thunderstruck | book #2 | discontinued

V I I I

 Somewhere in between Adam walking her further up the beach, away from the turbulent sea, and him sitting her down on a dry patch of sand and pebble, Remy had found her breath again. Just like that, her body had remembered how to function properly, and though it still shook and she felt more exhausted than she remembered having ever felt before, she was okay—or at least, that was what she told herself.

Adam was watching her carefully from the corner of his eye, though he was pretending to be focused on something in the distance, past the sand and sea, past the sky and horizon. His knees were bent in front of him, and his elbows rested on them, his hands clamped together. For perhaps the first time, she was grateful for him being there. Though he had flitted about her like a deer in the headlights, flustered and unsure of himself, he had been the only thing that had held her together a moment ago. Without him, she might have still been in that state of utter panic and devastation now, or worse.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, her voice hoarse. The wind bit her cheeks where her tears, ones she hadn't even felt fall, had only half-dried. She was embarrassed now, and couldn't look at Adam as she waited for his response. She had never fallen apart like that in front of anybody, not even in front of Maksim when her life had been threatened and she had been pulled into a world of instability and confusion. She never wanted to show how broken she was, never wanted to anybody else to see her weakness, and though she trusted Adam not to tell anybody or use it against her, she still felt utterly pathetic for even getting herself into such a state: And for what? A boy. A warlock who had left her here, and another who had nearly killed her, for though Ackmard was in another world from her now, he still lived in the corners of her consciousness, still pierced through her memories with his black, merciless eyes. He could still hurt her, scare her, even now, and she had not quite acknowledged that before she had come to the beach, where the memory of the dreams she had had of him felt a little more real.

"Don't be sorry for having a panic attack," Adam replied finally, his voice soft even as he made an effort to be heard over the wind and the crashing waves. "If anything, I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were hurting like this. I didn't realise you could hurt like this."

"What do you mean?" she frowned, pulling her legs to her chest as though that might protect her, her fingers fidgeting with the pebbles and sand on the ground beside her. She pretended to be interested in a particularly large shell.

Adam shrugged, his eyes finally falling on her. They weren't relentless as they were before, though, and as long as she didn't return his gaze, she could pretend as though she didn't know she was being watched.

"I've just always seen the side of yourself you choose to show me, I guess. You always seemed so ..." He searched for a word, one that Remy was not sure she wanted to hear. "Indifferent, I suppose. Carefree. Maybe that was just with me."

"No," she sighed. "I was like that with everyone. It was a lot easier that way, but now I can't be like that. I try to be. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know who I am anymore."

"What happened to you in that other world, Remy?"

"I don't know," she whispered after a few moments of trying to find an answer. Her teeth chattered, and she did not know whether it was from the cold or the distress her body had been in. It seemed the former, for the bottom of her jeans were still wet with sea water, and were faded white from the salt. "Everything."

"Tell me."

So she did. She told him about Maksim pushing her into the portal, and how she had been trapped there because the Dark Ones had followed them into Refilyn. She told him about Maksim's siblings and the key, how they had caused destruction and almost gotten her and Maksim, and even Sarah, killed. She told him about Max, and how they had begun at one another's throats but somehow developed inexplicably profound feelings for one another even though it could not, would not, work. And then she told him about how he had left her in that alleyway, telling her he did not want to see her again. Somehow, she said all of these things without crying or breaking down, though her voice was weak and cracked often.