He'll have to break all the rules to keep her, but first she has to break just one and let him in...
It's taken four years, but Anna Fray has finally put the past behind her. Mostly. She fills her days working in a bar and her nights watching bad ro...
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The steady rumble of the car engine was the only sound as I sat in the front passenger seat of Aslo's beloved Black Betty. The fabric on the seat was synthetic, but the cushioned softness felt like luxury against the ache in my joints.
The car wasn't anything fancy. It didn't seem to deserve the level of reverence Aslo treated it with. But, as I took in the obscure collection of music stashed in the centre console, and the obnoxiously sweet air freshener dangling from the rear review mirror, I wondered if Aslo's love wasn't for the car itself, but what it represented. It was his, a place where the Council's influence didn't stretch. He could listen to what he wanted, go where he wanted, and pack it full of the things he enjoyed without fear that the Council would one day send him somewhere new. It gave him a belonging, both a thing to own and a place in this world that was his.
Or maybe the past twenty-four hours had taken its toll, and I was seeing meaning where there was none. Nothing more than a guy and his car, and whatever weird bond machinery and speed created.
Either way, I was glad of the distraction, rather than dwell on what Aslo had meant when he looked towards R's body and told Atticus he would 'fix it' before he left. So, for once, I ignore the thirst for knowledge pinging questions through my head, of how and what and when, and instead I took the keys Aslo offered and trudged outside. The cold had pinched at my skin, even through the black hoodie Atticus had given me from the back seat, but there was something comforting about feeling that nip. It reminded me of the difference between R and I. One body, as cold as the air around us and soon to be as hard and brittle as the frost under foot, and the other warm and alive.
Atticus had started the car and turned the heating up before he'd left to finalise plans with Aslo, but even in the warmth I could feel myself shaking. The kind of juddering that made my teeth chatter and my fingers tremor. I clenched my jaw and sat on my hands as soon as I saw Atticus close the door to the Centre. The cuts and burns on my arms stung as they rubbed against my jeans.
Atticus slid into the driver's seat, and I mustered a weak smile while his eyes scanned over me. His gaze darkened until it met mine.
"Never again." His voice was soft but full of violence. I shivered as his fingertips lightly touched the bruise around my neck then carefully moved the sleeves back to inspect the rope burns on my wrists. His book flickered into existence from wherever it had been, and he reached to tear out a page.
With a quick painful movement, I placed a hand on top of his to stop him.
"But you're in pain?"
Years ago, I'd often sought solace in pain. But this felt different.
"I am, but it's a good kind of pain." Before, the need had been wrought from feeling weak. A need to escape, to feel something other than the self-loathing I'd drowned myself in. This felt stronger. "The last twenty-four hours have been surreal, and the pain helps me remember that it was real. That I survived... even if it was a bit closer than I'd like," I mumbled the last few words as I traced the bruising on my neck.
