Awake (Book 3)

Seven

The world stopped spinning.

            I swear it did.

            My stuttering mind registered him in fractured levels. He was bigger, harder; gruffer. The stubble on his face potentially relayed to me the length of his imprisonment in this place, which angered me.

            And he was bleeding. Everywhere. Bruised and bleeding.

            And I saw red.

            The shock on his face was undefinable. An endless vortex of emotions sucking him dry, leaving nothing but numb rationality that he couldn’t justify. Because I was supposed to be dead. I had a grave and everything. I’d been away for six months.

            I was supposed to be dead.

            “Ellie?” he whispered, or maybe tried to, because his mouth formed the words but no sound escaped. And, God, all I wanted to do was bury my nose in the safety and familiarity of him. To submerge in his warmth until the horror of the last six months crumbled away.

            Judging by the look on his face, I wasn’t sure how he would welcome me, and to be honest with myself, did I deserve his forgiveness?

            Probably not.

            But like the selfish jerk I was, I hoped for it. That wasn’t unusual, though. Every night I hoped for a thousand things that would never come true. Another funny characteristic of being human; the infinite capacity to hope and dream and believe even when all the odds were stacked against you.

            Amazing, really.

            “Holy shit!”

            The booming curse broke me from my reverie, drawing my attention down the corridor from which I came. The man standing with the gun in his hand looked like he’d seen a ghost. I supposed he had.

            “I thought she was dead!” he spoke again, this time to a woman that skidded to a stop beside him, an equally dumbstruck expression lining her face.

            And that was how I crashed my way back into the world.

            Awkward, clumsy, and stupid.

            Sounded just about right, too.

            A nice crowd of Prophets had gathered in the hall, all gawping at me with varying degrees of disbelief. They stood there with their guns and their knives and their tattoos, armed to the teeth in more ways than one, driven speechless by my simple appearance.

            “Hiya,” I greeted, sparing a tiny wave, not exactly sure what I was supposed to do. Looking at August sure as hell wasn’t an option; not with the deadened look in his eyes. My stomach wasn’t up for that.

            So, murderous Prophets it was.

            And, boy, when they all charged me, it was like some sort of divine purpose ignited their hearts. I’d never seen people run so fast.

            “Go,” I said to August. “I can handle this.”

            He nodded, still numb, and hobbled off. I didn’t see his car anywhere near the headquarters so I wasn’t sure where he parked it, but that was an issue for another time. Right now, the Prophets.