Charlotte, Beckett, Swanmere lives as her father's untrimmed hedge.
Merlot Rainbaum searches for a miracle cure to heal her mother, who is none other than the Queen of the Mermaids.
Railey Ferntoss, renown across the Western Sector as the Dragon Mas...
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"Beckett," Niall said, his voice deepening, his chin tilting down, "answer me. Have you stopped taking your meds?"
"Of course I have!" Finally, I flung him away. Nearly tripping over those damn nails sticking out of the floor, I settled near the window, an appropriate amount of distance between us. I'd just cornered myself, but what did that even matter?
What did it all blazing matter?
"Why?" Niall tilted his head as if scrutinizing something ugly. A bug. A peasant. A murdering psychopath. His blond hair tipped again into his face, shadowing his eyes. It wasn't short, but it also wasn't long. There was just enough to be taken by the wind, just enough for the front strands to rest at his cheeks if loosened from the up-sweep hairstyle on top of his head.
He looked like an utter cad, and that was being nice.
"I can't even control my instincts anymore!" Like a broken faucet, I found once the damage had been done, I could no longer hold it in. "It hurts! Hurts! You're the one who should be on meds if you're putting your hands on people who ask you a simple question. Let's see how you like not being able to control your hearing or your eyesight."
Niall humphed, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. His buttoned shirt was rolled up to his elbows, showing his burdensome arm muscles for all the world to see. The threat was in his existence, anyway. "You didn't ask a question, just started demanding things. You're the one who starts it, then you play the victim when your temper gets you into trouble. Maybe I'm sick of dealing with all your nonsense."
"Maybe I'm sick of being treated like a vile Elvaniac!" I sighed, loudly, the breath hot as it puffed out of me. "Maybe I'm sick of all this fake yewing garbage that everyone tries to convince me isn't garbage!"
Niall crossed the room, effortlessly moving around the nails sticking out of the ground, never once taking his eyes off of me. He stood on the other corner of the window's two-paned glass. "You're the one who needs to face reality. It's not healthy to be so disgusted with everything around you that you start losing your pride as a Swanmere. In the past couple of years, the only thing that's changed is there have been fewer incidents of your temper tantrums in public. But you haven't changed at all. Tell me, Beckett, why did you come back here?"
The tears hadn't abated with the fading of my anger. Now, an emotion much worse than anger tore at my heart. It felt bruised, felt like something was clinging to it and slowly sucking the life from it. Each heartbeat skittered, and I feared I was at risk of losing control over my senses again.
I really can't stand this. It was because of the pills. I know it was. When will the aftereffects fade? It's been months since I've stopped taking those blazing capsules.
