Page 83 of A Sweet Destruction

Instead of landing in the gravel, I landed in a cloud of warmth. Though my breaths were still short, still not quite bringing in enough oxygen, it grounded me enough to nod at Soren, though it was clear he didn’t believe me in the slightest.

Okay. I needed to explain. “He—” I began, before a shaky breath cut me off.

“I heard,” Soren said, right as a warm hand swept down my back in comforting strokes. There, okay. I could breath a little better now.

I finally had the strength to turn to look at Ford. Surely it wasn’t comfortable kneeling on the ground with me folded on top of him. I never made it far enough to see him. He bent down to me at the same time I turned, bringing our cheeks flush together. This close, his scent was like a drug, lulling me to a pliant state, as he whispered in my ear, “Please, let me take some of this from you.”

“You don’t need anything else to shoulder,” I said. He carried so much, and I knew, I knew that he was already wracked with guilt from this whole thing. He didn’t need this on top of it.

Ford, unfortunately, could already see where my mind was headed. He pulled back just a little bit, so that our noses were nearly touching. His eyes were like jades glowing in the moonlight. “Let me,” he prodded, nudging his nose against mine.

“Okay,” I said, even though I swore, swore, I never would.

“I…uh. So, I—it started with…”

I looked to the side to find Soren still standing there, expression thick with concern and seemingly unbothered by the fact that Ford was making a solid attempt at fusing our bodies together.

If he could suffer this, surely he would be able to—

“Can you please tell him?” I asked Soren. Yes, that would work. I could bring myself to sit here and listen to the story, but I could make no promises about regaling it myself. There was much I didn’t even remember with any cognizable detail.

Soren blinked at me, his eyes blowing wide. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I don’t think I can.” My throat was closing up at the mere idea of having to verbalize what had happened. Even with Peter, who’d forced me to discuss it for fear of it traumatizing me beyond saving, I’d chosen journaling as a method of processing.

Soren breathed in so deeply his chest expanded several inches, then he looked around, as if searching for support himself, before finally conceding. “Yes, yes, of course.”

My entire body clenched in preparation, anticipating where he would start, what part of my rapid descent into madness he would begin with. I waited two, five, ten seconds for those fateful words to come, but Soren still hadn’t started.

I didn’t realize that I’d tucked my head under Ford’s chin and had pressed my nose into his chest until I had to turn back to Soren.

Finally, he said, “You have to promise not to kill me. I promised Bellamy I wouldn’t hurt myself and you know how she gets.”

Ford, it seemed, was not in the mood for humor. All he did was bark Soren’s name.

“I’m serious,” Soren pushed back. “Remember that I’m just the messenger here.”

“Start. Talking.” Two clipped words, timed with gentle squeezes on my body. One on my outer thigh, the other around my arm.

“God, he’s going to fucking punch me, then Bellamy is going to punch him,” Soren muttered under his breath.

“Okay, um,” Soren began, his voice turning slightly clinical. Probably for the best. I wasn’t sure how much good a dramatic retelling would do anyone. “Well, as you know you were held there for three days.” Three of the worst days of my life, even now.

A flash again, of Peter telling me that Ford’s unit had been attacked. The one time we’d all split up. It had been a particular hard couple of months, and we’d taken on some heavy losses and shuffled ranks that left us with a too-young cavalry of soldiers. We’d been forced to separate on account of seniority, needing experienced soldiers to help lead scouting rides, while enough capable hands stayed back to help in case of attack.

I’d stayed back that day. I remembered being relieved. The exhaustion of training new soldiers had been wearing on my resolve and I was having a hard time being around Ford.

That relief only lasted a second before the distance started to chafe. I’d known something was wrong, my instincts pulling at me a few hours into their ride. By the time Peter confirmed what I already knew, I’d descended into an all-out panic.

“We were having some trouble finding you,” Soren continued, “And well,” a pause, to look at me with an expression that bordered on pity, “Esme, excuse me for this, she was losing her goddamn mind.”

My eyes tracked downwards in shame, finding Ford’s hand still gripping my outer thigh, his thumb making small passes over my skin. Against my better judgment, I sank deeper into his hold.

“Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep.” Soren stuttered a little bit, and I had to imagine that Ford’s expression had gone particularly murderous at that piece of information. “It’s Bond Madness, same thing that happened when I found Bellamy. She slipped into a fugue state that was only focused on finding you. Completely taken over by the Bond. She swore she knew where you were, this old town down river a couple miles, but no one would listen because admittedly,” this now to me, “you weren’t making a whole lot of sense during those days.”

I forced myself to smile and nod my head in agreement. Soren was being kind to me, retelling exactly what happened so that Ford wouldn’t be searching for details, but choosing words that softened the blow of what had actually happened. Chief among them being the rambling nonsense I’d started to spew at the end. I couldn’t even get a full sentence out, let alone a coherent thought. It was just about finding Ford. Only Ford.

“She snuck out one night after you, and like Caspian said, seemed to go on a little bit of a rampage. We are unaware of any survivors, but she was able to get you out.”