“Let me help you.”
Her lips brush against mine softly.
I want to open my mouth to let her in, but before I can, she pulls away. I wouldn’t call it a kiss, but it does make me open my eyes. A kiss has never left me feeling so full and empty all at once. One touch of her lips shakes me out of all my nightmares and leaves me licking my lips.
Everything around us isn’t important anymore, my eyes looking deeply into her eyes and she smirks.
Only then do I realize what she did.
Offering me distraction.
I freeze again, realizing I am into the water. I look around flustered. Her hands grab my face again, her soft fingers cupping my cheeks. I melt into her touch, but my heart is still thundering, my sight still blurry. Her backpack is already on the other side.Only then I realize I am a tele. I could have just teleported us, but no.
I chose to face my biggest fear.
“Hey, look at me. I am here, you are safe. Let’s get out of here,” she comforts me. Her arm hooks around my waist. I glance to the side as we move forward slowly. The words tremble out of my mouth before I’ve even had a second to think.
“They used water on me.”
Her eyes focus on me, inviting me to speak further without pushing.
“They used water to torture me. They used it on me after—” I whimper, biting on my cheek, pressing my lips into a firm line as the memories crash in. The water starts to lower, and we are almost on the other side again. Her doe eyes look up at me, and I can’t look her in the eye. I throw my head back, taking a shuddery breath.
“They used it on me after I killed my eight-year-old opponent in a contest.”
I look at her to see her disgust, but all I see is a tear rolling over her cheek. “I stabbed him through the heart in fear for the torture, not meaning to actually hurt him, not a clue about what was coming for me.” The memories crash back in. “I killed a boy at only eight years old and got the title I deserved. I was being tortured with water after, drowned, I got exactly what I deserved.”
I did get what I deserved. It is why I never have fought back harder. I am a disappointment. I deserve all of this happening. I just want someone to be proud of me.
But I am not to be trusted.
“I am sorry,” she replies.
A spring breeze touches my bare skin.
“It wasn’t you who hurt me. I killed someone and they gave me what I deserved.” Her fingers brush the scar on my chest, like she is realizing why it is there.
A reminder for what I did.
“You didn’t deserve it, don’t say that,” she bites, trying to hide the pity.
I shrug my shoulders. I let the backpack fall on the ground and look back at the water I just crossed. Her hands grab mine.
“You did it.”
The corner of my mouth twitches.
“I did.”
I continue, “But with your help.” I press my lips forward in a kiss and she slaps me in a tease, laughing.
“No, Braxton,” she clarifies. “I am proud of you. I really am.” The last words are soft. I try to ignore the story I just told her, and she doesn’t ask about it again. Instead, I focus on the words she just said.
She is proud of me.
Proud.
A word I have been longing for so long.
