It’s not a question, but I’m confused by that practice, why would someone be branded first, before the other ‘trials’.
“You’re gifted your Pairing mark first because they expect a worthy member to never fail their Pair-”
“What if I did,” I interrupt, nerves making my pulse fly, “fail?” I look up at him, my gaze leaving my feet, “What if I fail you?”
“You won’t-”
“But what if I did? What if I do? What if I can’t pass the next thing? What if I-”
“Penelope,” Billy speaks my name coldly, stalking towards me, crossing the too-large room with such fluid predatory grace it unnerves me.
I think of the sex, of the spiders, their legs making me itch as they crept across my naked flesh.
My mind takes me back further, to the woods, shovel in hand, one in Dolly’s, her smile not quiteright.
‘They hurt me, too, Penelope.’
I think of the trial. The eyes, all of them watching me, all of them hidden from me, in their hooded cloaks, the shadows hiding their faces, the flickering candlelight not enough for me to properly see.
Billy’s hands come to my knees, him on his own before me where I’m on the edge of the bed, my hands shaking in my lap. His eyes are calm, his touch warm as he looks up at me.
“You will never fail me,” he says confidently, like he really, truly believes it. “You are my Pair, Little Lamb, and nothing,” he emphasises, “is going to break that.” His hand lifts to my face, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger, not unkindly but too tight to be nice, “Not even you.”
It startles me awake, a thud.
And I’m grateful.
The sound wrenches me from my nightmare, a priest’s exorcism torn from gritted teeth, jagged and sharp.
Sweat drenches me like rain upon the condemned, cleansing nothing, revealing everything. My nightmare such a vast combination of things, but in the end, after all the running, it all comes down to one singular thing that’s tearing me up inside.
Catching up to me.
Guilt.
I don’t need to turn my head to know he’s not there, his side of the bed empty, pillow dented.
I can feel when Billy Blackwell is present, like a divine being, his aura too big, too loud, not to notice it. He demands attention, even if he doesn’t want it, eyes are always drawn in his direction.
Or they were.
When I really, truly knew him.
I’m not sure who he is now.
Equally, I’m not sure who I am.
Who we are together.
Demons.
Devils.
Monsters.
Gods.
He seems to bring out the worst in me; feelings I haven’t had time to process shaking me up inside.
