Page 24 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
“When will he be available?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, dear. Any attempt to—”
“I’ve been told,” I interrupt. “That answer’s not good enough. He’s my husband, and if I’m going to be trapped here, I want to see him.”
“Nevaeh!”
I ignore Ms. Poitier’s calls as I race for the door and fling it open. The hallway still feels like an overwhelming maze even after almost a week spent in this house. It takes me a second before I’m able to orient myself and dart in the direction that’ll lead me to Caelian’s room.
In the days that I’ve been here, my ankle has mostly healed, allowing for me to move like I usually do—with speed and fluidity.
Ms. Poitier can’t keep up. She scurries behind me with pleas for me to stop.
I dash down the hall, focused on my final destination. The door at the end that belongs to Caelian. Instinct tells me he’s home; he’s inside his room, and has been hiding away for whatever reason.
Out of nowhere, an unstoppable force rams into me and sends me sailing through the air. My body jerks and my feet leave the ground. A grotesque crunching noise echoes in my ears at the brutal collision. It’s not until I land in a tumble several feet away that it’s clear why.
Throbbing pain attacks my wrist and pulls a wounded cry out of me. I roll over, cradling the bent joint in my opposite hand and staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears.
The guard that speared into me steps over and peers down with no mercy to be found in his hard gaze. Ms. Poitier joins his side, her lips in a deep frown.
All I want to do is crawl somewhere and hide. This isn’t my home, and it never will be. I’m not safe here if I’ll be punished so easily, so severely, for simply trying to see the man they made me marry.
My husband.
“Nevaeh, dear. I’ll help you up,” Ms. Poitier says.
I shake her off, crawling one-handed on my knees to get away. As far as I’m concerned, I want nothing to do with any of them…
“What is this? What has happened?”
I freeze at the sound. Ms. Poitier and the guard look up. The three of us are equally startled by the voice we know so well.
Caelian’s bedroom door is open and he stands in the doorway, his face clenched in fury.
NINE
Caelian
“It’sa dangerous game you’re playing,” my physician, Dr. Tulio, warns. He uncaps a fresh syringe, the long point of the needle glinting in the light. He inserts the needle into the vial of the treatment my body sorely needs and fills it up to the proper line. Flicking any bubbles out of the syringe, he pinches my skin and injects me. “How many times have I told you no alcoholic beverages?Mostof all when you’ve taken your medication.”
I barely register the pinch of his fingers or the needle. My scowl speaks before I do. “Nothing’s going to stop me from living my life.”
“Even if it means more suffering? The treatments can only do so much, Mr. Ziccardi.”
“It’s my wedding night. Am I not supposed to enjoy myself?”
“Enjoy yourself all you like. But do so without the alcohol and without mixing it with your medication. That’s if you want your best chance at fighting this.” He gives me a disapproving shake of his head and then removes the needle from my arm. He moves on to the next one—another vial with another long, sharp needle.
We’re both already accustomed to the routine. This is only the beginning.
The pain will soon be taking over. Within the hour, I won’t be able to do anything but lay still and hope for an unconscious sleep so deep, I’ll wake once the worst of it’s over.
See you in my dreams, angel.
* * *
I’m in between life and death when it hits me. It becomes all I know. The torture seizes me and makes every inhale of breath feel like a thousand hot blades cutting my heart. The pain invades every corner and crevice of my huge, muscled, often-perceived-unstoppable body. It exists inside me like a second entity to myself, taking over ’til there’s nothing else.