Arabella's and Hardin's story continues....
After almost three years of blissful marriage, and reigning as King and Queen, our star crossed lovers can't find a single fault in their perfection of a life.
Then, it gets even better with a special deli...
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"It's okay." My serene light, my guiding hope, gently squeezed my hand. A subtle reassurance as we ventured into the lions den. "I'm with you." She nursed, softly, still treating me like fragile glass.
To be honest, I did feel like glass most days. Pain splintered through my body like jagged shards of the sharp material almost every minute of every day. Not physical pain, no I could handle that miscreant.
I was talking about searing emotional trauma that still haunted me, even as the proof of a miracle led me over to the higher seated chair I used to sit on proudly.
Now it was nothing but a reminder of how far I had fallen.
It wasn't lost on me that there was only one of them now. Mine must have been stored away or burnt.
Arabella, still clutching my hand, took the seat besides it. The one definitely not fit for a Queen, and I was about to object when she silenced me with a harsh squeeze.
"You're the King baby, and I'm proud to serve you." Admiration and love for this strong independent goddess flooded through me. With a small smile, we sat and gestured for the rest of the room to do the same.
Most of the occupants were staring at me as though I was a ghost. In some ways, it did feel strange to roam the same hallways and rooms that I never thought I would live to see again.
Horror flickered on more than one or two's faces but I ignored it as usual. Yes, I was a living dead man. Yes, you buried me. Yes, you forced my wife to marry another because of the fact.
"I suppose you all wish to know how I'm still alive, and my story of these past few months." I hadn't even told Arabella yet, because I knew that two times was one too many.
Gulping, I hid the frantic shaking of my right hand under the table. All eyes were fixed on me, and no-one dared to say a word. Not even Huxley who was regarding me with the most peculiar stare.
"I was stabbed maliciously by a rebel in-front of General Wyatt." My eyes flickered over to the man I called brother. Sheer guilt pooled in his eyes and I knew from the mere sentence we had exchanged earlier on that he blamed himself.
That I would not allow.
"I had already been choked, almost to death, and so when I was stabbed...well, such pain exploded in my body that I fell unconscious. Of course, to anyone else I would have seemed dead. I felt dead. I truly did think I would not survive. The man who stabbed me carried me to a truck and from there I was transported to a rebel camp. They had a doctor who saved my life. For some inane reason they wanted me alive. Then they threw me into a..."
Flashes of rotting flesh piled in the corner of cell came to mind. Rats scurrying around, the sound of them nibbling on the decaying flesh. The bucket containing my urine and feaces which was kicked over a number of times, only to humiliate me further. The man in the cell besides me, his haunting face as he pleaded with his eyes for me to save him, just as the axe swung down to take off his head.
