The Forgotten Secret

Chapter 23

A week has passed since Taylor's funeral, a week that has dragged along like a month. Blake keeps to himself, I only ever see him at meal times and then, he is silent and reserved, blood shot eyes staring blankly at his uneaten food. I know this. Immense grief and suffering slowly eating away at his soul.
I went through that once to, though I remember that fact more than I remember it happening, thanks to the memory swipe. I was nine, Izzy only three, two years after Elijah had fallen. I felt like I was dying, that each breath was harder than the last and that life had stopped. That it wasn't worth living. I wouldn't eat, had nightmares every night, I flunked tests, came home late, became moody and distant and violent. One day a year seven boy started calling me names and spitting at my feet. Nothing particularly new, but then he insulted Elijah. I snapped. Without thinking, i whirled around and rammed into him, knocking him to the ground. I remember hatred, despair, punching him senselessly. He fisted me in the eye which left a purple and black bruise, but it was nothing compared to what he looked like when older students finally ripped me off him. I was screaming, crying, kicking and pretty much dying. All the emotion I had stored up for two years came out like a flood. They had to physically restrain me, adrenaline giving me more strength than my weak, nine year old body had. Three hours locked in the janitors closet is how long it took me to calm down. Three long, delusional hours of pain, loss and anger.
Looking back at it now, it was that fight which set me free. It unleashed the building emotion inside that was slowly destroying me. I cannot say I would be here now if not for that release. I cannot say the grief would not have destroyed me. I think it would of.
I cant let that happen to Blake, yet I cant go beat him up either. I've been hoping it would get better, that he would move on and overcome it, but its just getting worse.
In the week thats passed, I've been planning. Planning to leave for New Europe when Blake is ready. A boy my age, Tarver, has been secretly helping me, getting together fake ID's, approval letters and certificates. Blake doesn't know. I don't think he will ever be ready to leave.

I walk out of the castle, stealthily following Blake to a pair of abandoned buildings. He skirts through the door and shortly after I follow him, with dead silence that has kept me alive. The roof is only half attached to the walls, dropping precariously, letting the suns full fury inside. A room of rubble, with only a cleared circle in the centre. Blake stands in the sunshine-illuminated circle, his back to me. Suddenly he turns around, staring straight at me. He knew I was here all along.
I take tentative steps towards him, mentally calculating the best way to free him without being physical. Subtle? Or blunt? He stares at me unfocused, yet his hands are clenched by his sides. Emotionally hurting him will make it worse. I need to provoke him.
"I wanna leave." I say, subtly getting into a relaxed fighting stance. His head flicks up, eyes bulge and some of the opaqueness in his eyes is replaced with anger. Good.
"Leave? Leave!" He rasps, taking an unintentional step forward. I let my hands come up to chest in a show of peace, where i can easily block any punches and be in a position to throw my own.
"We can gather supplies and set -" I never finish my sentence, for Blake rushes forward, grabs me by the collar and pushes me against the wall. His eyes right before mine, I can feel his uneven breaths on my throat. Lips I kissed a week ago now ready to shred me to pieces.
"I. Will. Not. Leave. Without. Her." He spits, chest heaving and glowering with almost-completely clear eyes. Almost there.
"So you'd rather rot here with her? She's not coming back Blake! Shes gone!" My voice wavers on those last words, eyes momentarily clouded with unshed tears. I lower my guard for a moment, and instantly he slams his fist into jaw, sending my head crashing into the wall behind me. Instinctively I knee him in the stomach, drop out of his weak grasp, and roll away. I leap up as he turns to face me, spitting my blood onto the floor. He glares at me, and I know it is going ti take more than a few insults to purge him of his emotion. Otherwise he would never have hit me.
He lunges towards me, wrapping his left hand around my neck and his with his right uppercuts me in the nose. Pain explodes in my nasal area and I hear a nasty crack of the bone shattering. Warm blood races down my nose into my mouth, suffocating. I grab his hand mid-strike, twist it into a vice grip and head butt him in the forehead. He grunts in pain and I shove him backward. I step forward and kick him in the thigh, but he grabs my leg before it hits its mark and swings me onto the ground. I screech, more in anger than in pain, and flip his legs from underneath him. With a roar of pure fury he leaps onto me, trying to pin my hands to the floor. For final measure I slap him in the face, hard, and he slams a strike into my ribs. Doubling over in pain, my newly-healed ribs, I claw at his vice like grip on my arms, trying to get out.
Suddenly he is wrenched off me and I am pulled up off the ground. Vaguely regaining my senses, I become aware of the frenzy of people around us.
"What the hell is going on here?!" People screech at him, and I realise how bad this must look. Me, a girl, bloody and beaten for no apparent reason.
"Stop." I say and the room goes death still, heads swivelling around to look at me. I wipe the blood off my chin and spit again, seeing a controlled Blake flinch at every movement. He is back. "Everything's fine. That... discussion, was between me and Blake. Its all sorted now."
Zabrinä starts to open her mouth like shes gonna say a hole lot more, but i send a pleading, stern look in her direction, and with a angry look at Blake she ushers everyone else out. As the last person leaves, I turn to see Blake staring at me, but when we make eye contact he looks away.
I rip a piece of fabric from my shirt and walk up to him. Standing incredibly close, I gently clean his cut, bleeding lip and the blood on his forehead from where I head butted him. All the while, he stands still, staring straight ahead.
"I'm sorry your hurting." I say quietly, meaningfully. "I'm sorry I've made it worse. But now, you should be clean." I turn from him, to walk away, but he gently takes my shoulders and turns me around to face him. He takes the cloth from my hand and tenderly cleans my face, stopping the flow from my blood nose and broken lips. A bruise is already forming over his left cheek.
"Thank you." He breathes, his eyes showing the depths of those words and he studies my face. "And I promise, for as long as I live, that I will never, ever let that happen to you again. By my hands, or anyone else's."
Silently we walk back to the castle, hand in hand. In anyone else's eyes, we would have looked have looked messed up and delirious. But to us, it makes perfect sense. I set him free and he knows that, and he knows that I set him free out of love. I took his punches out of my love for him. And he pledged his protection over me, out of love for me. Somehow, someway, I have found my soul mate, the other odd, awkward piece in this messed up, ugly puzzle. We may have lost a beloved sister, but found each other.