“So, if you’re technically immortal, do you ever get sick? What happens if someone tries to hurt you?”
“I don’t get sick,” he answers, “and I’m not sure what the limitations are for physical injuries, though I’d prefer not to find out. My artifact—the necklace—serves as a protective item, but I have never been seriously hurt enough to know if it would protect me from something like, say, a gunshot. Cuts and such heal exceedingly quickly, though.”
Thunder booms outside, rattling the windows, and I glance out the large picture window just in time to see lightning crack against the purple-gray thunderclouds, illuminating the landscape for a fraction of a second with its jagged white light.
Raindrops hurl against the windows, and I simply stare at the awe-inspiring sight of the heavy storm surging over the land. There’s nothing more captivating and formidable than a late summer thunderstorm in the south.
“Do you have any other questions?” Ambrose asks.
“I don’t think so.” I do, but they’ve all managed to leave my thoughts. I’ll be stuck here with him for many more days, though, so I’m sure I’ll have more time to pester him with my curiosity.
“Well, in that case, I’m going to start making dinner. I hope our conversation was enlightening.” He flashes a sardonic smile in my direction, but there’s a sincerity to the smile that he tries to hide.
He wasn’t as insufferable as usual, I think, then immediately correct myself by reasoning that I’m probably suffering from some Stockholm Syndrome bullshit.
As I head up to my bedroom to change into drier clothes, my head spins with newfound information that I have no idea what to do with.
However, it is fascinating to have some sort of confirmation of the fact that a deity exists, even if the idea that God—or something God-adjacent—exists is enough to throw me into an existential crisis.
Just one more thing to come to terms with in the chaos that my life has become.
CHAPTER 17
AMBROSE
September
Brielle’s curiosity has begun to overshadow her hatred for me, and it’s more of a relief than I care to admit. She’s still hesitant, constantly assessing my words and actions, but she’s begun to open up ever so slightly. I’m not delusional enough to presume that she feels fondly toward me, but her willingness to ask me questions is a good sign.
It seems as if we’ve reached a sort of truce. She’s still frequently frustrated with me and with the situation she’s trapped in, which only causes the guilt to grip me harder, but it’s a tradeoff I’m willing to take.
I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed having the company of another person, particularly one as intriguing as Brielle.
She still struggles with her mental health and the lingering effects from the abuse, though she attempts to hide her pain, as if her being broken is by some fault of her own rather than a failure of those who were supposed to love andprotect her.
But in the process of beginning to fulfill our bargain, she also seems to be regaining a sense of self she lost long ago. She’s finding strength in taking back the power that was stolen from her. I had hoped, deep down, that this is exactly what would happen when I had concocted this bargain.
Where she would once hide and make herself small, she is now gaining the courage to take up space and make decisions on her own behalf, to snap back at my agitating comments instead of cowering in silence. I’ll admit that I frequently push her to frustration only to see that fire light in her.
Maybe I should be concerned by the fact that murdering a man in cold blood seems to have empowered her, but that would make me a hypocrite when I’ve felt that same sense of justice and empowerment after killing men for much less.
I shouldn’t allow myself to get close to her. In fact, I actively attempt to keep her irritated with me, because I know all too well the consequences of caring for someone like her. However, I got myself into this predicament, and as the days pass, I’m finding it more and more difficult to resist her. Every day, she surprises me.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve been surprised, yet here I am, waking up every morning wondering what the day has in store. I had almost forgotten what joy spontaneity brings.
I didn’t notice how complacent I’d gotten until I found her.
She frequently gets lost in thought or disappears to her room for long periods of time, but she’s slowly opening up. She’s become more intentional with her actions, more curious about what she can do with the power she’s been given. It’s like she’s been so subdued for so long that she’s just now discovering who she could be rather than who she’s been told to be.
It’s a beautiful thing to witness.
CHAPTER 18
Ifind myself drifting into the living room after dinner, drawn in by the soft glow of the TV and, oddly enough, Ambrose's presence. He's sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, flipping through channels. With it being one of the first cool nights as summer gives way to fall, he has lit a fire in the fireplace, and it casts the room in a soft, orange glow.
“Mind if I join?” I ask, hovering in the doorway.
“Not at all.”
