My legs carry me across the room, my lungs fight against the ache from the stitches. I make it to the door before his long arms wrap around my waist. He's careful not to touch my stitches as he strengthens his hold and drags me backwards.
"Let go of me!" I shout as I throw all my weight forward, but he's stronger than the average person. He puts no effort into his movements as he picks me up until my feet are off the floor and then carries me back to the couch. He sets me down and when I try to get right back up, he thrusts his hand out and shoves me back down.
"Calm down," he orders. "You're going to tear those stitches open."
My chest heaves as I breathe furiously. "I don't care. It wouldn't hurt any more than what's happening on the inside."
He looks at me with sympathy. "I understand you're probably upset, but I—"
"I'm not upset," I cut him off. "I'm content, which is frightening, because I know what you said is the truth and I don't want it to be. I wanted it to be something else; something that can be cured with a pill or something."
He looks helpless, eyes wide and his lips still. The clock ticks back and forth, back and forth. I don't know what to say or what to do with myself. My entire life, I've had a star's energy inside me. A fucking piece of a star. I'm probably not even human.
"What am I?" I ask. My voice sounds detached.
"What are you?" Alex asks, looking at me bewilderedly as he sinks down on the couch beside me. He places a hand on the back of the couch, rotates sideways and traps me in place. "I'm not sure what you mean."
"Well, I can't be human," I say, my eyebrows knitting. "I mean, nothing about me has really been human, has it? And having a star inside me... That can't be human."
"You're human," he assures me and takes my hand in his. He grazes his finger across the inside of my wrist. A few months ago I would have felt nothing, but now it brings me a little comfort in the sea of absurdity I've been thrown into. "You're just a human with a lot of power."
I can feel that power through his touch and it's making me nauseous. I ease my hand away from his, but he grabs ahold of it again and guides me closer until I'm pretty much sitting on his lap.
"Look, I know this all sounds crazy," he begins with a look of determination as he puts his hands domineeringly on my hips. He lifts me up and sets me down on his lap, so my legs are on either side of him. "And I understand that you're probably scared shitless, but there's more stuff I have to tell you."
My eyes roll to the ceiling as I fight back the tears. "How can there be more... I don't think I can take anymore."
"Yes, you can. You're a lot tougher than you know," he says and I lower my head to see if he's being serious. His gaze never wavers as I study him. "But here's the thing. If you don't want to hear it—if you want to be left in the dark for the rest of your life—then you need to tell me. If you want me to stop, then I will."
"I've been left in the dark for most of my life." It isn't really a question, but he nods anyway. I take a deep breath and whisper, "Tell me then."
He nods, gripping onto my hips like he thinks I'm going to try and flee again. "The Keepers lucked out because Demetrius never discovered the location of the star's power, but when you were born, a Foreseer told Stephan that if your emotions weren't controlled, then the power of the star would weaken and eventually die, along with the world. So, to stop that from happening, Stephan made the decision for you to go live with Marco and Sophia in the real world."
"How old was I when I went to live with them?" I utter softly. "Because I was told one, but I'm starting to wonder if maybe I was a little older."
"No, you were one," he replies in a flat tone. "And they were under strict orders to make sure you stayed unemotional."
I hit an eerie calm—an 'unemotional' calm. I was made to be this way—to be dead inside. To live a life of solitude. All those mind-numbing years alone, without a friend, never speaking unless a question was directed to me. It was all done on purpose? A lump builds in my throat, blocking my airway. I can't breathe.
"Gemma," he says with concern. "Tell me what you're thinking."
I suck in a sharp breath and force the lump down. "How did they do it? How did Marco and Sophia make me unemotional?"
His eyes wander over my shoulder. "I was always told that it was because they gave you as little physical contact as possible. Isolation. If someone doesn't ever know happiness, sadness, or love, then how can they ever feel it? Right?"
"Are you lying to me?" I lean to the side and he stares down at the floor behind me. "You can't even look at me."
"I'm not lying, Gemma." He looks at me guardedly. "I'm just telling you what I know, which isn't everything."
"Yes, you are," I assert, fighting down my anger; fearing if I release it, the consequences will be irreversible, especially if I end up punching him. I start to get up, but his arms wind tighter as he wrestles me down onto his lap and crushes my chest against his.
"You can't go wandering off," he says sternly. "Not until we figure out what's going on... why the Death Walkers are on to you."
"Let me go." I'm enraged. Furious. Pissed off beyond comprehension. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, hard.
He doesn't seem to give a shit as he picks me up and flips us to the side so he is lying on top of me. He gathers my arms together in one of his hands and pins them up above my head. I'm trapped beneath him and the scorching heat is unbearable.
"You're thinking too irrationally right now," he says. "You need to calm down, take a few deep breaths and think before you do anything."
I bend my back up and press my chest against his. "I'm thinking as rationally as anyone would in this situation. And there's all this... stuff in my body and head and I don't know what to do with it."
He lowers himself and I feel the hardness of his body bear down on me. "Calm down. You're going to tear open your stitches... Just calm down."
I lie there, panting, and so does he. With each rise and fall of our lungs, our chests collide. I become calmer, which doesn't seem possible. Yet, it is; my erratic breathing is slowing down, my heart steadying.
He loosens up too, and isn't so tense anymore. "Now, if I let you go, will you promise to stay here and talk? No running off?"
I take a deep breath and nod, but deep down I know I have no control over what I do at the moment. My emotions do.
He lets go of me and pushes himself up. Then he grabs my hand and aides me as I sit up next to him. It grows quiet as he turns his head and looks over his shoulder at his back. "You know, you're fucking ruthless. You clawed through my shirt and cut the skin." He turns so I can see his back. Sure enough, I've managed to tear his shirt and his exposed skin is split open and bleeding.
"Sorry," I apologize, but there is very little sincerity in my tone.
He turns around and there's fire in his eyes. "Don't be." He clears his throat and then I clear mine.
"So, why did I start to feel, then?" I pull my legs up on the couch and tuck them under me. "That's what I really want to know. What happened?"
"No one can really figure that out. I guess Marco and Sophia noticed some changes in you over the last few months or so."
"They barely talk to me. How did they notice changes?"
"I guess you started asking questions about your parents and stuff. You even seemed sad at times."
So that's why Sophia has been upset. That's why she won't tell me anything, but it didn't make it better. It made it worse. I feel a flicker of hatred in that moment; it's small, but there, and eager to flame bright. "And how do you play a part in this? I mean, you were at Marco and Sophia's house that morning, and then, suddenlyyou were at my school. I'm guessing you weren't there just to learn."
He lets out a breath. "Aislin and I enrolled in school to try and figure out what was going on with you. We were supposed to keep our distance and just observe, but that didn't work out very well."
"Are those the rules you broke?"
He shrugs. "That's just one among a very long list."
"So you're not supposed to be near me?"
He shakes his head and his gaze sweeps all over me, like he's memorizing me before he bails. "No, not really."
I think about us on the bed and just how close we've gotten. I pluck at a stray string on the throw pillow. "You broke that rule more than once."
"I know," he mutters and then lets out a sigh. "Look, I know you probably have a ton more questions, but I really need to get ahold of Stephan and figure out what's going on. The Death Walkers—I don't know how they discovered you—and we need to find that out before they track us down again."
I want to believe that when he says 'us,' he actually means us, but, for some reason, I feel like I'm the exclusion. Deep down, I know I'm alone in this, just like I've been my entire life. In the end, I'm the only person I can count on for anything.
