The Price I Paid

7: Mourning Comes

The haze of intoxication's 'morning after' phase hit me like a train, and I woke up with both a throbbing head and no recollection of what had happened.

All I knew was that I was in some warm, overzealously comfortable bed and warm tingles of exhilaration had clouded my mind. I could feel warm skin through the heat of a shirt that definitely wasn't mine-- and at this moment, I felt reluctant to still be wearing my underwear. I picket up the fluffy comforter, and spied the lightly tanned arm that was secured around my waist.

Then, I looked behind me to panic.

A scream built itself in my throat and burst out, shooting Griffin awake. I took the opportunity to press my hands against his chest and heave as hard as possible, which resulted in my rolling off the massive expanse of bed.

"What the hell, you vexatious degenerate!" My vocabulary often improved with my anger, which I suppose was a way of making the person I was insulting seem as idiotic as they were. The mark left on me by the mongrel prince was aching in loneliness, craving his touch, but I held my will strong and remained right where I was.

Griffin sat up in bed and looked at me with a cocked brow, creating a boiling rage within me that was practically annihilated by the lust. I passed the desire off as an effect of the mutt's mark, and an odd thrumming seemed to suddenly outmatch the throbbing of Griffin's mark.

I put my fingertips to my lips, and a single name was blurring out every thought spewing past my tired brain.

Zachariah.

"Would you calm down?" Griffin instructed. I watched as he got up from the bed, my eyes resisting to stray from the sight of him half-naked. He was toned and cut, and my hands balled into fists in order to resist the anticipation of running my hands up his abdomen. He cleared his throat, and I realized the massive silence I'd created from being mesmerized by him. Of course my cheeks flushed a brilliant red, yet I still despised that they had.

"And why would I calm down? I do not recall coming back here for whatever reason!" As angry as I'd attempted to sound, it simply wasn't happening. For that, I inhaled a deep breath to try and sooth the mixed emotions.

And realizing how emotional I was only made me want to cry.

"Clara, you were drunk!"

"It doesn't matter! I'm stronger than the stupid love bite you left on me! I shouldn't be here, I should be home!" My voice cracked at the thought of going back to that old bunker, and I couldn't hold the tears back any further. They poured out, streaming down and swelling my cheeks up. Every step Griffin tried to take towards me, I took a step back-- and eventually my hands cere circling around the cold metal of the door handle.

Open the door and leave, you don't belong here.

"Clara--"

"Shut up!" I screamed. My hand took strong grip of the handle, and I shook at it furiously.

Yet nothing happened.

I shook the handle again, and again, and again, yet to no avail. My eyes widened in realization, and I turned to look at Griffin with a stunning rage. It seethed through me, dripping from the tone in my voice. I was angry, now, and I was glad Griffin would understand that.

"You locked me in?" I accused, my eyes narrowing to slits and hands balling into fists. Griffin straightened up, his eyes significantly darkening for whatever reason. He crossed his arms over his chest, and aired such a superiority that I held the slightest urge to cower.

"You're not running off again," Griffin stated-- and that was the final straw.

I charged at him, ready to throw punches and kick and scream. I didn't care how childish I was, this insensitive ass deserved all of it. My fist recoiled, and jutted out to make the first strike. It did, and a satisfying crack! echoed in the room.

Thing is, that crack didn't come from his jaw breaking.

Pain shot up my arm, fraying my nerves in an array of panic. More tears spilled from my eyes, and I cradled my disfigured hand close to my stomach. A groan of pain fired past my lips, and I doubled over as if it would help something.

"Clara!" Griffin called for me. My hand may have been severely injured, but it still didn't allow him the gift of being near me. I stepped away from him, finding my place on the couch and praying for the pain to go away.

"Just leave me alone," I whimpered, refusing to look at him. There was only a painful silence, then, one that agonizingly multiplied the sensations of my obviously broken hand. A door sounded, and Griffin shouted whatever orders before that same door slammed shut.

I finally relaxed, resting my head against the wall and hoping that he'd take his time before returning. But I must've been hopped up on adrenaline or something, because the pain began to slowly get worse and worse. I felt the strongest urge to scream, but screaming would bring my bimbo mate back, and I dreaded that moment.

The doors flew open, and I wiped away the tears to turn my puffy-eyed attention towards Roman. Considering my last recollections of last night were him ushering me to drink, I had the right to blame him for this as well. I pointed towards the doors, about to tell him to shove it and leave, when so many welcoming thoughts came to flood my mind.

Let him stay. Please, please let him stay.

I froze there, mouth agape, and incapable of saying anything else. Roman only smiled, but still had this look in his eyes that had me questioning past the happy thoughts. Roman's eyes flickered down to my injured hand.

Don't freak out my mind ushered-- and I watched as Roman's eyes were slowly inked out by blackness. He bit into his wrist, and I cringed at the action.

Just drink.

Roman forced his wrist to my mouth. And, as disgusted as I felt by the salted taste of blood on my tongue, I still found myself forcing down as much as possible before his wound closed up. After Roman pulled away, I could truly feel the pain retreating as well. I looked down at my once bruised and disfigured hand to see it in utter perfection, without even a scar on the precious skin.

"T- thanks?" I stammered, trying not to register what had just happened so I wouldn't lash out on him.

There was no reply, just the shutting of a door and the unnerving click of a lock. My brow quirked in question, and I stepped to the door to pull on the handle. I pulled again and again, then found myself shaking it furiously.

Whether I cared to admit it or not, I was trapped. That scum of a mate had instructed that I be locked in here, and there was no key. I was furious-- beyond furious-- I was livid. And if Griffin thought I was going down this easily, he had another thing coming for him.

But as the high of Roman's cure came to a close, the daily throbbing of my skull began and I was left trying to drain myself of any troubling thoughts that would prevent the flow that curse called an ability had given me.