She felt Gabe's hands on her shoulders as she stared off the front porch towards the rising sun. If she stared for too long, then the clouds changed, morphed before her green eyes, changed into impossible shapes until she closed her eyes tight and told herself it wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't real--
"How are you feeling?" his voice was soft, like a caress, and she relaxed as his fingers kneaded into the tense muscles of her neck when Gabe came up behind her.
"Fine." she lied fluidly. He sighed, and walked across the porch until he could turn and lean against the porch railing, arms crossed over his chest.
"You look tired." he noted, eyes skirting over her face, frown lines creasing his perfect skin.
She tore her eyes away from him and back towards the sky. She hadn't slept in two days. Her dreams were plagued by terrible things. Her usual nightmares of her granddad were morphed now, changed so that he didn't just stab her, but he talked to her, told her how much he hated her, how she ruined his life. She couldn't sleep. Refused to, not so she could just listen to things like that.
"How long do you think until you go crazy?"he asked.
Her eyes flickered to his, surprised by how straight forward the question was. His face was still lined with concern, giving nothing away. Charlotte swallowed, then looked away once more. "I don't know."
But judging from how stressed her mind already was, she had to guess just a few more days until she was trying to catch her own imaginary tail.
"Why do you think your granddad is making this so complicated?" he continued, not catching the hint that Charlotte just wanted to watch the sunrise quietly.
"Complicated?" she asked, scratching at the burning in her calf.
He shrugged, and pushed off the railing so he could shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I mean, he's a powerful guy. I bet you he could waltz right into the house and stab you in the heart again if he wanted."
She started as though he'd slapped her, shifting in her seat so she could stare at him wide eyed. He wasn't looking at her anymore though, instead strolling across the porch to the other end, glancing around casually.
"Excuse me?"
He turned then, catching her green eyes with his blue ones. "Come on, Charlotte. He could kill you a thousand different ways. Why this backwards route?"
"B-because my soul would be trapped inside my dead body. I couldn't die, technically until my soul is unbound-- why are you asking these questions like that?"
"Like what?" he laughed humorously. "I'm asking it like it is, Charlotte. Your granddad tried killing you when you were a kid because he couldn't stand you, and now he's come to finish the job. What'd you do to make him hate you so much?"
Charlotte's mouth hung open, eyes wide, her mind blank. A deep pain bloomed in her chest like Gabe was stabbing her right where her granddad had. Only Gabe was twisting the knife, slowly. She shook her head, having no response.
"I only ask, because it's a matter of time before you either go insane or I figure it out myself. I don't want to be blindsided when it becomes clear that you just can't be loved, Charlotte."
"Gabe--"
"Do you think I could ever love you?"
He moved closer, head tilted, eyes glowing. "Stop--"
"Do you think I could ever love you like you thought your granddad loved you? Because I'm having doubts."
That knife dug just a bit deeper, stung just a bit more. "What the hell Gabe-"
"I don't think anyone could love you." He said, the final nail in the proverbial coffin. Charlotte's breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a painful beat. "I don't think anyone could love you once they look past your façade to the damaged, scarred girl inside."
An odd, strangled sound erupted from her throat. Her hands came up, pushed at Gabe's chest and he moved easily, as though he weighed no more than a paper. Charlotte's hair whipped about her head, got caught on her cheeks as she fled across the wooden porch. She feel something snap and tear inside of her, felt the world tilt at an entirely new, dangerous angle.
"Charlotte?"
She paused, froze, at the steps of the porch, and turned quickly to face the doorway of the house. Gabe stood there, wearing a simple grey t-shirt and jeans, looking at her with equal parts confusion and concern. "Are you alright?"
Her head snapped to the side, but the other Gabe wasn't where she had pushed him away. He hadn't even been wearing the same clothes as the Gabe before her.
"Oh god." She moaned, pressing the heels of her hands against her closed eyes, trying to catch her breath. It hadn't been real. None of it had been real yet the pain in her chest grew and blossomed with a life of its own.
And he had no idea what the hell was going on, but Gabe gathered Charlotte into his arms regardless when she started shaking and carried her back in the house.
.
.
It was still warm outside during the day, but a fire burned in the living room regardless, crackling and heating the small space. It helped calm Charlotte, lulled her into a sleep, and Gabe watched her silent form sprawled on the couch from his own chair across the room while he slowly burned to death.
She mumbled in her sleep, lips moving, speaking, begging, crying, head turning to the side, legs curling up into her body so she was more secure. He watched her carefully, feeling a crater erupt in his chest.
Charlotte was going mad.
Her granddad was trying to kill her.
Her mind was trying to kill her.
And Gabe was just watching everyone else try to kill her.
There were things he didn't understand, too. Well, most things about Charlotte he didn't understand. Like why her granddad stabbed her in the first place. As far as Charlotte told Gabe, he had helped train her for nine years before he went crazy and attacked her. He loved her, did everything with her.
And after the first failed attempt, why escape, why now, and why go after his Charlotte again? For what purpose could her death serve?
And what exactly was that ever elusive council really preparing Charlotte for? Not a spot on the council, she was far too young, far too inexperienced, and they never once taught her any of their laws or ways, just their runes.
He shook his head from his seat in the corner, rubbed a hand down his tired, haggard face, and focused his eye son his mate's fiery hair. Like the fire in the hearth calmed Charlotte, the fire glowing in her hair calmed Gabe.
She cried out softly, eyes screwing shut tight, and Gabe's name was whispered on a sigh, carried across the room like a desperate plea. He stood almost instantly, moving to the long couch before the furnace of a fire. He lifted her gently to not wake her-she hadn't slept in days and he didn't want to ruin her precious moments of rest-and sat on the couch. When she was lowered one more, her head rested on his knees, his hands smoothing away her wild, untamed hair, tracing lines on her face, soothing her with his touch.
Her soundless pleas died on her lips and she became limp in his hold, finally, finally, falling into the peaceful sleep she'd been denied for so long.
And staring into the fire, Gabe nodded to himself, feeling a terrible sense of failure as he decided.
He didn't know what was happening to Charlotte, had no idea how to stop her and her seemingly imminent death.
That meant he had to go to the people who knew just a bit more than he did. That meant leaving Charlotte in her grandmother's arms because the beasts couldn't roam the streets during the day.
But it meant helping her, he told him. He didn't know what to do, so he needed to find the people who did.
And to save Charlotte, he'd do anything.