Rise [Bruno Mars]

Chapter fifty

Chapter fifty

"Weak."

The word was a deathly whisper.

A pinch twinged my skin when Joseph retracted the needle from my neck, the barrel now gleaming empty. He switched it out for a ball of cotton, pressing it to the area of injection and sweeping my hair over my shoulder until it met with Douglas' protective vest. I stayed still, only moving my lips, and even that was just barely so. "You use the backs of women to climb unto your pedestal"—I paused for a moment's breath—"and you are weak, Joseph Ala Cante."

He removed the cotton wad. It flashed red, spotted with blood. He then seized my chin, lifting it. A void existed in his gaze. "You are the ones," he murmured, "who bend for me." He pressed a long kiss to the top of my hair, then withdrew. I watched him leave, cloak a billowing shadow behind him, the top of my hair burning. He paused in the entryway of the door set adjacent to the dais. "Guards," he said, before disappearing down the hall.

I was released from Douglas' grip, only to crumple over on my knees.

Arriving to the room was negotiable. I must have been carried, aided somehow. My legs were weak, and again, they buckled underneath the weight of a leaden heart and I sank to the bed, gasping for breath. I could not stop crying no matter how hard I tried. Not only was the air ripped from me; it carried with it a life of self-validation and love and value. No longer could I hold my future and mold it with tentative fingers and for that I began to sob, the pain and anger a merciless creature of a thing. It drained me. Soon, the tears dulled, and I was left with a bottomless vacancy.

Bruno never once told me not to cry. Never swiped the pads of his thumbs across glistening cheeks. And I could not have been more thankful. He sat on the corner of the mattress, bent over with his hands laced in his hair. I croaked out his name, pushing up using my elbows. He responded by slowly straightening, and I profoundly wished Grim had never become a part of him, because evidently, it was tearing him limb by limb.

"You have to go home. We have to get you out of here. I know I said I would come with you but"—my eyes welled up—"before it's too late. . ."

He stood and walked my way, lowering beside me. "California is my home."

I felt my forehead scrunch up. This was information the whole world knew.

"But I was born in Hawaii." He paused. His throat moved sharply. Then he peeled my fingers from my knees. "You can have more than one home, Dri. One of mine is with you."

"Don't," I rasped.

"Give up on you?" His head shook. "I won't."

"You don't understand." My voice cracked as I nearly whined. I was about to pull my hands away, but they felt purposeful there wrapped in his. I let them stay. "You aren't supposed to. . . the sun, and your family, music. . ." I started to shake. "I've failed everything else. . ."

Bruno looked moved, but he also looked final.

And the finality of his actions definitely showed.

He pulled me against him. How soft and exhausted I was. Almost a sigh. "I realize all I've fucking talked about is home, but never realized how that would affect you." Some of his words broke, the rest running slow and smooth, gilded. "Things change, Adrian."