“Miss Sapphire decide not to talk to Dad. Every time in this loop, Miss Sapphire chooses not to tell Dad.”
“You’re saying we’ve done this before in a fucked-up time paradox, and I usually don’t warn my dad? That this is the first?” Sapphire clarifies with hope sparkling on her beautiful face.
Dellilian hums in our minds.
“Warn him, baby. Consequences be damned.” I kiss her cheek, grazing my nose against hers and sighing. “Warn your father, and then we will go and save mine.”
Sapphire’s grin is wide and determined. The delight does something permanent to my heart. I am a starving man who has been deprived of seeing that smile in the dark, hellish hole I was sentenced to. And now that I am out, I know I will pretty much do anything to see that smile every day for the rest of my life.
She has me in chains, on my knees for her.
69. Dessin
Sapphire
My father isolates himself afterbathing in a creek not far from the war tents where my mother is sleeping.
The sun is hovering over the horizon of the mountains. And I wait in the shadows of a nearby cave, praying for God to give me the courage to confront him.
He sits on the bank of the creek with clean clothes and wet hair, elbows on knees and a brooding expression as he gets lost in the babbling brook. As his eyes dart off to the side, it reminds me of when I met Kane in the Demechnef mountain. The concentration it took as he’d listen to other alters in his head. I wonder how traumatizing this war was on his system. The chaos that must erupt behind his eyes.
It feels like a century of me standing in this cave going unnoticed. My foot hovers in front of me to finally take action. But I retract it, losing the nerve.
“You can either come out, or I can go in and hunt you down. Your choice.” His voice rolls through the cave, low and resonant, like thunder taking human form.
I hold my breath.
Oh shit.
He’ll remember seeing my face in the couple interactions I’ve had with him. Maybe not the time Kane and I spent together, but definitely the others.
My ribs are beaten internally by my thumping heart. The air in my lungs comes and goes in choppy, anxious gusts.
I step out from the shadows, staring into my father’s eyes and praying to God he believes what I am about to tell him.
It takes him a sliver of a single second to analyze my face and register where he’s seen me before. Those interactions resurface. His expression flashes darkly with a narrowing grimace, the light being swallowed by something cold and bloodthirsty.
I have no chance to run, to scream, to fight back as he lunges into my space, slamming me back into the cave wall and jamming his forearm into my throat. The pressure cuts off my airways, and I scramble to gasp.
“Three seconds. Once I let go, you have three fucking seconds to convince me not to cut your heart out.” It’s a growl more than a clear statement. A sound that belongs to old gods.
His forearm drops, and I wheeze, coughing and holding my hands to my throat as if that will help me return the oxygen back to my brain.
“Three,” he repeats.
“I am not who I said I was,” I spit out as quickly as possible.
My father crosses his arms and almost smiles at the stupidity that came from my mouth.
“Terrible job of convincing me.”
I hold a finger up because I am not done, and God help me not to fuck this up.
And. It. All. Spills. Out.
“I was born on February Fourteenth. A twin. My mother gave birth to my brother and I without our father present. I love tulips but hate the smell of any other flowers because they’ve always surrounded my father’s bedside. I dance in the rain during thunderstorms. My favorite color is indigo. On most days, I have a problem controlling my temper. I’ve been told I get that from my dad. When I was seven, no one showed up for my birthday party, and I cried for hours at the lagoon by my house so my mother wouldn’t see. I’m stubborn. I love animals. I’m strong. I’m resilient. And I am here because I cannot return home without healing my mother’s broken heart. Without healing mine too.”
He must be so confused as my eyes are thick and glossed over with tears. They teeter right on the edge of collapsing down my cheeks in a rainstorm of grief.
