We Who Are Jaded

Chapter Thirty One

"There is no logic to your very existence Nate, if you think about it. What you are is practically fairytale so why shouldn't anything else be?" 

Where was all of this logic and understanding of the situation before? 

Buried away beneath your self indulgent simpering, that's where Evans. 

"We're not talking about me and what I am. We're talking about that complete asshole, Kieran!" Nate pushed himself off the swing and paced. Unsettled, he kicked up bark and muttered to himself.

"If that's your opinion of Kieran then he and Anya are made for each other and this whole discussion is pointless." I was amazed at my sudden conviction. But perhaps it was becausea Nate was in front of me, the evidence that I had bigger things to worry about.

"She isn't you, Christine. Having you balanced Kieran and it made him a better person. She...she is a disease that's slowly going to eat at Kieran until he's as black as my master. It takes someone who's witnessed such things to know." Nate was suddenly at my face. His hands clenched the chains above mine, gripping them so tightly I wondered if they'd break under the strain.

Having Nate right in front of me – so close – brought home the true extent of his wounds. They were red raw at the edges, grooves I could run two fingers down. One fell directly across his eye whereas the other ran and halted in the crook of his nose. I found my hand slowly creeping towards the lines. When I realised just how out of order I was being I froze.

"I don't mind. Touch them," Nate whimpered, gently taking my wrist and touching my fingers to his face. My middle finger and index traced the two hollows.

"My fingers are burning." It would have made more sense to move them away but there was a curious feeling urging me not to. I shut my eyes and memorised the scars that now mapped Nate's face, my scars as much as his. 

"My master's blood is the reason these wounds are never going to heal. Kieran embraces the cold and Red embodies the fires of hell. Ever wondered why I was warmer than most people?"

"Yes," I whispered, my eyes opening to meet Nate's dark gaze. He peered at me, biting his lip as he searched for something in my face. 

"I'm going to influence you for a second, control your emotions. I need you to trust me."

"Why? What will it do?" I questioned. 

"Tell me everything I need to know." 

Looking into those dark blue eyes and striking red scars how could I do anything but nod and let myself go. 

It was confusing to feel so many emotions in so little time. Nate was overwhelming me me with all the emotions I was supposed to be feeling; bitterness, hatred, sadness, loneliness and malice. They were the emotions I had so quickly banished now impressed upon me, magnified by a hundred and then some. I wasn't giving them the pleasure of winning not after so long of fighting them. 

This fight was familiar, I had fought it before but when. How? 

Then there was another emotion, more familiar, more powerful.

"No Nate, stop it!" Panic filled me, alarm bells started ringing. "Stop Nate, please stop it!" I gripped his arms, gulping in deeply. Nate watched. I struggled with horror. My heart pumped with a life threatening pace. I tried not to cry. I bit my lip. I could taste blood on my tongue. Where was the knife, the noose, the bullet? 

The bridge? 

Jump Christine, jump for me. 

"Stop it!"