Changing the Future

Chapter 91

Setting my nerves on fire would've been preferable to the torture I underwent. I craved being subjected to bear Atlas's burden. Being Tartarus's favorite plaything would've been a privilege.

The sleeping powder did nothing to alleviate my agony.

I awoke to water being dumped on my face by the bucketful.

I surged upward only for the wind to be knocked out of me as the restraints kept me pinned to the bed. The taste of iron hung heavy in my mouth. My throat felt as if it had been injected with pure Manticore poison – irritated, sore, and stinging. Dried ichor crusted underneath the restraints, the flesh there red, raised and rubbed raw.

I heard Psyche's cries and whispered apologies as she tried to undo the manacles. She fumbled with the key, the metal clanging against the tiny opening.

When the restraints finally gave way, she poured another bucket of water over my head. The water rushed toward my injuries, knitting skin and soft tissue together.

I blinked twice, lightly gasping as the realization sank in.

There was no clock blinking behind my eyelids, no internal clock to ground me.

Psyche succeeded.

My stomach churned. Despite being soaked to the bone, I broke out into a cold sweat.

Oh God.

Oh God.

"Hey, hey, breathe," Psyche encouraged, echoing my earlier advice. She pushed back the hair plastered to the side of my face and gently tilted my head upward, forcing my gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but she attempted a smile for my sake. "It's all done now. No more pain."

"Psyche, did I really go through with it?"

She reached for something in her pocket. She grabbed my hand, unfurled my fingers, and pressed the small, metallic object into my palm. Even now, I felt it rippling with power, wanting nothing more than to rip through its newfound constraint.

I stared at the golden hourglass for an indeterminable amount of time.

My body went on autopilot as I unclasped my bracelet and added the new charm to the band.

Psyche redid the clasp and gave me a side hug.

She ran her fingers through my matted hair. "You're so brave, Andy. I'm proud of you."

"There's nothing to be proud of. I'm a coward."

Psyche hummed noncommittedly. I could sense her disapproval, but she was an expert at masking emotions when she wasn't the one freaking out.

How the tables have turned.

"I'll remind you that the spell isn't permanent," she said. "You know how to reclaim the piece of your soul. It's as simple as summoning that sword of yours."

I numbly nodded in understanding.

"Tell you what. I'm going to get you some nectar, then I'll run you a shower. You'll feel better once you wash the day away."

Psyche flitted out of my room, taking the metallic restraints with her. I sat in my soaked bed, rummaging through damp blankets until my fingers brushed against soft, matted fur. My teddy bear's purple bowtie drooped, and the sagging fur covered his button eyes. His stitched smile remained hidden by clumps of wet fluff.

I pulled my teddy close to my chest and clung to him for all he was worth. He faintly smelled of Sally Jackson's laundry detergent.

I swallowed the building lump in my throat and focused on drying everything off instead. First the puddles on the ground, then my sheets and stuffed animals, and eventually, myself. I didn't care that Psyche would force me into the shower sometime within the hour; I was tired of the cold that had settled deep in my bones.