He hummed in pleasure. "You’re wasting away here. Let me help you. Let me make you feel better."
She was too tired to care if he was real or not. Wasn’t it so much easier to give in to games of pretend?
"What do you mean?" Luella whispered, voice broken.
Bastian’s fingers tangled in her hair and tugged, forcing her head up. "Let me help you get out of here."
"What do you mean?" She held her breath as she awaited his answer. Was he real this time? Was he truly here? She sat up slowly, his fingers never disentangling from her hair. When her face brushed his chest, she breathed him in, finding his usual spiced bergamot scent absent. That didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was her. He was here; he was real.
He must be.
If not…
She didn’t want to think of what that meant.
She was stiff, anticipating him to turn on her like her dream of Az had done, but when Bastian’s fingers soothed over her scalp, sending shivers down her spine, she sighed, tension seeping away. She leaned into his touch, his chest, his absence of smell—all while ignoring the way her stomach flipped and twisted from her growing sickness.
"I mean, I can help you escape the only way I know how. It will not be easy, but if you wish to be free from here, you must listen to me and do as I say."
She clung to his every word, nodding.
Bastian cupped her cheeks and tilted her face up to his, brows upturned in sorrow. "Give in, Luella."
She gave a low sob. Why couldn’t even a dream be kind to her?
"No, no. Don’t cry." He wiped her tears away. "Just give in. That’s all I’m asking you to do. If you give in, all of this will go away. You’ll be safe, treated as a queen."
"You’re lying. Caliban doesn’t want me to be a queen, he wants me to be a captive—a doll. I want to get out of here, Bastian. I do not w-wish to give in."
He leaned forward and kissed her brow. She felt a brief moment of wetness, as if his tongue had traced her over her temples. "Give in, Luella," he repeated, harsher this time.
She tried to pull away, desperate to see his red-tinted eyes and remind herself that this was Bastian—he wouldn’t hurt her—but his grip turned bruising, refusing to let her go.
"Give in to him. Give in, give in. I know you can do it. Just give in. This will all go away. This will all become a dream. Let him have you." Bastian’s every word was punctuated with a wet kiss to her face. Her cheeks, tasting her tears; her jaw, biting her already bruised flesh.
"I said,no!" Luella twisted her face away, but he only chased after her.
"Alright, okay. I will not force you." He kissed her brow. Sweet, once more.
Was it so wrong of her that she leaned into his touch?
68
NO TEARS LEFT TO CRY
LUELLA
Luella dreamt of Bastian often, unsure if it was real or a fevered hallucination.
When Caliban appeared, he no longer had to use his shadows to force her to drink or eat. She reached for the cup as soon as she heard his footsteps on the stone.
Like a well-trained pet.
Bastian’s presence offered brief comfort, but it always seemed to turn sour. His touches were never sweet for long. Even when he left blots of purpling bruises on the flesh of her upper arms, stark under the blue glimmer in the cell, she still pressed her cheek into his chest. She turned her arm beneath the light, questioning how a dream could leave imprints on her body, but she was too tired to dwell on it.
Az came as well, gentle at first, until he wasn’t. And her mind began to struggle to discern fact from fever-induced vision.
"I am so proud of you, Luella, for not fighting anymore. You drank so beautifully. You ate so well. Look at you. You’re learning. Do you think, in time, you could give in?"
