Dark Hearts - YA Thriller/Romance

Chapter Thirty-Four

Hot water does nothing to ease the ache in my bones. The feeling of being filthy to my very core. There's blood mixed with sand under my fingernails. The grit against my flesh making me gag. I'm leaning against the plastic wall of the caravan bathroom, breathing hard and staring at the mirror. Steam has turned my reflection into a blur - I'm not sure I'd recognise myself, anyway.

We'd fled, leaving Larissa resting against the car door. Owen had practically dragged me into my seat and we'd roared off, the flashing of sirens still far in the distance. We hadn't gone far, just followed the road along the coastline, pulling into a darkened caravan park beside the beach. It was mostly empty, only a few caravans showing any sign of life, but Owen and I had scrambled over the fence and broken into this caravan. If there was security in this rundown place, they were nowhere to be seen.

"Calla?" Owen calls from outside the room, knocking gently. "Are you OK?"

My lips part, but no sound comes out. I can't shower, not here, not without getting my device wet, so instead I balance the cables and batteries on the sink as I run the scolding water over my bare skin. My phone vibrates, clanging against the ceramic sink. I flinch, glancing down at another missed call from my parents. I ignore it, and at the list of notifications of messages I hadn't opened. And had no intention to. Not yet.

Owen knocks more forcibly this time. But still, I can't quite make myself move, can't quite tear myself away from the horror currently holding me fast.

Finally, the door opens, and he leans against the frame. His dark eyes watching me sadly. He doesn't say anything, just gazes at me. His hair is wet, droplets cling to the strands. His shirt is off, his wound bandaged with a small first aid kit we'd found in a dusty cupboard. The bleeding had stopped, and though the wound wasn't deep, it was clear he'd lost too much blood. His body weakened, his skin translucent.

"I'm sorry... I lost track of time."

"It doesn't matter. I just need to know you're OK."

I can't answer that. I'm not sure I'll ever be OK. Not because of what I did to Larissa. Or how I kept slamming the rock into her head, long after her body was crumpled and defenceless on the ground. But that I didn't feel guilty, or remorseful. I could still feel the fire burning through my blood. See Owen under her, the knife poised above his head.

I do it again. I do it over and over again. And I'm not sure what that means.

He walks in and tugs me closer, careful to avoid the wires coming out of my body. He presses me into him, my bare skin against his. His lips on the top of my head. I let myself melt into him, wrapping my arms tightly around him. Marvelling at how perfectly are bodies fit together. Never wanting to let him go.

He pulls back, lifting my chin gently, and then his lips are on mine. It starts slow, tender, but shifts into something else. It's soon fierce and hungry and relentless and catches me by surprise, but then I sink into it. Needing more and more. My fingers go to the waistband of his jeans. He pulls away, looking down at me. He's breathing hard.

"Are you sure? We don't..."

I don't say the words repeating in my head like the ticking of a clock. One more time. One more time. And he doesn't need me to say them, not really. So instead I swallow hard and whisper coarsely in his ear.

"Make me forget. Make me forget everything." I take his hand and lead him from the room.

***

Daylight has pink and purple tendrils creeping into the room. The dust hanging in the air catches the light, and I watch them scatter around Owen's sleeping form, illuminating him in gold. I'm sitting in the bed, wondering how long we have. How long we can keep time frozen like this until the real world seeps in. He'd lost a lot of blood, though the wound itself was minor enough. But he'd needed to sleep. And I didn't want to wake him. Even though I needed to.

My chest is tight, uncomfortably so. I glance down again at the angry flashing symbols on my controller. The battery is dying. I knew that was coming, but that wasn't what was worrying – the pump wasn't working properly. Something had felt wrong for days, but now... now....

The alarm shrieks and I flinch, glancing over at Owen, who groans and stirs. I place the controller under the duvet, trying to muffle the sound, but it's too late. Owen is rubbing his sleepy eyes, peering at me groggily. Then his eyes turn wide.

"Calla... what's... what's that noise?"

I swallow hard. I'm not ready for this. Not ready for this to be over. But there's no was no avoiding it now. We were out of time.

"There's something wrong with my pump... it's not..." I groan, as the feeling grows and I sink deeper into the bed. Owen pulls the duvet off, seeing the shrieking and flashing controller wired into my body on the bed by my side. He launches out of bed, dragging on his jeans quickly. His eyes narrowed, his teeth deep into his bottom lip.

"Owen... we need to go back to the beach... we need to find the knife..." I mumble, the world feeling wrong. The morning light was growing too bright, the room swaying.

"No... we're taking you to a hospital..."

Owen dashes out of the room, gathering our things, his face in a grim line. Maybe I drift off, because it feels like only moments later, I'm being bundled into his arms. He scoops me out of the bed, carefully laying the device on wires on my belly as he does. Storming from the room and towards Taggart's car.

"Owen... not to hospital. They'll see you, not to the..."

He tucks me gently into my seat. Everything feels a little hazy, distant. The alarm keeps screaming as if my body isn't already telling me everything I need to know. My phone vibrating in my pocket. Owen kneels down before me, searching my face. I see real fear there. And I'm not sure if it's something I've ever seen before. I reach up and touch his face.

"This is all my fault... I shouldn't have let you... you risked yourself for me." I chuckle weakly, leaning closer into him. Breathing him in.

"There was no risk. Fighting for you was fighting for me. Do you understand?" I'm not sure he's really listening, as he's already storming away from me and into the driving seat. The car roars down the loose stone road beside the caravan, heading back to the coastal road. The screeching of the tyres, the ringing of my phone, and the alarm of my device all battling hard to keep me awake, but I fall into darkness, anyway.