“I don’t understand,” I feel like whimpering myself. He rolls his eyes.
“Do you really think someone like Dare is without baggage? Grow up, little girl.”
He pushes open the doors as we pass, and they’re all empty, every single one.
But I feel presences here,
Ugliness.
When we’re almost at the end of the hall, he turns to me, his gaze ugly now and I should’ve known.
In my head, I see Dare and he’s so small.
He sits on a bed in this place, and his arms and his legs are bound.
The screams around us are deafening.
Dare’s eyes are wide and dark,
Haunted,
Haunted,
Haunted.
“Mum?” he asks, his eyes searching the wall behind us, and his tiny voice is hopeful.
A nurse hustles past us, and gives him a shot in the arm. “Hush, boy,” she tells him. “You know your mum is dead. She chose you instead of your brother, and then she went crazy. It’s your fault.”
Dare’s eyes cloud over before he closes them. “I know she’s dead because of me.”
“And you’re here because of that,” the nurse agrees. “You’re a little monster. If it weren’t for you, your mum would be alive.”
The hooded boy turns to me and his eyes are pained and he has Dare’s eyes.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
“The nurse is wrong,” he tells me in a strange tone. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be alive and Dare would never have been here. You can change it, Calla. You can change it. Do it. Do it.”
He reaches out his hand to me,
And I reach to take it,
Then I open my eyes.
And we never left Finn’s bedroom.
We. Never. Left.
And I’m alone.
What is happening to me?
I do need help.
I need Dare.
Because he was so hurt, and I don’t know why, but I know I’m hurting him now, more and more each day as I keep pushing him away.
He didn’t deserve that.
He doesn’t deserve this.
I’m reeling,
I’m reeling.
The room presses down on me, swirling and bending and stifling. I lunge for the door, and find Dare on the veranda, a drink in his hand as he stares absently into the night.
“Dare… I…”
Tears streak my cheeks and he grabs me.
“You’re not a monster,” I whisper. “You’re not. It’s not your fault your mother chose you.”
Without looking back, he leads me away,
Away from the veranda,
Into the gardens.
“I saw the sanatorium,” I whisper, and I turn into his tuxedo jacket, hiding my face. “I know you were there when you were small. I know they tied you to your bed and called you a monster. Am I crazy?”
“You’re not crazy,” his words are gentle, and it’s a soft tone I haven’t heard from him in awhile. My walls come crumbling down, and I cry.
The next few minutes are a blur.
I reach for him,
he pulls me close.
His breath is sweet,
his shirt is starchy and smells of rain,
musk,
and man.
His hands are everywhere,
Firm,
Strong,
And perfect.
His lips are full,
Yet
Soft.
His tongue finds mine,
Moist,
Minty.
His heart beats hard,
The sound harsh in the dark,
And I cling to his chest,
Whispering his name.
“Dare, I…”
“Let’s leave,” he suggests. “Let’s leave it all behind. Let’s spin the wheel and the chips will fall. Things will change but they can’t get worse. Let’s go, Calla. Come with me.”
So I do.
He takes my hand and I follow him,
Because I’d follow him to the ends of the earth.
I know that now, and I tell him.
He turns to me, his eyes so stormy and dark.
He scoops me up, and he’s striding through the hallways of Whitley.
His room is dark and masculine, the bed looming against the wall. We tumble into it, and his hand is behind my head as I fall into the pillow.
Our clothing is stripped away and our skin is hot and flushed and alive.
I’m alive.
Dare lives free.
We breathe that freedom in, and he strokes his fingers against me, into me, deep inside and I gasp and sigh and quiver.
“I… yes.” I murmur into his ear.
Consequences can be damned.
I don’t care who he is.
I don’t care what he’s done.
He’s here.
He makes me feel.
I want him.
He wants me.
So he takes me.
There is no pain.
He’s inside and fills me, and his hands…
work magic.
His lips…
breathe life into me,
Filling me,
Creating me.
I call his name.
He calls mine.
I’m intoxicated by the sound, by the cadence, by the beat.
His heart matches, in firm rhythm.
We’re so very alive,
And together.
Our arms and legs tangle.
Our eyes meet and hold.
His stare into mine as he slides inside,
Then out.
I clutch his shoulders,
To hold him close.
He shudders,
The moonlight spills from the window,
Onto my skin,
And his.
His eyes, framed by thick black lashes, close.
He sleeps.
But he wakes in the night and we’re together again, and again and again.
Each time it’s new,
Each time is reverent and raw and amazing.
In the morning, as he is bathed in sunlight, Dare finally looks away. Shame in his eyes, guilt in his heart.
“Sometimes, I wish I could just go away, and everyone would be better for it, and we’d never have to go through this again.”
“Don’t say that,” I breathe. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he tells me, and his voice is rather hard. “I’m the one keeping you insane. We’re in a loop, you and I. And it’s never going to get better because neither of us will give in.”
“What loop?” I ask, confused, but Dare looks away.
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I don’t deserve you. Can you see why?”
His voice is almost fragile.
You’re better than I deserve.
He’s said it before, over and over, and I never knew what he meant.
I’m not better than he deserves, not by a long shot, not ever.
He sits straight up in bed.
“Go check Finn’s room,” he tells me and his voice is tired. I look at him because Finn is dead and he knows it.
“He’s not,” Dare tells me, as if he can read my thoughts. “He’s not dead. You have to trust me. Go.”
He limply watches me leave the room, and I race to Finn’s, and when I do, Finn is there.
He’s sleeping peacefully in his bed and Pollux is at his feet.
And he’s breathing.
I can’t. I can’t.
The room swirls again and again, and I hold my hands out.
I’m falling,
Falling,
Falling, and I don’t know where I’ll land.
The world is a stage and we all act falsely upon it.
The die has been cast,
Has been cast,
Has been cast.
I feel it,
The truth.
It’s coming,
And it’s dark,
And I won’t like it.
I feel it.
I feel it.
We all have our parts to play, and I’ll play mine well.
But what is it?
I concentrate,
And think,
And more will come.
We’re all a bit mad, aren’t we?
Yes.