─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"We cannot become who we want by remaining who we are."
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
I DECIDED that Bob was all I really needed in life. A companion that didn't talk back and make my life harder. Company that didn't do anything but sit and stare—like a glass bottle. Which Bob happened to be. But that was irrelevant.
I took a swig from the whiskey, staring aimlessly at the wall across from me, left alone with my thoughts for the first time in weeks. The warm water of the bath crashing against my skin. Soothing my aching muscles, tense from the days of training and the worry of Rhys's condition. For the first time in days, my limbs were loose rather than tense enough to snap.
Bubbles rose up to my chin, popping slightly as they touched my face and body. I may or may not have pretended to have a beard once or twice. It was a classic. A must do when indulging in a bubble bath.
I leaned over just slightly, setting Bob Barnacle Ginsberg Archeron on the table beside the bath, the glass clinking against the polished wood as it collided. I sunk back into the murky water, falling up to my shoulders as I dredged in every inch of relaxation I could.
I sighed in peace, closing my eyes and leaning my head back on the polished stone the bath was carved from. The cold porcelain was a stark contrast to the cooled warmth of my bare skin. I'd lost count of how long I'd been in the water, breathing in the steamy air and thinking about everything and anything. But Rhys of course, that was a topic I had been carefully avoiding.
With the whirlwind of new my life had been split open with, my thoughts should probably be on the High Lord of the Night Court. Contemplating what everything meant. What I should do. But honestly, right now I didn't want to think about it.
No, right now, I wanted to indulge in a bubble bath and pretend I was Santa Clause while placing bubbles on my chin and getting drunk. That was what I wanted to be doing. But alas, I could not.
It was a conscious effort to force my thoughts down another path as they began to stray that way. Toward my reality. Forcing them to turn a corner and dive into something absolutely pointless. Something easy.
Like the fact, I decided that when I went home—to Velaris—I wanted a dog, and I was going to name it something ridiculous like Bernie or Charles the fifth. An un-dog like name. And the fact I'd train it to bite Cassian's ankles and hound Azriel until he started yelling and screaming—barking, if you will.
I wouldn't train the dog to do anything to Amren for fear she might gobble it up and drink its blood.
That was my favorite meaningless thought, simply for the sole fact I intended to carry it out.
I reached over toward the table beside the bath again—not reaching for Bob, much to my dismay—but instead toward the dark bar of soap that smelled of pine and smoke. A dark scent that reminded me of a city called Orynth in the late days of Autumn when the fires just began to burn, keeping winter at bay as its people danced.
When I was done washing, I sat in the tub, watching the steam slither around the candles. Wrapping around the flame like an old friend.
Mate.
Again I steered my thoughts away and into a ditch.
What would Mor do if wine ceased to exist? Would she turn to hard liquor, or common party drinks like cocktails? Or would she just die without her favorite drink?
Mate.
What would Cassian do if he found himself sitting in a pile of pollen without allergy medicine? The general had confessed that he struggled with seasonal allergies, and it was a terrible mistake for him to tell me. I hadn't let him live it down since.
Mate.
With a soft sound that was eerily similar to a snarl, I pulled myself from the warm waters of the bath. Chased away by my own thoughts. Annoying as hell.
The single word hounded me again and again as I dried myself and found the clothes that I now decided were my favorite ever. The house knew exactly what I wanted even if the clothes were from a different world. The wonder of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. My favorite fashion statements ever.
Pulling on the soft, light blue fabric, I sighed in comfort. To anyone in Prythian, I'd look like I was insane, they did not have clothes like this here. But in Midgard...gods I loved their fashion.
My stomach grumbled, and I realized I hadn't eaten since the day before, because—
Because he'd been injured, and I'd gone out of my mind—absolutely insane—when he'd been taken from me, shot out of the sky like a bird.
I'd acted on instinct and training, on a drive to protect him that had come from so deep in me...
Whatever, I'll deal with it later when I decide to stop procrastinating my procrastinating.
But before I ate there was one thing I had to do. I jiggled open drawer after empty drawer. Silently grumbling to myself as I came up with nothing but air after pointless air. "Come on." I drawled as I opened the last door and found nothing but, you guessed it, nothing.
The house is spelled to take care of you—merely wish or speak for things, and it'll be done, I recalled Mor's words and pursed my lips. How exactly does one go about wishing for the house to say something. It felt entirely awkward to say that aloud when I was alone. But it was also awkward that right my only company was a glass bottle of whiskey.
"Can I have a marker, please?" I whispered the words as though I was in a haunted mansion. So silent that the ghosts couldn't hear.
Then there was a clatter, and I jolted. Quickly, I whipped toward the drawer I had just checked and left open. And lone and behold, an inky black marker now saw within it.
I mentally cheered, giving myself a standing ovation in my head. I picked it up without hesitation, tearing off the cap, and holding up the bottle on my left hand. I bit my lip in concentration as I began drawing an absolutely artistic face on Bob.
It was no secret that my sister had inherited the artistic abilities in our family while I had inherited the musical prowess. Proved by the fact my sister was a shit singer—she herself once made the analogy that she sounded like a dying cow being attacked by birds—and I could not draw anything other than beautiful, and tastefully crafted stick figures.
And I was damn good at drawing those stick figures. But my stick figures were abstract. So artistic that you couldn't even tell they were people.
I once drew Nesta and she said she thought it was a giraffe. We had never even seen what a giraffe looked like.
I lowered the marker from Bob's new face, nodding to myself as I looked at the slightly squiggly lines of his smile and eyes.
Scratch that. I was the clear artist of the Archeron sisters.
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I'd found a container of soup on the counter when I exited the bedroom, forgetting that the entire reason I had come into the kitchen earlier was to actually eat.
I scrounged up a cast iron pot to heat it with, placing it on the stove before it clattered slightly.
I could not cook either. Was actually so bad at cooking that it was abnormal.
But what I could do was heat up soup on the stove. I think.
Fresh, crusty bread sat beside the can that had contained the soup, and I ate half while waiting for the soup to warm. My impatience taking présidence over anything else. The texture melted on my tongue and I moaned. I hadn't realized how hungry I was.
Pouring the soup into a bowl, I took it to the counter and began to eat. Taking slow sips of the warm liquid, and sighing in content.
That is until my wormy little thoughts weasled their way back into my head. Snaking around my mind and taking it captive as I tried to weather storm after storm of thoughts and...wants.
Rhys had suspected it for a while. Even before we'd free'd Amarantha.
Stop.
I ate my dinner in silence, with only the murmuring fire for company. The crackling logs filling the room with their abrupt sounds. And yet even with that constant roaring at the edge of the room, my thoughts still managed to drown everything out.
Rhys had known I was his mate. Had known for months and months. He'd known and hadn't let it show and I couldn't even blame him.
I had been broken. And tattered and torn, and I could not sort one thing from the other. Could not sort out the fact I was being used and manipulated by Tamlin. Could not sort out the fact that Rhys was not the villain. Not all.
I was not naive enough to say I was not oblivious. Gods, there were so many signs now that I saw the entire picture that I had no idea how i'd managed to miss it.
The myth of Stars and Darkness should have given it away the second I realized what I was and how much power Rhys held. The Lady of White Light and the Lord of Dark Fire, destined to rule over the damn stars.
So very oblivious.
He'd known I'd react badly. That'd hurt me more than it would help me all those weeks ago.
And...maybe it was me who did not want to face the truth and not the fact Rhysand hadn't spoken it that upset me the most. That maybe some small part of me had ignored it because I wasn't ready.
But what if I had known? Would things have played the same? Would things still be as they were now?
A question that plagued thousands. Millions. What could I have differently? What could I have changed? And yet there was no answer. There would never be an answer.
It didn't excuse his not telling me. Didn't excuse the recent weeks, when I'd hated myself for wanting him so badly—when he should have told me. But...I understood.
I washed the dishes and swept the crumbs off the small kitchen counter before climbing into one of the beds.
Just last night, I'd been curled up beside him, counting his breaths to make sure he didn't stop making them. The night before, I'd been in his arms, his fingers between my legs, his tongue in my mouth. And now...the cabin was warm, the sheets were cold. The bed was large—empty.
Through the small glass window, the snow-blasted land around me glowed blue in the moonlight. The wind was a hollow moan, brushing great, sparkling drifts of snow past the cabin.
I pondered if Mor had told him where I was.
Wondered if he'd indeed come looking for me.
Mate.
My mate.
A/N: Hypothetically...if Danika were to have a biological sibling, would you guys rather it be a brother or a sister? Hypothetically...
This chapter is so chaotic, and I'm here for it. Dani in book one was pure chaos and sarcasm, and I live for it so I'm bringing her back (with some character development obviously)
And I've also decided that Bob is definitely going to be a recurring character because tbh he's the light of the Night Court. Dani and Bob = BROTP