Blood Bride

Chapter Thirteen: Eyelids

JON cleaned the blood off his hand, proceeding to rest his hand on her shoulder.

She never took her eyes away from the dead vampire a few feet from her, sprawled out on the cerise stained couch with eyes wide, staring into oblivion.

"I need to speak with you." His tone was arid, beckoning her along with him. Ophelia kept chestnut orbs fixated on the dead bodies, still shocked by everything she had just encountered.

She remembered. She remembered she was kidnapped. But by who? There were still so many unanswered questions. She was afraid, yet full of resentment. Rage ached her bones, and sadness quivered her heart. How could anyone be so cruel? Why did it happen to her? Why did her mother keep this from her? Then again, Ophelia couldn't blame her. It must have been traumatic for her mother as well.

Her hands shook, her legs unwilling to move, almost as if cinder blocks were attached to her ankles.

When she straggled behind him, he gently wrapped his arm around her, drawing her out of the room. He shut the door behind them, leaving the mess for one of the maids to clean up.

He guided her to the elevator, and back to their room on the tenth floor. They disappeared into the room, where he ambled her over to the bed and sat her down. He stood before her, eyes studying her as if trying to understand what exactly she was feeling. Angry? Hurt? Confused? She was just blankly keeping her eyes level with his torso.

He took in a sharp breath and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I know that was a lot to take in but wallowing in pity will change nothing. It won't fix your past." He was right. With all this new information, she wasn't sad for just herself. She was sad for Marissa, for all the children that had to bear the horrific experience she did. She didn't remember much, but she remembered enough. How many made it out of there? How many died? Her heart clenched in her chest.

She looked up at Jon, tears streaking her cheeks as her lip pulled back to speak through her teeth.

"I know it won't." That sweet demeanor she always had vanished, leaving her eyes without a glow. Her eyes were as lifeless as the dead bodies. "I may not be able to change my past, but I won't let it define my future. Everyone will pay for their wrongdoings. I'll be sure of it." Ophelia dug her nails into the fabric of her jeans. "And by God, I'll be damned if I'll let them get away with what they did." She didn't know who they were. She didn't even know where to begin. What was she supposed to do? She was one person. "I'll...I'll-" She was cut off by the loud, rage-filled sobs that ripped through her being, the unearthly sounds unfamiliar to Jon.

She hugged herself, her fingers clutching the fabric of her sweatshirt. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel. She was angry she couldn't change a thing. She was upset and disgusted with the thought of the memories or even the thought of the things she had yet to remember.

Jon sat down beside her, guiding her head onto his lap as she curled up in a fetal position beside him. The action of consoling was foreign to him. Part of him wanted to lift his hand and rake it through her locks. Another part of him told him not to.

He hesitantly lifted his hand, placing it on her shoulder, and giving her a tender squeeze.

"Hush now. You'll make yourself sick." He murmured. "They won't go unpunished, dear girl. I assure you." She stopped sniveling as quickly as she started and was livid again.

"I want them to suffer." She sneered.

"And they will." He drew back her hair from her tear stained face. "I want you to be my Warrior, Ophelia."