Chapter 38 | I Just Can't

66 5 0

Elena's P.O.V.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years.

Time felt like an illusion in this turmoil of coldness, pain, and strain. Mostly I'm exposed to ache and yearning, something that makes the longings of my friend even heavier.

There was nothing more I wished for than to be with Hazel, to see her, to be around her, to talk to her. I missed her so badly, and I yearned for her presence.

She knew how to make me feel strong and in control of chaotic situations, and if she couldn't, she always had her ways to guarantee me some safety.

But if there was one thing that Hazel never failed to accomplish, it was to ensure me warmth and love.

Despite the pleasant presence of the Musketeers that I had befriended, I still missed my dear friend so painfully. I yearned to be with her, to listen to her comforting words and to just. . . have her around.

I could only imagine the thousands of missed calls and text messages from her, the worry she must be feeling. God, she's going to kill me.

Unless he does it first.

"So, what's it gonna be?" Captain Claes asked, crouching down to my level as I was splattered on the ground, still trying to recover from the second round this day. "It will be much easier for ye if ye just write that damn letter."

My throbbing head bruised my mind, making everything go around in a foggy circle. Every movement hurt, even essential actions like breathing was painful.

The silence made him angrier, which made me inwardly flinch as I was waiting for the next attack.

"Enough, Claes," Athos' French accent rang in the air, his words thick and sharp. "You will kill her if you continue this madness."

"Perhaps I should," he mumbled angrily, his glare piercing my back like a knife. "Is it really worth it, sweetheart? One way or another, the rat's gonna die. Why not just give up and start on that letter, aye?"

My hair was a sea of knots and tangles that was dyed with blood, but most of all, it was a curtain that shielded me from the world. Although I did not see the pirate's face, I could feel how his cold gaze challenged me to contradict him.

Tranquility was my answer, whether I wanted it or not, it was the only reply I had in hands. My voice and strength to talk were as bruised as my head and stomach: it needed time to recover.

"I'll let ye sleep on it, but I wish to hear yer answer first thing first in the morning," he then walked out of my cell, leaving me to my chains and turmoil of ache. "And, Doll, choose wisely. I'm getting tired of hurting my knuckles."

Finally, he left with the tension following him, resulting in the atmosphere turning light and easy.

"Éliane, are you breathing?" Aramis' voice echoed, his question luminous in comparison to the dark, heavy air. "Do you want some cherries?"

If there is one thing that I have learned about Aramis, it's that he loves - and I mean loves - cherries. It's almost unhealthy.

"Aramis, this is serious," I could hear D'Artagnan's voice from the other side of the room, his French accent similar to the rest of the Musketeers.

I gave a pained laugh, wincing as I answered his first question, "Yeah, I think so." It was a nightmare to sit up. After mobilizing all the energy and consciousness I could find, the attempt succeeded - despite the shackles' endeavor to make me fail. "Damn, do I hate these chains."

A Time Traveling FairytaleRead this story for FREE!