Page 51 of The Bonds of Indigo

The next strike comes quickly, my hips thrusting forward as if I can escape the inevitable. When the water hits, my scream shakes through my entire frame.

“You act like you don’t deserve this.”

I cry out over and over again, because that’s all I can do. All I want is to pass out and wake up alone, left to be swallowed by the lifetime of loneliness I thought was coming. I’d take that over this treatment.

I don’t deserve this! I didn’t… do it. I didn’t…

I stare at myself in the mirror, my long white hair soaking wet and draped down my bare body. My gaze stops on my chest as I breathe slowly, and I hate that when I catch sight of my stomach, I can quite literally see my bones.

I’d always had a full, pear-shaped frame. I’ve lost every ounce of fat and muscle I once had, which makes me look more like a damn skeleton than a living creature.

I’d question if I was alive if it wasn’t for my beating heart I can feel pounding in my veins, and the dark lining around my eyes makes me look tired—well, I guess… I am.

Tilting my head, I outstretch my hand and press my finger against the glass right at my nose. The scar across it seems far darker than it was the first time I looked in a mirror just a few days ago.

I wonder what he was staring at… Definitely not you.

A knock has me dropping my arm and reaching for the scratchy robe on the back of the bathroom door. I step out and look through the peephole to see Atlas standing on the other side.

I’m glad it’s not Kayn. Him looking at me like he had earlier made me… feel.

I tie the robe tight around my waist and slowly open the front door. I hide behind it and peek through the foot-or-so opening I make. “Yes?”

He smiles sweetly and raises a brown bag. “Dinner?” Swallowing, I reach out to grab it, but he pulls back. “Hey, this has both ours in it—you have to share.”

Looking over my shoulder, I spot the small round table and two torn-up leather chairs on either side.

“Okay…”

“Great!” He quite literally barrels through the door and brushes past me. “I’m so glad Butcher doesn’t need to sleep. There’s only one bed, and I’m not into that.” As he passes my single full bed, I shut the door and follow him.

He plops himself down onto one of the chairs and drops the very heavy, greasy bag onto the table. Pulling out the seat adjacent to him, I sit slowly. He doesn’t hesitate to open the container and set it in front of me to take from.

“You need to eat. I got you a burger, chicken sandwich, and some nuggets.” He then grabs his own burger, immediately unwraps it, and takes a bite. “Fuck me, that’s good.”

The smell of grease actually makes me queasy, so I reach for a fry and take a bite. It’s kind of dry, and not very salty, which I’m not a fan of.

I’m going back in for another fry when he snatches the bag and rummages through it. “They better not have forgotten the ketchup—those assholes!” He dumps the rest of the innards out, and lo and behold, there aren’t any packets.

“It’s fine.” I finish the unsavory potato in my hand.

He bites down again on his bacon and cheese burger. “They forgot the sodas, too. Delivery drivers—can’t trust ’em.”

I reach for a box and open it, finding chicken nuggets; slightly too crispy, but better than the burger.

“Eat up, don’t be shy.” His voice is slightly muffled by his half-full mouth.

“I can’t eat that much. I need to take it slow. I’m already ready to throw up.” Bringing the chicken to my lips, I bite without thinking. The last thing I ate consciously was the chips and salsa from the taco shop after shopping at the thrift store. Even that felt like too much.

He swallows and leans back, holding his burger with one hand and tapping his fingers against his crossed leg. “How many times did you eat every day?”

I shrug. “It’s hard to say. I ate whenever my standing time was over.”

“And how long was that?”

“If I calculated it correctly, based on the shift changes, I believe eighteen hours.”

He begins choking.