He’s hard to break but he won’t last forever.
77 days…if I’m generous. Tick tock.
One moment the creamy parchment is between my fingers and the next, the inked librettos are shredded into diminutive pieces. I sink to my knees, clasping my black bed sheets so ferociously my knuckles bleach white.
He’s hard to break
The only comforting thought is that Jared is alive.
He won’t last forever
The now decimated letter is correct though; Jared won’t last forever and I intend to find him before they do ‘break’ him. I stroke the Caritas Monile that rests protectively against my neck. It’s the only physical memory I have of him. Despite my objections to the idea, I almost wish I was pregnant now. It would be a light in this infinite web of darkness.
I heave a sigh and sluggishly unravel my fingers from the cloth and use the bed to propel myself up. I try and collect my thoughts while resting on my bed; the shape of my body has been moulded into the mattress. It would assure a perfect night’s sleep for anyone else. However, even though I’m able to control my daylight thoughts, the night terrors don’t allow me to sleep. I fear the midnight memories too much to allow my eyes to close. Instead the streets of the STO compound act as my ivory tower, providing the ideal, tranquil distraction from the shadows of the incubi. I wander until I’m so exhausted I slither into a dreamless state of unconsciousness.
As my body sinks in to the foamy substance, I stare blankly up at the ceiling. The notes are always delivered in the identical fashion. The breeze wafts calmingly over my face, blowing my hair into my eyes; blinding my sight. I never see anyone come in which either means the letters are either delivered when I’m out of the room or by butterflies. I rule out the latter on the basis that they are always carefully arranged on red rose petals. I squint at myself in disbelief; butterflies delivering letters? Perhaps I am mad?
Half the Warriors seem to think I’m insane. With the rumours of breakdowns, fits and changing eye colours, I’m not exactly viewed as stable at the current moment. I grip the ends of my hair in exasperation; it’s the complete opposite of what I need to be seen as. Carlisle is the most concerned of everyone. After my eyes ‘phased’ at Zena’s office, he hasn’t quite recovered. I don’t blame him.
The balcony doors are open as they always are after my receiving of a letter. Do the Sicarii come in through the window? The thought sends a shudder through me; the idea that someone has been here in my room makes me feel nauseous.
To even get into the compound, it must be a Warrior, which means someone here is a traitor. A person loyal to the Leto is hardly a person at all.
I slip off the bed and back onto my knees to scrape up the scraps of paper. I mentally scold myself for having torn it up. I should have saved it for evidence; to try and identify the hand writing. As I scoop up the last papery fragments, I get up and activate the control pad.
YOU ARE READING
90 days to live
Romance'My mother used to tell me that life is just a series of battles; it is up to us whether we are brave enough to fight them' Arriving back to Earth, Lara Hall has just completed her conditions. She finds millions of people desiring her attent...
