. There are bars on the door, which allow light to filter in. We have no water. No food. No toilet. It’s basically jail except for there aren’t any guards, only crazy Water Fey who feed off torment and fear.
After the Queen leaves, Alex and I lie down on the bed, side by side with our feet up on the wall, waiting for whatever comes next. Torture? Death? Something worse? Surprisingly, we’re both pretty calm, but I think we’ve entered some weird state were we’re too shocked to panic.#p#分页标题#e#
“Let me welcome you to your new home.” I mimic the Queens tone with bitterness in my voice. I kick the side if the wall. “What a bitch.”
“I’m really starting to wonder just how long the list of people who my father has pissed off is,” Alex says with an exhausted sigh as he stretches out his arms above his head.
“Probably pretty long,” I say, yawning. I’m exhausted—the energy I used to come here took a lot out of me. If it weren’t for the screams from outside, I might close my eyes and go to sleep
“We should find a way out.” He props up on his arms and looks over at me. His hair is wet from the water drizzling from the ceiling and so is the collar of his shirt
“How?” I motion at the room. “I mean, look at this place. There’s no way out except for the door.”
He lies back down on the mattress and turns his head toward me. “Do you have any idea why this didn’t work out like the vision you saw?”
I massage the sides of my temples and shut my eyes. “Because I didn’t finish seeing the vision, at least that’s what I think happened. Nicholas forced me to take us back before I saw the whole damn thing play out.” A screams echoes from close by and I shudder, opening my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say, crossing my arms over my stomach.
“Sorry for what?”
“For messing this up.”
He shakes his head and rotates to his side, supporting his elbow against the mattress and resting his head against his hand. “You didn’t mess this up, Gemma. You were simply taking a risk to try to do something that was right and things didn’t work out.”
“Because I screwed up and didn’t plan things well enough.”
“Sometimes things are kind of out of our hands.”
I turn to my side and face him, my arm tucked under my head. Our faces are mere inches away and it’s comforting knowing he’s close. “But I do it so often and I’ve just barely started actually living my life,” I say. “Imagine how bad my screw up list is going to be in like five years… if I get that far.”
“You will,” he insists, tucking strands of my hair behind my ear. “And you’ll get better—things will get better. I promise.” Once he gets my hair out of the way, he strokes my cheeks with his fingers until I feel like I’m going to doze off.
“What will she do to us?” I murmur tucking my hands under my head.
His fingers briefly stop moving. “I’m not sure.” He’s lying. I can tell by the unevenness in his voice and the way the current of the electricity speeds up.
“Just tell me.” I yawn, forcing my eyes to stay open. “I need to know what I’m in store for.”
“You really want to know?” His fingers delicately caress my cheek in soft, consistent patterns. I nod, letting his touch calm me. “Unbearable pain,” he says.
I feel strangled, hands wrapping around my neck, suffocating me. Pain? What kind of pain? “Oh.”
It gets quiet. Water drips on the mattress and us. Alex keeps touching my face; my chin, my lips, my jawline, as if he’s worried he’ll never touch me again. I start wondering what death is like, too. Whether it’s better than getting tortured. Better than feeling unbearable pain. Better than feeling the burden of my mistakes.
“Look,” Alex says unexpectedly, rolling on top of me, his warm body flawlessly settling over mine. “No matter what happens, you try to hold on, okay? Turn it off.”
“Turn it off?” I open my eyes to find him passionately staring down at me.
“Yeah, just like you used to,” he whispers and tenderly kisses my lips. “Just turn off anything you’re feeling. They thrive on fear and the less they get from you the weaker they’ll get.” He kisses me again and again until I can barely breathe or think straight. Maybe that’s what he’s trying to do. Distract me from my worry. Or maybe he just loves kissing me.