"She felt so old, so awfully old and worn, and so young all at once, raw as a wound"- Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless
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I woke up in a leisurely, comfortable haze, and was shocked by my demeanor. My stomach was tingling and felt...fuzzy. Not the bad kind, when I felt the urge to cry from anxiety, but the good kind, like when I would give up all my magic and felt that euphoric nothingness for a few moments. That fuzziness was tingling all around me, through my arms, up my chest and into my diaphragm, rattling my teeth and making me want to rise, to shift, to move.
The usual heaviness of my limbs and weight pressing down on my chest was gone. Instead, I felt rejuvenated, like an old woman reborn into the body of a child. I felt like a youthful child. That was what was wrong with me. I felt energized. Like a very young, very energized, very alive child.
The feeling made me want to cry for some reason. I was overwhelmed. I knew that the body had that reaction—crying—when it was overwhelmed with a certain emotion, whether it be happiness or sadness. I was neither, simply overwhelmed in general with all this energy. I was overwhelmed with the feeling of being alive. It felt strange, buzzing through the tips of my cold fingers. For once, I realized I didn't mind the cold. It felt like a pleasant shock in my limbs, like a fresh cup of water trickling down your parched throat, after a long, dry night of sleep.
After a moment of deep contemplation, I realized that the energized feeling was not rattling my teeth but my lips, making them want to do something—to rid off all the extra energy I had. My facial muscles were eager to do something. And I let them, giving them full freedom to do what they pleased, seeing that I myself was in no state myself to understand what was going. I realized, with a startle, that I was doing something very, very strange; I was smiling.
The desire I had to strain my facial muscles, was actually my desire to smile. My brows furrowed at the notion, which did nothing but further bring me...not joy...but satisfaction. What the actual Hell was going on? I was not miserable. Instead I was tingling and jolty and giddy, like a fresh spring doe. What happened to me?
Would I start skipping around the halls besides stomping? Start saying good morning to people? Smile? Dear Gods I was becoming Paris. What had this moron done to me? How dare he contaminate me with his putrid happiness? My head ached, but it didn't ruin my mood. I was jolted with the shocking realization that a small inconvenience didn't manage to ruin my entire day. What the Hell did Paris do?
My heart began beating rapidly as I was affronted by the searing light around me, assaulting my closed lids with an aggressive red tint. And then I remembered that there wasn't supposed to be light in my room; it weakened the wards that kept Beastly in place. Which meant my curtains weren't closed. It was bright in my room, like it used to be back at home. It was never supposed to be bright in this room. I never went to sleep without closing my curtains.
My stomach sunk, a cool dread washing over me. My asthmatic breathing increased in speed as I tried to keep myself from hyperventilating. Someone was in my room. They didn't close the curtains to my bed. Someone was in my room. I tried to reach for the dagger that I kept between my mattress and headboard, but found myself physically unable to do so. I was physically unable to move. Someone was on top of me. In my bed. Someone was on top of me. In my bed. Oh Gods. I couldn't help the panic that clawed at my throat, prickling my eyes with tears. Someone was on top of me.
I never slept with people in bed. Never. Which means they placed me here when I was unconscious. I was unconscious. I was unconscious, beyond the state of sleeping. I was unconscious, completely unaware of what was going on around me or what was being done to me. Someone sedated me. Someone sedated me and made me unconscious. Oh my Gods.
My chest constricted as I breathed frantically, my rib cage keeping my flailing lungs from fully expanding. I was too afraid to open my eyes. I was too afraid to see the reality of my situation. Instead, I felt around for my shadows, and their reassuring hum was the only thing that kept me from a full blown panic attack. My shadows were with me. They were here. I had my shadows. They became more clear, as the grogginess of sleep faded from my head.
'They wouldn't let anything happen to me. They wouldn't. They would keep me safe' I reassured myself, attempting to calm down. My shadows fizzled in agreement, attempting to reassure me. Why weren't they talking?
"Because Paris is here" they whispered to me, and I finally managed to snap out of my paralyzed stupor. Motivated by shock, I found myself able to open my eyes, less terrified of what I would find in my bed now that I knew it was Paris. He reduced a degree of horror in the possible outcomes. My insides were still being contorted by sickness, but I knew It couldn't be that bad if Paris was here. He was Paris. He was Paris.
I opened my eyes to the searing light around me. A spell of dizziness hit my head as I lifted it up, observing my canopy. It was my bed, with my artificial stars enchanted into the inky material of my canopy curtains above. But there were no stars, their glowing light dimmed from the sunshine streaming into my room. Paris' golden head of curls was resting on my chest, his arms wrapped around my waist tightly. I lifted my head up, looking down at him, unsure on what to do. He was just laying there, under my weighted blanket but not under my bed sheets. That's why I couldn't move. He was laying on top of my blanket and keeping me restrained.
I groaned, collapsing back into my pillow. Relief flooded my system, a sickening cool washing out the suffocating heat in my body. For the love of the everseeing, Paris. Must he always scare me? I never get a single second a peace around this boy. I inhaled deeply, a shuddering breath filling my chest. Crisp air circulated through my system, making me feel a slight bit better. And then I caught sight of my room. Clothes were hanging from my closet and armoire drawers. My trunk lid was wide open. The door to my bathroom was askew. He was wearing my skin care headband, the bow pushing back his hair and revealing his attractive forehead. He should slick his hair back more often, besides having his flop of curls cover them up.
I was jerked with the realization that I was admiring his forehead. Why the hell was I thinking about his hair, besides the fact that he trashed my room and he was WEARING MY CLOTHES? What the hell did he do to me? And then I noticed what I was wearing. I was wearing a t-shirt, my corset long gone. My underwear was still on, but it did nothing to relieve me of my anxiety.
Paris roused, and I completely froze. I listened as his rhythmic breathing became intermittent, informing that he was waking up. Paris mumbled incomprehensible words, his grip around my waist tightening. My skin felt hot around the contact. My shirt had risen up my thighs, revealing my underwear. I was thankful that my duvet covered me up to my chest. Paris must have arranged it like that.
Paris yawned, nuzzling his head against my chest, where his head was laying. I watched as his eyes blinked open, a misty sheen glazing his eyes as he came into awareness, the dreamworld's hold on him slipping away. The sunlight streaming through the room made his blonde eyelashes shine gold. They were ridiculously long and curled, as they fluttered open. He glanced up at me, blinking as if not believing the sight.
"Good morning, Eulalia" Paris told me, a wide smiling breaking out on his sleep-ridden face. His dimples made an appearance on his tan skin. He planted a kiss onto my upper arm, before dropping his head back down onto me and rearranging his grip.
"Paris" I said slowly, "Why are you in my bed?" My voice was scratchy and rough, from a full night of sleep. Paris' eyes widened. He observed our situation in a new found light: his arms around my waist, his head on chest, him in my bloody bed. He shot upright, his bed-head curls flying in all directions.
"I—I fell asleep" He said in a confused state. He examined himself, with my cotton halter top on. He scrambled to take it off, as if I hadn't seen him wearing it on already. He quickly put it down on my bed. I didn't let my eyes stray to his chiseled torso, his abs ridiculously defined. My stomach felt tingly at the sight. My chin did too, for some reason.
"I can see that" I said in a low tone, closing my eyes against the wave of dizziness that hit me. I must have drank a lot last night, yet did not feel as sick as I should.
"Paris—" I said slowly, my voice breaking, "Paris, what happened last night? We didn't—not here— not in my bed. We didn't in my bed—" I tried to reassure myself frantically, pressing my hands to my temples. Not in my bed.
"No—we didn't! Not in your bed! I promise, I just fell asleep here!" He said, his hands outstretched as he frantically tried to prove his innocence. The night came to me in splotches and broken memories, and everything that I remembered came with a bitter taste of nausea. Remembering them made me want to kill myself, as I cringed at the memories.
I wanted to kill drunk me. She said too much. She said things I would have never dared to utter aloud while sober. Things about being scared. Things about being weak. The thought made me sick and embarrassed. I wanted to cry. Why would I say all that? I had no business revealing those things about myself. I was jeopardizing my own safety, yet again. Knowledge was power, and I had just unwittingly given him the key.
Paris knew too much. I had spent all this time trying to prevent that, and yet, he still managed to understand things. He managed to piece things together. He managed to piece me together. I didn't want that. I didn't want him to know. He had no business knowing me. He wasn't supposed to. I didn't need him figuring out things—learning things—about me that he had no business knowing.
I opened my eyes, finding Paris observing me curiously. I wanted to scream at him. Shout at him. Force him to stop looking at me. It would be the right thing to do—to justify last nights words as being the effect Lupercicallus. Or maybe the effect of alcohol. I wasn't sober. I had every right to claim that I didn't know what I was saying. That I wasn't in the right state of mind to make any decisions. That it meant nothing. I could, and it would work.
But I didn't have the energy to start a fight. I didn't have the energy to use my silver tipped tongue and make him flinch back from my words. To use my phantom claws to rip out chunks of his resolution and then slash his weakened confidence to ribbons. My head hurt too much to think about this.
I quickly dragged my hands down my face, realizing that I probably looked horrendous. My mouth was clean, surprisingly, remembering blotched memories of throwing up. I didn't remember anything past that, whether or not I cleaned myself up or how I even got out from the catacombs.
"Paris. Did I sleep with you?" I asked him again slowly, trying to fill in the blanks after I threw up. I said things. I confessed things. We made out. I had blacked out, and my lack of knowledge on what happened was frightening. The fact that I was clueless and completely reliant on him to tell me what happened, made me want to cry and claw lines down my face, pressing my nails so deep into my skin that I would bleed. Instead, I aggressively pressed my palms to my eye sockets. The pain was relieving, waking me up and making me alert.
"No. We didn't sleep with each other" Paris told me with a heavy swallow. I looked down at myself.
"I don't have clothes on" I pointed out, questioning his take. I didn't want to think he was lying, but the uncertainty made me want to cry, pressure building behind my eyes and mouth. I couldn't just believe him wholeheartedly. I wanted to. But he was a boy. He was a male. I pursed my lips, biting down on my bottom lip harshly. How could I put myself into this position? Where I was dependent on him— on his good will.
"You didn't have clothes on at the start of the night either" He pointed out snarkily. I pulled my hands down from my face, looking at him with a disappointed expression. I tilted my head towards him, my head and shoulders sagging in, as if asking him, 'really?'. Was this really the time for attitude? I was barely keeping calm as it was.
Upon seeing my distraught expression, Paris' face instantly softened, "You threw up what suspiciously looked like blood and reeked of fruity alcohol. I cleaned you off and put a new t-shirt on you. That's it. I promise. You can have the twins read my memories if you want" He said earnestly. I inhaled shakily, before exhaling a relieved breath.
"You promise?" I asked him in a small voice, staring at my hands on my grey duvet. I would have the twins read his mind anyways, without him knowing, but I needed to know if he was being honest. If he was bluffing, thinking I would take his word for what it was, and trying to trick me.
"I promise. I just tucked you into bed" He said softly, grabbing my hand and giving me a comforting squeeze. My hand laid limp in his, unsure on what to do with his gesture of affection. He didn't let go, despite me making no moves to intertwine my fingers into his. I glanced up at him, and was partially relieved at the devoted honesty in his expression. It made my heart swell, attempting to fly out of my chest. The overwhelming urge to kiss him came over me, his honesty making me more comforted than I would ever admit.
"Okay" I said with a wavering voice, before looking around the dorm, "You got into my room" I pointed out. He shrugged at me as if not having an answer to it himself.
"I was going to ask you that myself. I got past your wards. I don't know how, but I did. Several of them, actually" He said. I stiffened, but he made no further moves to continue the path of conversation. I was thankful, realizing he didn't understand the full extent of it. I reached down to the floor, using it as an excuse to take my hand away from Paris' grip.
I reached into my ripped corset top, the upper ribbons slashed apart. The bottom ones near my waist were still intact, though the nots and bows were carefully undone by someone. The thought that Paris took the time to undo them, with his awkward, thick fingers, besides just dumping me in here and forcing me to sleep in the uncomfortable contraption, made my chest feel tight. I reached into the cup of the corset, prodding my slender fingers into the interior pocket where the padding was. I pulled out a small blade from it, one I had slipped in incase my dagger became indisposed. I dug further, and found the enchanted ring I had Cera work on with my order.
I pulled it out from the padding pocket, the silver and onyx ring looking nothing particularly special in daylight. An 'EFPA' was carved into the interior band, under the flat gemstone. Cera had carved it in for runic reasons, the sigil infused with my magical blood. The letters themselves were written in a runic spellbinding language that belonged to me. The language was initially created to keep prying eyes out of my diary, but I eventually evolved them into magical symbols. It was beneficial to have a magical subcategory that nobody could identify, nor trace to me, considering my preferred, illegal practices.
I silently handed the ring to him, dropping the cool metal into his hand. He jolted upon contact. His eyes snapping open. Goosebumps painted his tan skin as he shivered, the blond hair on his arm standing upright.
"I had this made for you" I began, "It was supposed to help you with my shadow travel. You kept getting sick during fights and critical moments when I would shadow jump with you. I thought it would make us more efficient, if you could travel with me with no complications, besides me having to dump you in various places, especially after you got magical fever. The ring gives you a piece of my magical signature to cary with you. That's why you got past my wards" I said. I glanced up at Paris, and found him watching me with a strange look on his face. The intensity of his gaze made my lips tug down into a frown as I subconsciously recoiled, shifting so I could scoot away slightly.
"Uhm-" I cleared my throat, attempting to add an element of humor to our situation, "and so Sir Beastly wouldn't eat you alive, of course. It'll make him able to bear you a bit better"
"Thank you, Eulalia" He said earnestly, after a long silence, and my brows furrowed into a scowl. He was making this out to be far more serious than it was.
"I did It so you would stop being such an inconvenience during missions. It hardly means anything" I clarified at him crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to look over in his direction. Paris, as if sensing my discomfort, quickly changed the conversation.
"Why do you have wards on your bed?" He asked me. I instantly stiffened, my body freezing in place as my hackles rose defensively. I spoke to quickly, it seemed. He did understand the full extent of my wards in my room. I didn't expect his oblivious self to be able to sense them.
"To keep men out, but obviously that didn't stop you" I remarked dryly, observing my nails. I had placed the ward the night he got magical fever, scared that he would try to crawl into my bed in the middle of the night and try to snuggle, or give me a good morning hug, or something equally outrageous and true to his nature. Paris was dead silent, and I quickly glanced up. His face had leeched of all color, looking absolutely horrified at the statement. It was a bit humorous, really, the way he never thought about anything unless in retrospect. I rested my elbow on the arm that was wrapped around my waist, as I pressed my slender fingers to my mouth in a bemused manner.
The action was a millisecond too late to stop me from snorting aloud. I pressed down harder, attempting to clamp my lips. I couldn't help it, my lips curved down from the effort of trying not to smile. Paris continued to look horrified, which only made me more amused. His concern was a tad bit funny. I knew my reaction was partially due to the magic he infused in me, putting me in a far better mood than I would usually be. It was a miracle I hadn't had a meltdown yet.
I gave him a pursed-lipped smile, my tone still teasing, "It's fine, Paris. It was a joke. An ill attempt at humor"
Paris didn't share my humor. He looked at me sharply.
"I am so sorry for invading in your personal space" He apologized seriously, "I thought- I thought it was to keep Beastly out, not...other..." He cringed, not finishing the thought, "I didn't think about it like that. I'm a guy and we don't have to usually worry about these sorts of things. I didn't think it was for your own safety. And I invaded it. I'm so sorry"
My smile turned sour, "I don't want to talk about this with you", I snapped at him. He took everything so seriously. I turned to get up from bed, Paris' shirt falling down past my thighs and hanging off my figure. I loved baggy shirts. And then I froze, turning back around at Paris, glancing down at the blue garment that hung on my figure. This was Paris' shirt. I stole it from him one day, when snooping through his belongings for the millionth time. He noticed my wide eyes, and his eyebrows trailed down my figure.
"That's what you're worried about?" He asked me in disbelief, "I already know you stole it. I'm the one who put you in it"
A gave him a weak, guilty smile, reaching for my ribbed halter-top on my bed. I swear, if Paris stretched out the material— I would kill him. I lifted up Paris' shirt, attempting to put on my own top, before Paris emitted a garbled shout.
"Stop!" He exclaimed. I paused, dropping the shirt. I glanced at him curiously. His hands were outstretched, panic etched into every one of his chiseled features.
"What?" I demanded.
"You—" he cleared his throat, "What are you doing?"
"I'm changing into my own shirt?" I told him, raising an eyebrow. What else would I be doing?
"Infront of me?" He asked in a strained voice.
"It's nothing you haven't seen before, Paris. Not to mention, you're literally sitting on my bed shirtless, with nothing but underwear on right now" I pointed out.
"Yeah. But it's different. It's different for you" He stated, refusing to look at me, his eyes skimming the room. His cheeks were flushed. I narrowed my eyes at him. What kind of sexist nonsense was he on? Sexist prick. Double standard enforcing, stupid, misogynistic, chauvinist pig.
"Why is it different for me?" I demanded to know. He cleared his throat, but refused to reply to me. I climbed back onto the bed and crawled towards him. I grabbed his turned face, and forced him to look at me. He was wide eyed, as if shocked to see me in front of him.
"Why is different for me, Paris?" I asked again in a low, furious tone. He swallowed, unwillingly forced to look at me. A look of absolute desperation came onto his face, before morphing into despair. He looked distraught. Devastated, even. I couldn't understand the change.
"It's different for you to see me like this, because I'm attracted to you, and you're not attracted to me. It doesn't mean anything to you, but it does for me. So It's not the same" He told me with completely transparency.
I froze, before releasing his face as if I were burned. The only thing I was aware of, was the absolutely blank look on my face. I was shocked as I stared at him, my face expressionless and unable to comprehend any emotion. I sat back, my eyes distant. After a moment of silence, I climbed off the bed. I wordlessly went into my bathroom, before I could process the emotion. Before whatever I felt would be so clearly depicted on my face.
Once I locked myself in my bathing chamber, I placed my hands on the black, marble countertop. I leaned my weight onto the sink basin, before lifting my head and stared into the mirror, attempting to use my physical expressions to comprehend the turmoil of emotions inside me.
My face was of no use in helping me understand what I was feeling. It was blank and chalky, as if I had seen a ghost and was now in a state of shock. I looked like I had witnessed a traumatic event, and now was in a catatonic stupor, unable to process anything and everything. Mother help me. Mother help me with this boy.
I pressed my forehead to the cool mirror, my eyes screwed shut. I whispered the words, "Mother help me with this boy" aloud, in complete genuinity. I prayed to the Mother to help me with him. I prayed for her to help me, because I would not survive him without some kind of divine interference. I would not survive this boy.
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A/N- okay guys, so I did not expect you all to demand for me to update THIS Sunday, seeing that I updated with two chapters just two days ago, but here we are! Sorry it's so late in the evening! I had work, homework to do, college application stuff (I'm lying, I put it off to write this chapter), and I had to write a whole chapter and then edit it! So sorry if it's short! You guys are a bunch of greedy little goblins that eat up everything I write in such a short span of time😭No manners too😭😭Anyways, the next few chapters are going to be...interesting to say the least, because the tiktok teaser chapter is coming up!! Thank you loves for your support, and I love reading your comments!! Y'all are genuinely so amazing and sweet and a lot of you make me cry from your sweet comments! Y'all deserve everything, and kisses on the face for all of you. Also don't forget to vote!! GO VOTE FOR ALL MY CHAPTERS RN IF YOU HAVEN'T!!