Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (26 page)

“No,” he interrupted. “But I let it happen. I turned my back on you and I…” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “He got to you because I let him. Because I wasn’t here to watch over you. Because I thought that what I was doing was for your good.”

Anger tickled the back of her throat. “You broke my heart because you thought being without you was good for me?”

He sighed, scooping a hand back through his hair. “Yes.”

“You’re so stupid!” she barked, taking a step back before she could hit him.

“I know.”

His admission only fueled her fury. She balled her fists at her sides, but kept them contained there. “Why would you do that? Why would you think I would be better off without you when you were the only reason I had to keep living?”

He hung his head. “Because I thought I was making you worse. That by loving you, I was making you sicker.”

“I never felt more alive than I did when I was with you!”

He nodded slowly, still staring down at his feet. “At the time, I truly and honestly believed I was doing the right thing. I tried to break things between us cleanly, without hurting you, but you refused to let me go…”

“Because I loved you!” she shouted. “Because I didn’t want to let you go! Because I didn’t want to lose you!” She hadn’t realized she was crying until her voice hitched and she felt the tears on her cheeks. She swiped at them impatiently. “I have never fought for anything in my life because I never had anything worth fighting for, but I was going to fight for you.”

“Something I should have done, but was too stupid, too blind to do it,” he said miserably. He raised his head and peered into her face. “I won’t ask you to take me back because I don’t deserve you or your forgiveness, but I swear to you, Amalie, that I will never hurt you again, that I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you let me.”

Amalie

She could have forgiven him. It would have been a simple thing to do when her heart had already decided it. But the words were thick paste at the back of her throat, clinging to the soft tissues of her esophagus like peanut butter. She tried to swallow, tried to spit them out, but they clung, denying her the simple offering.

Her silence had hurt him. She had seen it in his eyes when he’d left, but what could she do when her body refused to obey her heart? Her head wasn’t willing to offer him comfort when she’d spent the better part of a year living in torture.

She didn’t blame him. She didn’t fault him for the things her father did, or Tomas. She blamed him for being blind. She had always known his loyalties to her father ran as deep as his marrow, but he had claimed to love her. That was hard to believe after the things he’d said to her, the way he’d left, the promise he’d made and broken so easily. Those were things she couldn’t forgive.

Maybe it was better that way, she thought. Maybe it was better that she let him leave. Her newly formed plans did not involve him. She couldn’t have him appearing unexpectedly into her life now when she was so ready to escape this place. The thought of leaving him hurt, but he wasn’t the prisoner here. His life wasn’t in danger.

She contemplated the best course of action and it dawned on her why she hadn’t done this before. There was no way out. There was no escape. Every corridor in the place was carefully watched around the clock by guards. The grounds were heavily surveillance by the guard station and protected by a ten foot stone wall, topped with coils of barbwire and gated by electric bars. If that wasn’t enough, the entire northern side of the house dropped off a cliff that ended in sharp jutting rocks and a ravenous ocean. Then, if she ever made it past the gates, it was miles from anywhere, through a vast catacomb of forestry and mountains. If hunger and nature didn’t kill her, the wild animals that prowled for stupid people would.

Dejected, she sank onto her bed and stared across the room.

She wasn’t strong enough to make it. She wasn’t prepared. A knapsack of clothes wouldn’t save her from hunger or misdirection. Where would she sleep? How far could she go on foot before she was caught? Unprepared, the whole mission was suicidal.

But at least you’ll be free,
the voice in her head pointed out.

Then what? Free just to die out there, scared, hungry and alone? Free for an hour? A few days? What kind of freedom was that?

Any freedom was better than none,
the voice answered.

She decided to ignore the voice. The voice had no idea what it was talking about. This wasn’t something she should leap headfirst into. It required meticulous planning and forethought. But how long would that take? How long did she have?

The agitated swirl of her thoughts clouded her mind so thoroughly that when a knock sounded on her door, she almost didn’t hear it.

It took her a moment to reach through the heavy fog of doubt and fear to penetrate reality once more. She blinked and focused on the solid sheet of wood to the newcomer seeking entrance. The anomaly of having anyone knocking had her climbing to her feet and crossing the room.

The knock sounded again, softer, as if the person responsible feared disturbing her. The possible consideration had her pausing questioningly.

“Amalie?”

Her eyebrows scuttled up her brow to climb into her hairline. Her footsteps lengthened until she had the cool knob in her hand and was twisting.

Isaiah stood on the other side, looking much more put together than he did earlier.

“Isaiah? What—”

He slipped past her and quickly shut the door behind him. He placed a finger to his lips and did a quick scan of the room.

“Are you alone?”

Confusion furrowed her brow. “Yes, of course. Who—”

His fingers closed around her wrist and she was being dragged towards the bathroom.

“Isaiah, what—”

“Trust me!” he hissed over his shoulder.

Without giving her a chance to respond, he shoved her into the bathroom and shut the door behind them. Without missing a beat, he leaned over and snapped the shower on.

Amalie gasped, staggering away from the sudden burst of water that seemed to echo everywhere all at once, pounding in her ears and filling her lungs instead of air. She hit the corner between the door and wall and nearly slid to the ground. She tasted sweat on the palms she squished over her mouth.

Isaiah was there then, grasping her shoulders and yanking her up. He pulled her into his arms, holding her upright while pressing his lips to her ears.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “Amalie, I’m here.”

But the assurance fell on deaf ears. Amalie could scarcely hear him over the strange, strangled noise coming from somewhere. It almost sounded like an injured animal. But she couldn’t formulate the words to ask Isaiah to look for it, to help it when she felt nearly faint herself.

“Amalie,” he said again.

“Turn it off!” she begged.

He released her to turn towards the faucet. Without his support, she slipped boneless to the ground.

That’s where he found her when he turned back, squished between the wall and the door.

She was trembling from head to toe. Her teeth chattered loudly in the cramped space. Her breathing came out in jagged puffs as she fought to keep from sobbing.

“What did he do to you?” He was kneeling in front of her now, his hands framing her face, tipping it up until he could look into her eyes. “I won’t turn it on again,” he promised. “But there are guards outside, we have to be very quiet.”

Amalie said nothing, but stared at him, silently questioning him with her eyes.

“What happened to Julia?” he whispered so quietly, she nearly didn’t hear him.

She got herself under control just long enough to say back, “I don’t know. Why?”

“Because I think you’re next,” His gaze bore intensely into hers. “I think your father is going to kill you.”

***

Isaiah stayed with her that night. Not in her bed as he once used to, but in the chair Derek usually occupied. She told him to go to his bed, that her father never once dragged her out of bed in the dead of night, but he merely shook his head, saying only, “I’m not making the mistake of leaving you alone again.” As he settled in for the night. “I’m going to be right here if he tries anything.”

“Isabella comes early,” she warned him, climbing into bed. “You’ll get in trouble if you’re caught.”

He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs and folding his arms over his chest. “Then I better not get caught, eh?”

She had no idea what he was going to do. He surely wouldn’t be able to protect her forever, but he certainly seemed determined.

“You won’t be able to stop him if he comes,” she said, laying her head down on the pillow and drawing the blankets up around her shoulders.

“I don’t plan to stop him,” he answered. “I only plan on stalling him long enough until I can think of a better plan.”

The whole thing was ludicrous in her opinion. He had no hope of stalling anything if her father willed it. But he didn’t seem to notice that small fact. He had always been so stubborn. It wasn’t really a fault, but it certainly was aggravating at times.

“It won’t work,” she said, closing her eyes.

“I’ll make it work,” she thought she heard him say, but she was already falling into the first real sleep in over a year.

***

It was the clink and clutter that aroused her the next morning. She squinted against the pale, gloomy light spilling into the room at the fidgety woman anxiously arranging her breakfast on the desk. Her gaze shot quickly to the chair next to the door and expelled a sigh of relief to find it empty.

Isabella heard the rustle of sheets as Amalie sat up and went as ridged as a plank of wood. She swung around, holding the tray like a shield to her chest.

“Morning,” Amalie murmured gently, speaking the way one would to a frightened horse.

Isabelle dropped into a wobbly curtsy, then bolted from the room as if Amalie had just grown another head with fangs. The door slammed shut behind her.

Amalie heaved another sigh.

She had never done anything to warrant such an odd behavior and was almost certain she would never get an explanation since Isabella refused to stay in the same room with her long enough to give a response. The only thing she could think was it was because she was crazy and no one really liked being around crazy people.

She was at the point of accepting this reasoning when a soft click interrupted her thoughts. She turned her head just in time to see the bathroom door open and Isaiah step out, still in the same clothes as the day before. His blue eyes took in the room quickly before swiveling to find her. He grinned a little and her heart forgot her head’s warning to remain impassive and gave a flutter.

“You’re still here,” she said, not altogether sure why she felt so surprised.

He stepped closer to the bed, hands lost in his pockets. “I told you I would be.”

Yes, but you’ve told me lots of things you later broke.
She didn’t say it out loud, but it must have shown on her face.

He sighed, dropping his gaze down to the floor. “I’m not going anywhere, Amalie. Not every again. I need you to believe that.”

Unable to think of anything to say, she threw back the blanket and slipped out of bed. “I need to get ready. Derek will be here soon.”

He didn’t try to stop her as she grabbed the first item from her wardrobe and hurried into the bathroom.

She didn’t shower as she once used to, in the ceramic tub. Instead, she dropped a rag into the bottom of the sink, twisted a slow trickle of water on it and gave herself a quick scrub. She brushed her teeth, combed her hair and donned the soft, floral dress, all the while avoiding the mirror and the truth it would hold.

She needed a shower, a real shower that involved soap and shampoo. She needed sleep. She needed sunlight. Lack of these things had her skin looking waxy, dull and lifeless. She didn’t need the mirror to tell her how awful she looked with her face drawn and her hair falling in matted, tangled clumps around her shoulders. She could feel the oily strands brushing her face and the back of her neck. It made her want to cringe as she twisted the mess into a braid down her back.