"Everybody keeps telling me I'm something or the other; a soldier, a henchman, a thief. Usmere! Sexcarsten! Aric! But I don't know what you expect from me. I don't know who I am. I haven't known for a long time now."
——————————————
Chapter 17 Captured
Krushem pried open his eyes to find he was in bed in a room. He was still in the same room and in the same bed except the lit candle that'd sat on the table beside the bed had long since burned out.
When he tried to shift his body, he felt something press against him. He glanced down and found that a blanket had been draped over him where Elaine had once laid. He looked around but he could see no sign of the witch. She must've disappeared at some point while he'd slept.
For a moment, Krushem considered the fact that he might've just imagined Elaine that whole time because he could still hardly believe her saving him. But his wrists were still bandaged tight, and he found that the cup beside the bed was once again filled with water.
Krushem tried to sit up in bed, but it took a great amount of energy for him to even prop himself up with his elbows, and his wrists stung in pain.
Just as he'd managed to prop his back against the headboard of the bed, he heard the sound of footsteps and then he heard the doorknob turn. He fixated his gaze on the door, expecting for Elaine to come in.
But then the door burst open, slamming into the wall. The sound made Krushem jump and he stared startled as a tall, imposing figure ventured into the room.
It wasn't Elaine but a man. The man was tall and his muscles bulged through his shirt. His hooded gaze landed upon Krushem and then a look of intent flirted across his face as he deliberately stalked towards the bed.
"Wh—who are you?" Krushem blurted, wanting to move but his body was still weak.
The man drew closer and Krushem glimpsed his crooked teeth and hooked nose. It was only when the man raised his hand that Krushem saw the flash of steel.
The man was holding a knife.
Krushem raised his arms, palms out in a gesture of peace. But the man kept coming, prepared to strike.
"Big Jones sent me," The man vehemently spat, and spittle flew from his mouth, the droplets landing on his shirt. "Boss says you didn't deliver all he asked for from that Sharmaria Crypt, so he wants you to pay up with your life."
It took Krushem a while to process the man's words. He'd sworn he'd delivered all the pieces of King Sharpner's armor to Big Jones last night but how could he be for sure when he'd been so eager to get out of that damn crypt? It wasn't Krushem's fault Big Jones hadn't checked the delivery before paying him.
Big Jones wasn't a man who could be double crossed without consequences. Given he ran a lucrative business selling stolen valuables, he wanted everything to be in check. He wanted to know he could trust the thieves he assigned for the job.
But Krushem hadn't ever messed up a damn delivery on any thieving job, even while being drunk off his ass sometimes. If something was missing from King Sharpner's stolen armor, it had to be the fault of someone else. Most likely Big Jones' lackeys had accidentally lost a piece of the armor or stolen it for themselves.
Big Jones just wanted someone to blame and here he blamed Krushem, the very thief who'd stolen the damn armor for him.
But to kill Krushem for supposably not delivering the whole package was just abundantly absurd. Who in the hell did something like that?
"Besides, the boss thought you to be a drunkard thief anyhow, and drunkard thieves don't settle well with him," Krushem's-would-be-assassin cackled, picking up an empty beer bottle off the floor before he dropped it.
Then, the man lunged at Krushem, swinging the knife.
Krushem barely had time to react but somehow he found himself falling out of the bed, knocking over the side table and causing the cup to fall on the floor. Water splashed out, and Krushem slipped on the wet floor as he struggled to get to his feet.
But before he could pick himself up, the man had grabbed the collar of Krushem's shirt, and Krushem felt the blade of the knife press against his throat.
If Krushem wasn't so weak, he'd be able to fend off this man and show him he wasn't to be messed with, but he'd lost a lot of blood last night and hadn't gotten his full strength back.
The blade dug into Krushem's skin and all Krushem could do was struggle against the man, but the man held onto him tight, not loosening his grip.
The man pressed his lips against Krushem's ear, his voice low and sinister; "Big Jones will be pleased when I return to him with your head—"
In that instant, a thought flitted across Krushem's mind. Until thou purpose is found...Was this Krushem's purpose? To die for being a thief? To die for being a drunk? To die for all that he'd done?
Perhaps it was. Krushem certainly failed to get the job done himself. And now it seemed fate had delivered him what he wanted most; peace, darkness. Fate had delivered him all that he deserved.
So instead of fighting, Krushem felt the strength seep from his bones and he slumped against the man, awaiting for the man to slice the knife across his throat and bring an end to his suffering once and for all.
Elaine wouldn't be able to save him this time—
Suddenly, the man was thrown away from Krushem as if a sudden force had taken control of him, and the knife clattered to the floor. The man flung across the room and hit the wall with a sickening crack before his body slumped onto the wooden floor.
But the man was still alive, for he picked his head up and his gaze fixated on something past Krushem.
Krushem spun and his heart seemed to be at odds. It sank in his chest in disappointment and yet it also skipped a beat as if part of him was happy at the prospect of being saved once again.
Elaine stood there, hand raised. The air in the room seemed to spark, piercing into every inch of Krushem's being as he watched the witch stalk towards the man, her gaze flaming.
Krushem actually considered pleading again to Elaine to let him die rather than save him, but the words died in his throat as he watched Elaine stop in front of the man, looking down upon him with such scorn that Krushem wondered why the man wasn't dead at Elaine's feet already.
"I already saved him once, and I have done so again," Elaine said, her voice whipping in the air. At first Krushem thought she was talking to him, but her sole attention was upon the man at her feet.
Instead of looking perturbed or frightened by Elaine, the man spat a wad of blood out onto the floor before he glared up at her, his forehead marring with wrinkles. "Guess I'll just have to kill you both then," the man announced, much to Krushem's utter surprise.
Elaine had literally thrown him across the room with magic, and this man wasn't disturbed by that? It seemed as if this man had a death wish for sure.
Krushem found himself holding his breath as he watched the man pick himself up off the floor. He seemed uninjured and with his knife indisposed of, he relied upon his brute strength. He struck his fists out with lightning speed but Elaine evaded his attacks, disappearing before he could pummel her before she reappeared in a different spot than before.
"Hold still, you stupid bitch!" The man spewed, his face turning red in anger as he attempted to attack Elaine, only for her to evade him each time.
Just when Krushem thought the man was gonna tire himself out punching at nothing, the man suddenly changed his tactics. Knowing he couldn't lay a hand on his current opponent, he turned his attention to the opponent he could hurt.
That's how Krushem found himself dead center in the man's sights. The man surged towards him and Krushem raised his arm to block the man's looming punch. The man's knuckles met Krushem's wounded arm and a stab of fiery pain overtook Krushem.
But it was only the man's knuckles that had grazed Krushem's arm cause then Elaine had once again come to Krushem's aid. Elaine had suddenly reappeared right in front of Krushem, shielding him from the man as he withdrew his fist and came in for a harder punch.
Krushem heard the sickening crunch of bone against flesh as the man met his mark. His fist slammed into Elaine's face so hard that her head snapped sideways from the blow and she even staggered against Krushem.
For a moment, Elaine was still as stone, her head bent towards the floor. Krushem actually wondered if he'd seen it wrong, because there was no way Elaine could be punched. She was an all-powerful witch, a force to be reckoned with. There was no way she would let herself be hurt.
But then Elaine raised her head. Krushem couldn't see her face but he could feel her tense against him, her body radiating with emotion. Was it anger...determination? Krushem couldn't be for sure.
The man attempted to grab Elaine, but Elaine had already recovered and suddenly the man started shaking. It took Krushem a moment to realize that Elaine must've cast some spell on the man, preventing him from moving.
Elaine tilted her head to look up at the man, and her elbow raised up to wipe her face. When her hand came down, Krushem glimpsed blood glistening on her fingertips.
"You are a despicable excuse of a human. A coward. A fool. It'd bring be great pleasure to end your life right here and now," Elaine hissed. Her voice was sharp and long ago, Krushem would've flinched if he were to be the target of Elaine's wrath. But Elaine wasn't threatening Krushem but protecting him, and Krushem didn't know how to feel about that.
It seemed the man wanted to speak, but he couldn't. His lips were quivering as if he was trying his best to form words, but no sound came out. All he could do was stare at Elaine, his body shaking as he struggled to break whatever spell that she used to keep him immobile.
Then, Krushem watched as the shadows at the edges of the room crept forward. Slithers of shadow wrapped around the man, all the way from his feet to his neck, encasing him in darkness. Then the man's face was enveloped by the darkness too, and the man disappeared before Krushem's very eyes, leaving nothing in his place but his fallen knife laying on the floor.
Krushem stood there, struggling to stay upright and struggling to wrap his around the fact that the man had just vanished before his very eyes. He wasn't sure if the shadows swallowing the man up was indicative of the man having died or something else entirely.
But then Elaine turned to him and he saw a streak of blood running from the left corner of her lip to her chin. Her lip had been cut open by the man's punch but as Krushem stared, the edges of the cut slowly knit back together, magically healing over.
Krushem wanted to ask what she'd done with the man, but all he could think about was how Elaine had super healing powers. If she had the power to heal herself, then how is it that her whole family had perished?
Then again, if she had the ability to heal others, Krushem figured she would've healed him with magic
instead of just bandaging his wrists up and giving him herbal water.
"You should've stayed in bed," was the first thing Elaine told him. She ran her hand over her chin in an attempt to wipe off the blood, but inadvertently smeared even more blood on her face with her bloodstained fingers.
Elaine should've looked more wicked and terrifying with blood smeared on her chin and cheek, and yet Krushem found she looked even more beautiful than before. What was he even thinking? Elaine—beautiful? He hated Elaine. It didn't matter that she had just saved him twice. That wasn't on her to decide.
"What do you want from me?" He questioned. He didn't realize his legs were trembling until Elaine reached for him and he took a step back, landing hard on his buttocks.
Elaine stopped coming towards him and she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts like she was struggling to come up with a response.
"I already told you, Usmere," Elaine responded at last. She swept towards him, and then surprisingly, she extended her hand for him to take.
Krushem stared at her bloodied fingers, some part of him wanting to take her hand but another part of him urging him not to. To take her hand would mean to trust her, to open up to her, to bear every bit of him to her. He couldn't do that, not to her. She was his greatest enemy. She'd haunted him this whole time, expressed to him how much she hated him and his entire family for what they apparently did to her family.
Krushem couldn't think like this. He needed a drink—more than one. Having thrown up and almost dying hadn't deterred him from wanting to drink yet. If he wasn't so weak, he'd have gone downstairs on his own and ordered himself a whiskey. That would be strong enough to dull the emotions that were mingling around inside him.
But Elaine wouldn't budge, her hand still extended to him. Despite her having offered him her hand and having saved him twice now, Krushem could see her fingers twitching. Either she was impatient or she was just as conflicted as Krushem was. Maybe part of her still hated him just as much as he hated her. Maybe she felt pitiful about how far Krushem had fallen. Or perhaps it was something in between hate and pity.
Who knew?
Krushem knew Elaine was stubborn. She wasn't gonna give up easily, so as much as he hated it, he obeyed her. Rather than taking her hand and feeling her touch, he stumbled to his feet and shakily made his way to the bed by himself, his arms screaming in pain.
The time it took for Krushem to settle back into bed was enough time for Elaine to come to his bedside. She picked up the fallen table, righting it, before she then placed the candle and cup back on the tabletop. She then withdrew something from her cloak and Krushem saw it was a heap of bandages. She also set some small glass vials on the table filled with some stuff that Krushem couldn't identify.
"Lay your arm down, palm up," Elaine instructed him. Krushem felt himself bristle at having been practically ordered around—he wasn't one to follow damn orders from her—but then he recalled his would-be killer being swallowed up by shadows, and he thought better than to not listen to Elaine. For all he knew, she could make him meet the same fate as that man if she became pissed off.
Begrudgingly, Krushem painstakingly extended his arm, resting it against his leg. It throbbed in pain and his muscles spasmed in agony, and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out.
Elaine scooted closer and bent her head. Krushem felt her fingers run across his skin and then she gripped the edges of his bandage and began to unravel it without so much as a warning. The bandage rubbed against his wound, and Krushem flinched in pain, unable to stop himself.
But then Elaine had removed the bandage, and Krushem was almost too afraid to look at the damage he'd inflicted upon himself.
There upon his wrist was a horizontal cut. The edges of the cut had been knit together with thread, and Krushem wondered how Elaine could've sewn his arms up and bandaged them both without him ever having woken up during it.
"Your bandages must be replaced with fresh ones," Elaine informed him, causing his gaze to snap to her face. She set the bloodied, used bandages aside before she began to wrap his arm up with the clean bandages.
Every time the fabric of the bandage touched his wound, Krushem couldn't resist wincing in pain. But it was over as quickly as it began, and his gaze dropped back down to find that his arm was now wrapped up like new, the stitches in his wrist obscured from view.
Then, Elaine set to work on his other arm, coming to the other side of the bed to make things easier. All the while she worked, Krushem avoided her gaze, but she didn't seem too keen to look at his face with her being too busy tending to his arm.
The silence was palpable. It seemed to stretch on for an eternity and when Elaine's task was done, she gathered the bloodied bandages in a pile to discard later. All Krushem could do was watch as Elaine picked up one of her vials and unscrewed the cap. An herbal scent wafted from the vial, the scent being so strong that Krushem found himself wanting to clog his nose.
Into the cup Elaine poured the mystery liquid from the vial into before she procured a glass bottle and poured the contents of that into the cup too. Finished at last, she offered the cup to Krushem.
Krushem knew it was the herbal water she'd given him before. It'd seemed to work wonders. Just hours ago, he'd been shivering and sweating and throwing up before passing out. But ever since having woken up, he'd felt less lethargic than before. He guessed the herbal water could be credited for his boost in health.
Yet, Krushem just stared at the cup instead of taking it. It was as if part of him still believed that Elaine would try to poison him despite her having done all this to save him.
Krushem could've said anything in that moment and yet he found himself blurting out; "You healed yourself with nothing and yet—"
Surprisingly, a small, sad smile traced across Elaine's lips. Krushem fixated on those lips, seeing the corners etch upwards before they fell back down as Elaine's usual frown crossed her face once more.
Elaine's onyx black hair fell over her shoulder as she shifted, setting the cup down onto the side table.
"I'm a witch," Elaine said simply, shaking her head. "This world is full of magic. Feats such as magically healing oneself is a powerful gift few are granted. The Demonian tribe were one of the most powerful group of magic wielders in the Endless Woods, so much so that many believed it was us that created the all powerful Storian. But alas, that is just a rumor."
Krushem knew her being a witch and apparentally having been born from the most powerful tribe was no true answer. She was evading his question, and yet she'd revealed enough new information for him to know a bit more about her.
But if the Demonian Tribe had been as powerful as Elaine claimed, how is it that they'd all been massacred except for her?
Krushem had certainly never heard of his ancestors possessing any magical abilities so magic against magic was out of the question.
"How old are you?" Krushem questioned.
Elaine certainly looked no older than sixteen, maybe even eighteen, with her youthful dewy white skin and her dark eyelashes. But how was it that a teenage witch could be so powerful?
Elaine looked at him, her ruby gaze glinting in what looked like awe. Perhaps she was surprised by Krushem's sudden curiosity. Maybe she was shocked Krushem was no longer arguing against her saving him. Whatever was the case, she cocked her head.
"I was born many many years ago, but I am not the same age as I should be," Elaine said. Her gaze grew dark as if she was lost in a memory she'd rather forget. Krushem knew that feeling, and to protect himself from his own unwanted thoughts, he racked his brain for more questions.
Krushem felt his arms ache, and his gaze lingered over the pile of bloodied bandages Elaine had placed on the end table. "When will I be fully healed? I—"
"When can you drink again?" Elaine cut him off, raising her ruby gaze to meet his. There was the stormy look Krushem was used to by now. He recognized the way Elaine's eyes glinted in danger, but it was almost a softening look as if it was more of a stern warning rather than a warning of impending doom.
Elaine was the first to look away though as if she'd seen something in Krushem's own gaze she'd rather not see any longer. Krushem wondered what she saw in his own gaze; fear? Anger? Frustration? Uncertainty?
It'd been a long time since Krushem had felt any of that, let alone uncertainty. But then Kei having escaped his clutches had made Krushem angrier than he'd been in a while. He'd been so determined to murder Kei, telling himself it wasn't just for himself, but for Aric—to ensure Aric's return.
And to Krushem...to wreak havoc and inflict harm upon those who deserved it was necessary. It was necessary in the regards that he'd followed Aric and it was the same thing Aric had believed in. To inflict harm upon others meant Krushem wasn't weak. It meant he wasn't all human, because no normal human would torture and kill for their own sick enjoyment.
That uncertainty stirring in Krushem's gut was something he couldn't ignore. He was uncertain whether Elaine was right. After all, she'd told him that it was Aric who'd destroyed him. His wicked ways had torn Krushem apart, fucked with his mind, his heart. Had Krushem ever truly loved Aric at all or was it just some sick obsession on Krushem's part?
If Krushem knew Elaine was right about one thing, it was her knowledge that it was indeed drinking that Krushem was worried about returning to. The sooner he healed, the sooner he'd get to drink again. Yes, Elaine was a powerful witch who could surely cast a spell on him to prevent such an outcome, but Krushem wasn't sure whether she'd actually do that.
Then again, perhaps his mind was foggy and he wasn't thinking straight. Despite being bandaged up, he'd still lost a lot of blood.
"You can't stop me," Krushem told Elaine, mustering up a scornful look. "Once I'm healed, I'm leaving and we can go our separate ways. You can quit bothering me and we can both be at peace."
Elaine tipped her head, her black locks falling over one shoulder, and her shoulders heaved as she laughed. It wasn't an ugly witch cackle, but beautiful laughter that sounded like music to Krushem's ears. "Is that so?" She asked, ruby gaze glimmering.
Krushem kept a scowl on his face, not backing down. "Yes, it is. Like it or not, that's how it's gonna be. You can just fuck off for once and never bother me again. How's that sound to you, Witch?"
"And what, pray tell, do you mean by peace?" Elaine questioned, shaking her head. "The prospect of my peace for the past few years has been watching you suffer. And you? As of now, you believe your prospect of peace to be drowning your sorrows with whiskey. Or maybe you'll attempt to take your life once again. You're quite stubborn in dying, if I do say so."
Krushem scoffed, and he found himself shaking his head. "So what? I didn't ask for you to save me, Elaine. You think you can just come up in here and destroy my life again? Ever since I met you, all it's been is to goad and goad and antagonize me at every turn! I get you probably don't got anything better to fucking do, but I'm sick of you. I was from the start and I especially am now."
Elaine was pretty damn good at keeping a straight face. Krushem had seen Elsine fix that mask upon her face far too many times now. It wasn't often that she allowed that mask to slip, but since she saved him, he'd seen a change in her. The cracks in her mask had grown larger, and in those fractures, Krushem glimpsed someone he thought he knew but couldn't be for sure.
Elaine was a powerful, imposing witch with the strength to defy him at every turn. That's all she'd ever been in his eyes...
Up until the moment he'd awoken in this bed with his wrists bound tight and that very witch sitting beside him, boring her heart to him without any prompting.
"You think I'm not surprised myself at having saved you?" Elaine blurted, and Krushem's scowl wavered. Still, he wondered why Elaine had truly saved him, because all the reasons he raked his brain for were illogical. Besides, her telling him she sympathized with him, that their losses were somehow the same, was no damn explanation to him.
Krushem bristled still, his fuse seemingly broken. After all, how could he rely on his temper when it was inconceivably out of wack with his deeply rotted anger rising up in hot flashes without so much of a warning?
First he was lying there letting Elaine tend to his injuries, asking questions as if he actually wanted to know her and the next he recalled their animosity and reminded himself they hated each other.
"You claimed you weren't planning to save me, and yet it happened. So you had to have been considering an intervention beforehand," he bit back, struggling to discern the truth from the falsehood as well as discern the reality from the delusional fog that his sobered mind was filled with.
Because indeed Krushem's mind was broken. He was stuck as if caught in a net he couldn't remove no matter how hard he tried, and the only thing that would be able to free himself, to fix him, was the one thing he'd always turned to when his thoughts threatened to betray him.
Krushem's prospect of peace, of tranquility, was in fact whiskey. At least Elaine had gotten that part right.
But now Krushem was stuck in this dark, execrable room that lacked an ounce of resplendence, and the only thing in his way was this witch, unyielding in her ways and who's inveterate insistence that she help him had gotten on his last nerves. Elaine thought she could help him somehow. She thought him to be a sad, pitiful drunkard who was capable of being redeemed and asked for redemption in return, and yet abruptly saving his life didn't make up for having cursed a whole family tree for decades.
"It doesn't matter anyhow. It doesn't matter if you're actually trying to save me or torment me further," Krushem bit on, frustration slipping into his tone, "because there's no way in hell I'd ever trust you enough for us to be friends or whatever in the hell you're hoping to get from me. Stitching me up doesn't make you a decent person. In fact, it only invigorates me to want to distance myself from you even more than I already did."
Also lacing his frustrated tone was anger. It was acrid with disdain. He despised what Elaine was trying to do. He despised this whole situation. But above all, he despised the fact he was still here, alive and breathing. He could hear the heavy thrumming of his heart within his chest, and it was echo he couldn't quite ignore. Not only that, but he could feel the slight ache in his wrists, the way they stung like a thousand tiny needles digging into his veins, and more than anything he wished he could feel nothing at all; no disdain, no frustration, no pain.
Feelings were weak. That's the notion he'd held onto for so long now, and he wasn't quite ready to give that up, if ever.
"Perhaps myself was not all I saw in you," Elaine began, looking forlorn as if she was lost deep in a memory she could not escape from. "My family..."
Krushem heard the way she inhaled sharply as if she was composing herself, and he watched her chest rise as she held her breath for a few moments before finally her chest caved in and her shoulders slackened. The very action should've spoken volumes to Krushem, but he found himself still unable to process that this cold hearted witch may just have feelings after all.
My family...
What was it about those words that made something awaken inside Krushem—not as if a rose coming into bloom for the first time—but as if that very rose had suddenly withered and died, turning into nothing but dust. It was a cold, dark, dreadful feeling. It brought back all that Krushem had felt the moment he stepped back into his home at Altazzara, only to stumble across a grisly scene he wished he hadn't.
My family...
Krushem didn't realize his hands were shaking until he heard the scuffling of the fabric of the bedsheets, and his gaze dropped down to find that his fingers were trembling.
Elaine was gonna talk about her family, and yet Krushem didn't care. Of course, he cared nothing of Elaine. She was the bane of his existence, and her speaking in any manner to him, contemptuously or sorrowfully, was of no interest to him anyhow. Still, he found his voice coming out hoarse and fast as if he needed to get the words out as quickly as he possibly could; "Stop. Just stop it."
How did Elaine even think this was gonna go? Somehow, in her mind it as if she believed things had changed for them. She somehow hoped that their animosity had dwindled, but it certainly had not, and Krushem felt the rose dust choke him, making him cough aloud as he struggled to clear his lungs.
Hearing his coughing fit, Elaine grabbed that cup filled with herbal water and brought it up to his lips in offering. But drinking it would only make things worse for them, Krushem knew. She would believe him accepting the drink meant they were on good terms. If he drank that drink, he would be practically telling her that he was grateful for her help. That he was grateful for her having saved his life.
But Krushem had chosen to do as he did for a reason. Slitting his wrists, attempting to slip away from this world, was no mistake. He'd wanted to die, and in that moment he would've.
He had dreamt of his family. Remembered them. Of them walking along after his graduation from Altazzara Academy, and yet despite being with them again in such a happy memory, he'd tried to run away.
And yet everything Krushem had tried was never enough, now was it?
He could never please Aric. He could never be the person Aric wanted him to be; He could never be Japeth.
Also, Krushem had tried to find a way to peace. He thought he could break the curse somehow and then return home to Altazzara and go back to his soldier duties and then be back with his family as he always had been. But then he'd return, only to discover a nightmare of his own making because if he'd only just stayed, perhaps then his whole family wouldn't have died.
It was a sick, cruel joke.
"Your stubbornness will get you nowhere, Usmere," Elaine said slowly as if choosing her words carefully. She was trying not to set him off it seemed, but Krushem was already fed up at this point. He was beyond the notion of being calm.
In that moment, he exploded, and he would've attacked her if only his limbs didn't ache so much. His blood boiled and his heart thrummed faster, pounding against his rib cage so hard that he could feel his own pulse racing. "Everybody keeps telling me I'm something or the other; a soldier, a henchman, a thief. Usmere! Sexcarsten! Aric! But I don't know what you expect from me."
His voice bounced off the walls of that dark, tiny room. It was stifling, and his very explosion threatened to crumble the walls around them. And as it threatened to do so, he also felt it almost threaten to crumble his own walls, the walls surrounding his guarded heart.
He heard his voice drop, low and soft as if even he himself didn't wish to hear the words he spoke next, or perhaps he hadn't even meant to speak them aloud in the first place. "I don't know who I am. I haven't known for a long time now."
Krushem realized with a startling skip of his heartbeat that no matter how hard he tried, he always became disappointed again and again. Because no matter how much he drank and drank, he'd always miss his family, and nothing he did could bring them back to him.
This time around, it seemed Elaine had nothing else to say because then the silence stretched on between them with the both of them seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Krushem turned onto his side, careful not to apply pressure to his wrists, and stared at the wall at the end of the room, feeling his body fidget all on its own. Anxiousness seeped into his bones and into his heart and despite trying to ease his mind, it was no use.
Nothing it seemed could chase away his anxiety save for a sip or two or alcohol. He needed it. He craved it like a drug. That was what would help him—not Elaine.
Krushem didn't know how long he stared at the wall, trembling and sweating and struggling to steady his breathing, until at last he realized something was amiss. He painstakingly craned his head around to find that Elaine was no longer sitting upright on the edge of the bed.
Her black hair fanned her face, spread out and her upper body was sprawled onto the bed. Surprisingly, her eyes were closed. Her usually cold features were softened with sleep, and for a while Krushem took in her face before he determined that she was indeed asleep.
A sleeping Elaine could only mean one thing. Yes, it meant she must've been tired, but it also meant that there was no one stopping Krushem from rising from the bed to shuffle towards the door. Each creak the wooden floor made caused him to wince inwardly, bracing for the moment his witch suddenly awoke to discover him attempting to escape. But somehow, Krushem pushed his way out of the room without fuss, being sure to snatch his satchel off the floor and bring it with him before heading out.
It was a mighty task maneuvering down the stairs with him struggling not to use his arms for balance. His wrists flared in agony as if a wildfire had ripped across them, scorching them to painful blisters.
But the thought of alcohol drew Krushem onwards, until he finally reached the end of the stairs and took in the scents of Kewinsky's Bar. He could hear people clamoring, customers conversing and drinking merrily.
Krushem reached the bar, and hefted himself onto one of the stools, and the bartender gave him a once over, before he raised his eyebrows in question; "Rough night, eh?"
Krushem placed his hands in his lap to hide any evidence of his attempted offing before mustering a laugh that sounded too dry to be taken seriously.
"Yeah, something of the sort," he said, reaching into his satchel. He soon retracted his hand and plopped a fistful of gold coins onto the bar top. "A whiskey."
The bartender deposited the coins into his pocket before looking at Krushem. "Hold on a sec. We ran out of whiskey a little while ago, but we got a new crate full in the back. Let me go get it."
Krushem found himself waiting as the bartender disappeared into the back of the bar to search for the new supply of whiskey. He drummed his fingers against his leg whilst his knee bounced uncontrollably, both actions he had no control over.
All the while, Krushem found his gaze darting to and fro in search of a particular witch come to put a stop to his escapades. She could appear at any moment at any time, he knew. If he had any hope of drinking in peace, he needed that whiskey now—
"Krushem?" A voice said.
Krushem almost jumped out of his skin, and he whirled around, only to find a man standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest. The man wasn't anyone Krushem knew, but he had a very distinctive face. The man's dark hair was shorn short against his bulging head and his nose was long and upturned, eyes an inky blue.
"Uh...yes?" Krushem blurted, not knowing how to respond.
Perhaps this man was a potential hirer. After all, Krushem had been approached numerous times by people who'd hired him to steal something or the other. It wasn't unusual.
But then the man said; "I was waiting for my friend. He came to see you."
Krushem found his composure and confidence slipping the moment he heard those words, and his mind turned back to earlier when he'd awoken to one of Big Jones' lackeys attempting to kill him before Elaine saved his life. It wouldn't be far fetched to say that that man was this man's friend, now would it?
When Krushem didn't respond, the man continued, his voice revealing all Krushem needed to know of what his true intentions were. "I was sent here a short while after Shernal didn't return from here, only to find no Shernal in sight and you here. Now how do you explain that?"
Krushem blurted, almost mockingly; "perhaps he got lost along the way? What's Big Jones want with me anyhow—"
That's when the man seized Krushem's wrist and a choked cry ripped from Krushem's throat as the bandages wrapped about his wrist rubbed painfully against his stitching. If he could've, he would've ripped his wrist free from this man's grip, and yet Krushem felt weak. Even just coming downstairs had drained much of his energy. He didn't have the strength right now to fight this man.
The man leaned close, his face now inches from Krushem's own before he whispered lowly; "Now, come with me without fighting. Don't make a scene now. Big Jones is waiting."
Krushem had absolutely no choice in the matter. Even when the bartender returned at that moment, a glass full of whiskey in one hand, he took one look at the man seizing Krushem's wrist and said nothing.
"We got business to attend to with Big Jones," The man informed the bartender before taking the drink from the bartender's hand.
Krushem watched in utter dismay as the man gulped the whiskey shot down in one go, the amber liquid disappearing entirely. Krushem's throat ached in thirst, but he couldn't do nothing as the man slammed the shot glass onto the bar top before heading towards the exit of the bar.
The man's hand remained latched onto Krushem's wrist and he practically dragged Krushem along behind him and out the door. Krushem found himself stumbling after the man, forced to keep up if only to keep the painful pressure off of his wrist.
"Turn around," the man suddenly ordered, letting go of Krushem's wrist.
Krushem considered making a run for it, but the man grabbed ahold of his shirt, crumpling the fabric between his fingers before Krushem could even try.
The man held Krushem in place with one hand before his other hand found one of Krushem's arms and Krushem felt something tight wrap around his wrist before he realized the man was tying his hands behind his back.
Krushem was a prisoner now and this man his captor.