She'd been awake for at least an hour now, her body tucked as tightly as possible into the corner of the bed pressed against the wall. She felt safer that way, somehow. It felt less like the world was seconds from caving in on her head. One hand was still shadow-bound to the headboard, but the shadow was gentle. It didn't chafe her or tighten its grip. Just made sure she remained where she was. Maybe Azriel thought she might kill him in his sleep. Her head leaned back against the wall as she continued to labor over every possible remembered detail she could.
Azriel said everyone was dead. She didn't know who was included in his version of "everyone." Gods, she didn't even know who she would constitute as everyone either. It was unbelievably frustrating to lose the essence of yourself. Whatever sense of mental standing she'd had was gone now.
The headaches had started again. They always began in her eyes, as bright flashes stealing her vision, and then became heavy thudding aches behind her eye sockets. She felt as though she could stab a funnel through her temple and drain out her brain just to relieve the pressure pushing up against her skull.
She'd also noticed that more holes had begun to form in her memory. In things that had nothing to do with who she was as a person. She felt like she'd lost her footing. She was afraid to lose more, to function less. She didn't even know how to understand it herself, and certainly couldn't tell Azriel and ask for a mind healer.
If there were even any healers left. How had everyone died? She had a faint and fuzzy memory of a war of some kind. Between who, she couldn't remember. But she saw the red sticky ichor of the spilled blood, and still felt it clinging and coagulating against her skin.
There had been so much of it. Painting battlefields and staining skin. She felt as though she'd never fully scrub it off. She could look down and see that her palms were clean and unstained, but she could still feel it in her bones, like a greasy layer of grime coating her.
She could feel it lathered on her skin now, a physical representation of her sins coming back to haunt her. Sins she couldn't even remember committing. The motive of it all was still escaping her as well. But she knew now she was guilty. Whatever Azriel thought she had done, she'd done it. A heavy guilt settled deep in her bones.
What had she done, what had she done, what had she done...
For what seemed like the hundredth time, she began to cry. Or rather, she wept. Her shoulders shook in silent spasming sobs. She'd done something bad, something so bad that someone had wanted her to forget.
The truth felt like it was a fish in a frozen lake, and she was a dog clawing at the ice. It seemed so attainable but yet it was so far out of reach. She could feel it there, could sense the implications, but it was as if that part of her brain was a separate entity vying to keep her out.
She heard clattering in what must have been the kitchen. Her ears strained with effort as she attempted to gauge the distance of the sounds. She wanted to know how big the place she was in now was. It seemed rather close. The noise continued for a few minutes more before silence settled once again.
Azriel hadn't been back. She wasn't sure how long she had slept or how long she'd stared with unfocused eyes up at the ceiling. The only thing she was sure of was the rumbling of her stomach, demanding food. She whimpered slightly, tugging her knees up to her chest.
The door swung open, revealing a shirtless and damp Azriel. Her eyes blew wide as she took in the tapering lean-cut muscle of his torso. A trail of dark hair descended from his navel and down into his grey loose sweatpants. They hung low on his hips as if taunting her to look.
She cut her eyes away, looking back to the wall with a muffled groan. He still stood in the doorway, keeping his distance. He walked forward, but she refused to take her eyes off the wall beside her head, just for the principle of it. If death was coming for her, she'd rather not know.
He sat something light at her feet, next to the blanket she'd obviously slept wrapped in. He made no move to leave. He still stood at her feet, waiting for her to look at him. She wouldn't. Couldn't.
"Has your fever come back?" He asked her cautiously as if she was a rabid dog that might lash out and wrap its teeth around his wrist should he venture too close.
She didn't respond, just kept staring at the wall, face void of emotion.
He huffed and shifted his weight on his feet.
"Calina, if you don't answer me I'm going to have to feel for myself," he griped at her. He talked like she was a chore, some responsibility he'd had dumped on him. As if she hadn't asked him to just let her die. It would be so much easier if he'd just let her die.
She wasn't planning to mope or earn sympathy, she just hated the feeling of impending doom. It twisted her stomach into permanent knots. The anxiety of feeling so unsafe was eating her alive
He stepped forward and her head whipped, eyes narrowing. Half of her face was tucked behind her arms, her knees being hugged to her chest. She imagined she looked somewhat like a portrait of a fallen angel she'd seen once. Her eyes must've been bloodshot for days now with the way that they burned inside her skull. With her hair tangled from a restless sleep, she probably appeared as a half-wild beast.
"Do not," her voice was deadly, "fucking touch me."
He froze. His lips parted and brows knit together. Why did he look so... hurt? It was unsettling. The knots in her stomach doubled in size. She couldn't stand this much longer. This limbo of captivity.
She couldn't even formulate an escape plan. Where would she even go if she managed it? At least here she had shelter and food, even if it was minimal. Out there she wouldn't last a day. Azriel's bundling and the temperature of the walls and floors of the cabin revealed enough to her about the swirling icy weather outside for her to know escape was never going to be an option.
"Callie, I-" he cut himself off, shutting his mouth and swallowing. He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up slightly. She tried to not think about the way his abdominal muscles stretch and move when he lifts his arms, or how it made his pants fall the slightest bit lower on his hips. She wasn't looking out of her periphery. She wasn't.
"I did something really bad, didn't I?" She asked quietly, still unable to meet his eyes. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying to blink away the stinging that was summoning a tsunami of fear and grief.
His expression was unreadable. His eyes fell to the floor as if he too was struggling with this vulnerability. He thought for several long moments, body stiff and unmoving. Finally, he looked back up at her, eyes searching her body language. When she reluctantly met his eyes, she instantly regretted it. If she thought her grief ran deep, it was nothing in comparison to the utter agony on Azriel's face.
She had gathered he was not an emotional person, and she was certain he didn't cry often. And yet she could see the buildup of tears forming. He clenched his jaw roughly, lifting his head slightly to force the wave of emotion back. She watched him slowly tuck himself back behind the cold shell-like exterior he usually donned.
"You did," he confirmed.
She chewed her bottom lip, still looking up at his hazel eyes that couldn't quite meet hers. It was like there was a string in her chest that bound her to him, leaching her anger from her and drawing her closer to him. It was insanity. She was much too strong for Stockholm syndrome.
Was it Stockholm syndrome if you were the bad guy in the equation? She shook her head, forcing the thought away. Thinking these things would help no one now. There was no one else. She couldn't remember any other faces. No other names. Her stomach flooded with nausea, and she fought the acid climbing her throat.
"I hurt you," it was both a question and a statement.
He nodded.
"Did I have a good reason?" It was the only hope she still held onto that she might be redeemable. She kept praying to the Mother to stumble upon a memory that would help her understand how she was the same person now as she'd been before. A link of humanity, she supposed. It was silly. A fickle, child's daydreaming.
"I don't know," his voice was barely audible. He looked so grief-stricken that it took her breath from her lips. She shouldn't worry about him. He was her captor. She should want him to fail. And yet...
"Were we... erm, uh... were we close? You and I?" Her lip was raw from the scraping of her teeth. The angry pink skin of her lips was burning and chapped. She wondered if now would be an appropriate time to ask for chapstick. He'd likely swing on her.
No... No, that wasn't Azriel. She felt it in her chest. He was born of violence, raised, and baptized in it. Pain was all he'd known for most of his life. It was written plain as day in the dark bags under his eyes. He didn't enjoy the violence. It was simply a means to an end.
"We were," he muttered. Her cheeks went hot involuntarily.
"Is it... is it fixable? Can I mend it somehow?"
His face contorted with pain.
"No... I-I don't think it is," he gave a humorless laugh, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. But he didn't leave like she expected him to. He sat on the floor, back against the wooden wall with his long legs bent.
They didn't speak. Mother above, she was barely even breathing for fear of breaking the tense silence that now corroded the air between them. She studied him freely now that she wouldn't get caught as easily. He looked haunted. The purple bruising under his eyes let her know he never slept. She wondered what he did all day when he wasn't with her.
Surely, he couldn't have that many people to torture. Perhaps he was hunting those people as he'd hunted her. She didn't remember anything before the cell. Had no idea how she'd ended up there or what had wiped her of her memories.
He looked... lonely.
She chewed the inside of her cheek to keep herself from apologizing or attempting to make some kind of condolence to him. She'd caused his pain, and she couldn't even trace back what it was that had caused him such hurt. She couldn't ask. Taking one good look at him and his state and she knew she couldn't ask that of him.
She'd wondered if he had possibly been the source of her brain trauma, but he seemed to not even believe her, so she doubted it was that simple. Gods, it was also so convoluted. She needed to calm down and not trigger another pulsating migraine.
"It has to be some kind of a karmic joke," he bit out with a sarcastic laugh.
"What does?"
He looked at her, turning his head to lean slightly against the wall as he did, baring his neck slightly. She did not watch the way his throat moved when he swallowed. She did not think about sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of his neck and claiming him. She thought of nothing at all.
"That at the end of the fucking world, it's just me and you. Of course, it would be you. It wouldn't make sense if it was anyone else. But this? Oh, I deserve this," he was still laughing. She blinked at him, afraid to move a muscle.
"Azriel, I-"
His voice broke. "Callie, for the love of fucking god, don't do that," he huffed, rubbing his eyes even harder. He was so tense she felt like he might shatter. "Please don't say my name."
Her mouth opened and closed as she grappled with whether or not she should speak, or what she should say. His head hung as he leaned over his knees. His legs were so long and muscular that sitting on the floor couldn't be very comfortable for him. She didn't know what to do.
She changed her mind then. She'd have to ask him to tell her the truth of what she'd done. She had to know. No one else would be able to tell her, and maybe if she knew she could somehow make amends. To him, to herself, to anyone else who might still be alive. She needed to hear the details of the war, understand the nature of her relationship with Azriel. Ignorance was a luxury neither of them had the capacity to afford at the moment.
"What happened?"
What a large question, with no clearly definable answer or solution. But she had to know, had to hear it from him. She didn't know how to ask him for what she needed, so she settled for doing her best and hoped it would be enough for him.
"I need to know, A- um... Shit, sorry. I need you to tell me what happened. I think I have some kind of injury or curse. My brain won't allow me to access any personally identifiable information. It's almost as if those parts of my psyche have wards around them. I can't tap into it, I've tried relentlessly. I don't know who I am, or who you are. Anything I know I have pieced together using context. I know you say we know each other," she paused, taking a breath before she continued. "I don't remember you. Part of you feels... familiar to me somehow. But I know nothing about you or myself. I don't remember any people outside of us. I don't remember how I caused you this pain. I need you to tell me. I hate that it has to be you, but it has to be. Please."
He was quiet, picking at his nails as his jaw worked.
"Fine. You asked for it," he said, then nodded at her feet. She'd almost forgotten he'd sat something down. She'd been too busy pouting into the distance. At her feet sat another bowl of soup with a snap-on lid. She groaned, reaching for it. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head at the feel of the warmth through the bowl. "Now, eat and listen. I will only tell you once."