An Undead Rebellion (Sequel)

cutting up roses //

ARABELLE'S P.O.V.  //

As I sat in a lone chair inside the rustic inn room, everything seemed to crash down around my shoulders. The gravity of losing Corey, losing what I thought he was to me, filled me with such an ache that all I could do for several minutes was curl into a ball and sob hysterically. My heart was shattered and I didn't think I would ever be able to fully mend it. I had put everything into him, into us, so much of myself had been intertwined with him, it was unbearable to know that he had felt nothing this entire time. The pain I felt inside was nearly tangible,I could taste it under my tongue. I could feel the hurt bone deep, a throbbing anguish that was nearly blinding. It didn't feel like I had anything left in me. I was broken. All I had was a cruel longing, a longing for someone that had never wanted me in the first place. A longing for something that hadn't even been real.

What would I be going back to, if I made it home? A broken family, a broken relationship, a throne that I would share with someone that I wasn't really in love with. A facade. How ironic. I guess Corey and I had both been pretending, for different people. The only difference was that Reaver knew I wasn't really in love with him, he knew that our relationship was solely for the public's benefit.

Even if I made it home, none of this would end. The Rebellion wouldn't stop. Corey had said that Bryn wasn't even the leader, he was just a mask. Who was the real leader, then? What were they planning?

Finally, I gathered myself and tried to think clearly. I found the en suit bathroom and washed my hands and face. I still couldn't get rid of the blood from under my nails. Exiting the room, I waded back upstairs to the main floor. I approached the bar and asked the woman working if I could borrow her phone. She handed me a landline and I picked up the phone, dialing my brother's cell number.

There was no answer. I didn't want to leave a voicemail because I didn't want him calling back this number and asking for me.

Sitting down at the bar, I asked the lady for a drink. She served me a glass of tan liquid with a layer of foam on top. I chugged half without actually tasting it. Then I tried calling Drake again. Still, no answer. I glanced over my shoulder, at the door. How long did I have until Corey got back? I mentally shook myself, taking another gulp of beer. What could he do, even if he did catch me trying to contact my brother? Was I his hostage now? It was as if I had traded in one bad situation for another. Maybe I wasn't the Rebellion's hostage anymore, but now had I become Corey's? He was just one person, he couldn't hold me. What I really wanted to know was, what was his angle? Why betray the Rebellion to help me escape? Was it because he felt pity for me?

Unrest burned in my gut. I finished my drink and asked for another. Every few minutes I would try Drake's number again, between swigs of muddy alcohol. Him not picking up made me anxious. God, I hoped he was alright. I couldn't lose him, too. It felt like he was the last person I had. There was several empty mugs in front of me and I was steadily working on another. I hadn't kept count of how many I had already drank. I was just forcing them down.

My head was fuzzy. It seemed like I was tilting, but I really wasn't. At least I didn't think so. My eyelids felt heavy as I dialed Drake's number, fingers clumsy. All of the sudden the phone was ripped from my grasp and slammed back down onto the receiver. Motions slow, I glanced up to see Corey watching me with a disinterested gaze.

"What are you doing out of the room?" he demanded, his eyes roving over the used mugs. "Have you been drinking?"

I topped off my glass,accidentally knocking over one of the many of them beside my elbow. I fumbled to catch it before it hit the floor.