SECOND DRAFT: Hard Bank Left

24

It was the itching that woke her, every square inch of her body itched. It wasn't intense, not by any means, but it was enough to irritate, like something was crawling over her skin. She wriggled, trying to scratch the itch in the middle of her back. It was no use, her bonds held fast. She knew this reaction, knew what it meant. She'd had it before, several times, twice when using opioids to numb pain, and once when she least expected it: when she was under Dustan's spell. Before he took her away, before he made her suffer, he had done something. She couldn't figure it out then, but now it made perfect sense as to why she itched whenever she was separated from him.

She'd met Dustan by sheer coincidence, or so she thought. He worked at a supply shop in the town near the hangar where she and Graham had set up shop. She had gone in looking for some basic welding equipment. Graham had just finished developing the schematics for their ship and if they were going to start welding the parts he'd been gathering, they'd need some protection. It was Dustan who helped her find what she was looking for. He touched her arm after she had dropped something and that's all it took.

She ran into him frequently in town. He asked her out, they started dating. Every time she went back to the hangar she would itch until she saw him again. At some point she brought him by the hangar to meet Graham, see what they were working on. She couldn't imagine why Graham had behaved with as much hostility as he did. She couldn't imagine anyone being hostile toward Dustan. After all his perfection radiated from every fiber of him: a perfection she couldn't even remember.

Dustan offered to take her away on a vacation back home in England, a home they shared. She didn't object. Why should she object? There was nothing to object to. This behavior seemed natural to her. Looking back now, she knew it wasn't. She should have trusted Graham's instincts. She had always trusted his instincts before. At the time he had been her best friend for nearly eight years, his opinion should have mattered more to her than even her own. But it didn't. And because of it she didn't even bother saying goodbye to him when she left with Dustan.

Odd, looking back now she couldn't remember what he looked like. Vague shapes and shadows came to mind, but nothing concrete. Time had numbed her memories enough for them not to haunt her with his face. Dark hair, dark eyes, a soothing voice: if she were to hear his voice now she would be able to recognize it immediately. If she were to smell him she would recognize him immediately. Good thing for here those options remained physical impossibilities. She'd killed him, burnt him to a crisp. They'd found his body in the remains of the house she'd immolated and that was that.

Krys strained against her bonds, tugging left, tugging right. The itch on her back grew with intensity until she couldn't stand it. She had to get out.

The table below her felt hard, and rough: wood, not metal. She was on a dining table, not in a medical facility, and one most likely on the ground. Metal could be made light and thin, wood was always heave, there was really not much one could do about that.

Logically, she had to think logically. Where were there people on the ground that worked in wood and herbs and wouldn't kill her. There were several options, the first seemed obvious, and at the same time completely illogical: Dustan. But he was dead. There was no possible way she would be with Dustan again. So maybe she was with the gypsies. This option was equally ridiculous, they would never constrain her like this. So maybe she was with someone unknown to her, they saw her catch on fire and freaked out. That one worked, she had to assume that she was somewhere somewhat safe with people that didn't understand her. This left her with the distinct need to escape, to get somewhere safer with people that actually knew who and what she was. She needed to be home.

Her fingertips wrapped around the edge of her padded cuffs - leather restraints, really. They found a buckle with a fine metal latch. If only she could pop the latch, make it jump, then she'd be able to... why would she need to pop the latch when she could simply burn it?