Letting out a long breath, the throbbing began to ease. Was I naïve enough to believe I could find a way out? For a fleeting moment, I wished Zeus had magicked me as well rather than let me battle with my thoughts.
“How are you feeling?” I asked Theo three hours later when we returned from training to the cantina.
He shrugged, placing his palms into his pockets as his shoulders turned straight. “I-I can’t complain. I’m at least better than Zachary or Hunter, right?” Theo tried to smile, but it faded before it could reach his face.
I swallowed, nodding. “And Arianna.”
Theo frowned. “Who?”
My fingers curled. I knew Theo couldn’t be blamed for not knowing each person who died, but Arianna’s passing struck amore profound chord than the rest. And not because I was there to witness it—because Arianna wasn’t remembered.
Perhaps in the ugly depths of my mind, I feared the same would happen to me. Who would mourn my death? My mother certainly couldn’t due to her mental state, and my father . . . well, it would be a blessing for him to get rid of the one person who stole his chance at happiness.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. If I came back home, and he did something to my mother—I didn’t want to finish that thought. I had experienced my mother’s death once—even if in my imagination—I wouldn’t be able to go through it again.
“Arianna died in the forest.” I chewed on my lip. “She died in my arms.”
Theo’s eyes rounded. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
We started walking as the cantina began to fill. I wasn’t hungry anymore, and I wasn’t sure if Theo felt the same, but we both agreed to pay a visit to Georgie since she and Yvonne had skipped training today. We would eat afterward.
It didn’t matter if he was going to forget Arianna’s name faster than lightning, but it felt good saying her name again and ultimately keeping the promise I made to myself. I’ll carry Arianna with me.
“Any news about Nicolas?”
We reached Georgie’s door, and I knocked three times, the sound of my fists against the wood holding a rhythm.
He shook his head. “He won’t come out of his room, and he hasn’t eaten or talked to anyone since . . .”
Zachary’s death.
Zachary’s door was right next to Georgie’s, and a shiver ran down my spine at the sight. No wonder Nicolas wouldn’t come out of his bedroom—he’d see signs of his brother’s absence everywhere: the cantina, the arena, his room.
The door before us opened, and I let out a breath. Yvonne stepped aside and let us squeeze in without another word, clicking the door shut behind us. My eyes squinted in the room’s darkness, only a few candles on the nightstand lighting the area next to Georgie’s bed. She was lying with a blanket tucked under her chin, her green eyes staring at the two of them.
“She’s got a fever,” Yvonne announced, crouching next to her girlfriend and placing a hand over her pale forehead.
I approached with slow steps, fishing out the cream container I had slipped inside my pants before coming here. “Hi.”
Georgie’s face was ashen, and her long eyelashes cast dark shadows on her cheeks as she blinked slowly. Her arm rested limply against the duvet, trembling with a twitch of her fingers. The movement was deliberate; each blink a weighty effort that seemed to drain her of what little color remained. Her usually vibrant lips were now pressed into a thin, pale line, and the stark white of the pillowcase seemed to emphasize the fragility of her form, as if even the softest touch could shatter her. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, tracing a glistening path that ran down to her ear.
With a nervous gulp, Georgie mustered a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “H-hi.”
My throat tightened. She must’ve been in so much pain. Eros had written that his gift was meant to stay hidden between us, and though I had initially agreed . . . screw it. He couldn’t ask me to witness others drown in agony while I secretly licked my wounds. I said before that I detested privileges, and I wouldn’t change my mind now.
How could I allow Georgie to suffer when I had the one thing that could make her feel better?
I softened. “Would you mind if I take a look at your scars?”
As the blonde shook her head, Yvonne gently peeled the soft blanket away. A nervous Theo cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed.
“If you need anything, I’ll be . . . outside,” was all he said before he stormed out of the room and offered us some privacy.
Under the covers, Georgie was only clad in her delicate lingerie. “She can’t stand the feelings of clothes on her body,” her girlfriend explained.
I nodded, took the lid off and looked Georgie in the eye. “This is going to make you feel better. May I?” The moment I touched her skin, Georgie hissed, the sound a sharp intake of breath that echoed in the dimly lit room.
I hated that I was the source of her pain and meticulously applied a thick, white ointment to her collection of angry wounds. Some of the marks were relatively superficial; mere scratches that crisscrossed her abdomen. They were self-inflicted by her own nails; in moments of agonizing torment, she had raked them across her skin, leaving thin red lines behind.
