Broken Wings [Completed!]

Chapter 13

Growing up, Remy had never starved for food, never felt the compulsion to ask for needs instead of wants. She was a king's daughter, but as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her face all angles and exhausted, it reminded her of people on the streets she'd used to pity.

The man on the pavement, eyes half-lidded because he was nearly dying. Clothes ripped and bruises darkening on his wrinkled skin. That little girl with the balloon in her grasp, before some other kid on a bicycle popped it and laughed as it shattered onto the floor. Remy would've given one of her five balloons to her, but father had always told her to not associate themselves with them.

She retched again, knuckles white on the basin.

Ash was in her mouth, forcing its way down her throat.

She slid down the wall, palms finding the cool floor beneath her. Noticing her bony fingers and skeletal frame, she hid her hands inside of her long sleeves.

It was becoming a routine now: forcing herself to eat, retching, trying again.

But she was beginning to stop noticing the point.

Her body wasn't used to eating tasteless food. Lost Souls were the only such foods Hellions could taste; normal human food was like white noise.

The door knocked as Remy pushed herself off the floor and onto her table where a half-eaten sandwich sat on the desktop. Pushing it off to the bin hastily, she answered the door.

"Hey," Evira greeted, "can I come in?"

Remy nodded, smiling to hide her crumbling self from showing. Sitting on the chair--she hoped it showed that she felt relaxed, instead of the dull ache in her joints--she absently palmed her silky hair. Evira followed suit, her wet, scarlet hair in a bun. The bedroom consisted of four white walls, bare except from the windows and the small hole in the third wall that led to Remy's ensuite. Beyond the window were houses of ruin and half-working street lights, streaming a faded gray, just like Evira's shirt.

"Checking me out?" Evira winked, throwing her feet up onto the desk. She was barefooted; Remy hated shoes in her room, and insisted in all her visitors to take them off.

"You wish," Remy snorted.

Silence ensued. Evira looked like she was holding back saying something.

"Say it," insisted Remy.

She immediately wished that she hadn't. Evira face had turned guilty, "Have you eaten?" Her words were said carefully, as if Remy needed looking after, like a child.

She had the potential to be a Queen--she didn't need pampering.

Cheating a glance at the sandwich, she said instead, "Did Katherine set you up for this?"

"Can't I just be a good friend and worry about your health?"

Remy's eyes narrowed whilst Evira put up her hands in mock surrender.

"Let's talk about something else," said Remy, picking at her metallic nails.

Evira nodded slowly. She rolled her eyes up at Remy's own dark ones, setting up a challenge. There was always some sort of competition whenever Evira was involved.

Drumming her nails on the desk--a new habit--she realised that she hadn't had any decent conversation with Evira except from topics about their mission. Evira was one to keep to herself, but funnily enough she never liked to stay alone.

"How've you been?" Remy started, sounding awkward and hating herself for opening up that way. Before she'd came into Hell, it was known as the proper way to start conversations, just like asking how the weather was, or about another family's wealth.