Page 150 of Queen of Nothing

It’s worse.

It’s so much worse.

My body doubles over and a wretched, coarse heave surges through me.

Hands grab at me, tackle me by the shoulders, then a chest is pressed against my back.

It’s all so distant and unusual, like I know it’s Oliver pulling me into his arms, his murmured words echoing through the room, but that I’m also drifting away—out of my body, through the broken windows patched up with wood, and off into the skies…

My brother holds me.

My brother by blood.

By magic. My magic.

My own parents drained it out of me—a violation, a theft that I can’t even begin to comprehend.

I think I’m screaming. Or crying.

My mouth is open, and I feel my throat thrumming with a sound, but I don’t hear it.

I just start to sink down to the floor.

Oliver comes down with me, his arms wrapped around me, and he mutters excuses into my hair.

Father crouches in front of me.

The sincere panic is written all over his face—and I want to claw it off with my fucking nails.

I’m definitely screaming now. Right in his face, like a feral animal.

Then a blur shifts around me, Mr Younge with a phial. Hands are grabbing at my face, prying my mouth apart, then I feel it, the cold pour of bitterness down my throat.

They drug me.

Again, they take from me. Steal.

The life I have lived…

The power I should have had.

Oliver has everything that is mine.

It’s the thought that clings to my mind as my body starts to sag in Oliver’s arms.

Murmurs brush all around me.

I don’t understand a word of what’s being said.

The ceiling lurches closer. Arms are scooped under me, and I’m lifted off the floor.

I dangle, staring at the trim of the ceiling, the chandelier that glistens.

I’m limp in Oliver’s arms all the way to the bed, where he sets me down gently.

22

Father sits in the armchair.