Page 120 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)
The first time I see my face on the news, I don’t recognize myself. I only recognize my name scrolling across the bottom of the screen, along with other words that don’t make sense: breaking news and found alive and survivor.
I don’t feel like a survivor. I’ve been shipped to Hell, forced to repeat monstrous things. My fingernails have grown back, painstakingly slow. The cuts and bruises are still fresh, barely scabbed over. My ribs protest loudly when I breathe too deeply.
It’s the oddest thing, relearning your body. Trying to piece together what happened based on the roadmap of new scars and injuries scattered across you.
Me.
Anyway, the news. I stare and I stare, and it takes me a minute, maybe more, to realize the girl on the screen is me. The words coming out of the broadcaster’s mouth don’t compute. He’s talking from underwater, and I’d have a better chance of understanding him if he was speaking a foreign language.
My mother finds me poised on the edge of my seat in the living room, the remote dangling from my fingers. It is dark, late, I am loathing the idea of sleeping, and so here I sit.
Transfixed and horrified.
Something bad happened, and I fear it’s changed me for good. Changed my essence right down to the bone—deeper, even. My soul is scarred.
Imagine having to live with that, but not knowing what. Fearing the worst and knowing… maybe that isn’t even the tip of the iceberg of what happened. My head pounds, right behind my eyes.
“Mom—”
She turns off the television, pulls the remote control from my hand, and sets it on the coffee table. “I don’t think you should watch that.” Her voice is careful, even.
“Why do they have a video of me—”
I looked awful in that short, silent clip. In a dragged-through-the-mud kind of way. My scalp is still tender, and sprouts of broken baby hair stick straight out. Maybe I did get dragged…
“Honey, it’s just going to upset you, and it’s time for bed.”
I am calm, I almost say. It’s a lie—my heart threatens to beat right out of my chest.
I let her guide me to bed, then I contemplate what happened. The possibilities.
The woods, the voice, my injuries.
And then the nightmares started.
* * *
Fourteen years old and stuck in a vicious cycle.
I twist, shrieking. Something’s wrapped around my legs, holding me captive. I can’t escape, I can’t—
“Wake up,” someone says, shaking my shoulders.
My head snaps forward and back. I’m already awake, trapped in this hellhole. Every muscle aches. My eyes are open, but I can’t see anything. There’s just a thick black smog around me.
A light flickers on, and Liam suddenly appears before me, cupping my cheeks.
“Hush,” he whispers. “A dream. A bad dream. You’re at home, in your bed.”
I grip his wrists. “I don’t remember a dream. Why am I screaming if I have amnesia? Why can’t I just forget it entirely?”
“I don’t know,” he says evenly. “Lie down. It’s okay.”
He has a blanket and pillow on the floor. He’s been here every night this week, stopping the nightmares in their tracks. Senseless dreams, whispers of pain. It’s been two months of therapy, of healing, of trying to slip back into a regular routine. Wounds keep splitting open, and I don’t get it. I don’t understand why Liam seems to be the only person capable of calming me down.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He turns off the light and lies down, too.