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He runs his fingers through my hair, placing a lingering kiss on the top of my head. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I never want to you feel pain like this.”
I can’t respond, because I know if I try, I’ll surely break so badly I won’t be able to pull myself back together. I simply hug him harder, forcing myself to focus on his scent and nothing else. Soon, I feel the relieving pull of sleep overcome me.
~ ~·~ ~
The next time I wake, Arman is still in bed with me. I sniffle, nose stuffy after so much crying, and look up at his sleeping form.
I raise a hand to stroke his cheek, feeling overwhelmingly grateful for his compassion and aid in my time of need. I fully understand why I’ve fallen in love with this man life after life,and a small part of me, underneath all the grief, is excited at the prospect of it happening again.
He takes a deep breath at my touch and his eyes flutter open. “Hey,” he mutters sleepily.
“Hi,” I whisper back, and I can’t stop myself from pulling him into a long, gentle kiss. I have to pull back quickly, however, as my face crumples with fresh tears as I think about how Olivia will never experience love like this again.
“Shh,” Arman murmurs against my hair, placing a soft kiss while stroking his hand over my locks.
Suddenly, I remember my family. Did he get them out? I pull back from him to look him in the eyes. “Did you get my family out?”
He swallows, regret clouding his amber orbs. “I managed to get out your mother and siblings, but I couldn’t locate your father. I’m sorry, Amelia.”
He couldn’t locate my father because I knocked him out in the bathroom. My father is still trapped within the Society’s borders because ofme.
Arman is watching me, I can feel it. “What’s wrong, love? I’m sorry, I truly am. But I have people making plans to recover him as we speak.”
“If he’s not already dead,” I croak out, wiping my eyes as more tears cascade down my cheeks. “It’s my fault. I…I hit him. On the head. So that I could get out of the mansion.”
“It isnotyour fault,” Arman states sternly, forcing me to look at him. “None of this is your fault.It’shis. Jedaya’s. Do not blame yourself for being put in an impossible position, Amelia. He would love nothing more than for you to fault yourself over his actions.”
My head knows he’s right, but my heart tells me something different. We lay there in silence as I mull over his words. Once my emotions begin to calm, logic starts to peek through. Asmuch as I want to wallow, that will only make everything that has happened be in vain. We need to keep moving, keep fighting; the only path is forward.
Once Arman notices that I’ve calmed down, he places another kiss against my hair. “Are you feeling up for a walk? I have something to show you.”
My immediate reaction is to say no and stay buried in this bed, in his arms, until either my bladder or stomach launches a complaint. But I know, deep down, that’s a luxury I can’t afford.
I sigh and sit up slowly. “Sure.” I look down at myself, nose scrunched as I sniff my shirt. “Let me freshen up, first. How long have I been in this bed?”
He smiles at my antics. “About a week. You had a catheter until last night, so be aware you might notice some discomfort.”
I nod and get out of bed, wincing at the slight cramping as I do so. When I enter the bathroom, there’s already a fresh set of clothes set out for me. They’re nice, yet efficient; a simple pair of evergreen pants and a long-sleeved shirt with white sneakers. I notice a black headscarf on the sink and a rush of gratitude fills me toward Arman. In the Society, when a death occurs, we wear black headscarves for a week as a way to honor the dead. I relieve myself, pleased that the cramping from earlier is beginning to dissipate, and then start the water in the glass stand-up shower.
I take my time in the shower, enjoying the way the hot spray relaxes my muscles, and do everything in my power to keep my mind from drifting to Olivia. The only way I’ll get through this is to not think about it, at least for now.
Once I’m out of the shower and dry, I quickly dress and braid my damp hair to keep it from soaking the headscarf.
Arman is now sitting on the end of the freshly made bed. When I leave the bathroom, he stands and holds out a hand to me. “Let’s go.”
He leads me out of the room and then out of our home. I’m grateful to not pass by too many people, and more so when they simply offer a nod in greeting before going on their way.
He guides me into the street and to a walkway diagonal to the one we’re on. I glance around, unsure. “Where are we going?”
“To the community center. I won’t force you to meet anyone yet, but the building holds what I need to show you.”
What does he have to show me so badly? I don’t question him, but nervous anticipation fills me with every step.
Finally, he leads me into a large, stone building. Once we’re through the front doors we are met with an enormously bare hall, the only decoration the multiple doors off to the sides.
As we walk down the hall, our footsteps echoing, I turn to him with brows furrowed, my patience thinning. “What do you need to show me?”
He doesn’t say anything at first, but then, “You know of the prophecy. I also know that you’ve picked up on the parallels between the stories and what we’re experiencing right now.”
