Page 50 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

I closed my eyes, hoping to find some semblance of control in the darkness behind my lids. But instead of peace, my mind became a battlefield, the sound of James’s commands drowned out by the cacophony of memories clamoring for attention.

Amongst them, I felt the pull of that fateful night, the night I was snatched from the reception and forced into my newest nightmare.

I could almost smell the dank earth beneath me, feel the rough bark of the tree against my back, helpless and vulnerable as I was, the sensation of blood leaving my body like water bursting through a dam, unstoppable and relentless.

NO!

I could feel my mind fighting against reliving that specific memory. So I clenched my fists, willing my emotions to stay buried beneath that glass shield, to remain locked away where they couldn't hurt me.

As I struggled to contain the turmoil raging within me, I could sense James's growing impatience. His voice, like usual, carried an edge of frustration as he watched me failing to summon basic emotion.

"Emma, what's going on?" His tone was sharp, cutting through the haze of my thoughts like a knife. "You're not even trying."

I flinched at the accusation, his disappointment pressing down on me like a physical force. But try as I might, I couldn't seem to find the words to explain, couldn't articulate the tangled mess of thoughts churning within me.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I can't."

James's expression softened slightly, his frustration giving way to something akin to concern. "Emma, you can't keep shutting yourself off like this. It's not healthy."

I wanted to tell him that I had no choice, that the alternative was to drown in a sea of memories too painful to bear. But the words caught in my throat, strangled by the weight of my own silence.

With a sigh, James ran a hand through his hair, the frustration still evident in the lines etched across his brow. "Fine. Let’s retry tomorrow." As I met his gaze, I saw something flicker behind his eyes, maybe a glimmer of understanding amidst the frustration?

I nodded, relieved I’d bought myself twenty-four hours of rest.

The next morning, we skipped physical training all together and dove straight into translation.

By noon, I’d been trying for hours to summon the smallest of emotions but that wall I’d erected around them stayed firmly in place.

Whenever I needed a breather from the intense training, I found that throwing a few magi questions at James, was the perfect distraction.

“Can you read minds?” I asked him.

“No,” he replied dryly, “now focus.”

“Can anyone?” I asked anyway.

He sighed (slightly) annoyed. “Well…no, not exactly, but some magi have formed the True Bond.”

He knew I was procrastinating, but I also knew he would feel compelled to answer any question I had about our “lifestyle.”

“True Bond? What is that?” I asked, not really caring, only being happy to have found yet another magi subject to explore instead of (not) translating.

He sighed again (little more annoyed). “The True Bond is a form of complete telepathy; it’s the sharing of each other’s translation, but on a mental level.”

“I don’t understand.” I frowned.

James tapped his foot impatiently. “It’s when two magi choose each other and decide together to form a bond of the mind in which they share everything.

It’s a definitive form of telepathy. Every thought, every translation, every emotion is shared.

It’s the highest form of trust and the closest thing we have to a marriage.

But there’s no ‘divorce’ possible, the True Bond is for life,” he explained.

I pondered this.

“So, couples have to decide to it together? What if only one of them wants to bond, can the other one force it?” I wondered.

James looked disgusted at my suggestion.

“Well yes, theoretically one could ‘force’ it, but it would take a sick mind to do so. It would be like ‘mind rape’ and I have no knowledge of it ever happening. Now, will you stop deflecting with inane questions, and summon a godsdamn emotion so we can get back at today’s training? ”

I sighed disappointedly. My attempt to stall some more hadn’t worked.

“Just summon any emotion, Emma, get angry, or frustrated, or whatever works,” he said visibly irritated.

“I am angry and frustrated!” I replied, my voice strained with impatience. “It doesn’t work! At all! You suck as a teacher.”

It wasn’t very kind. Nor was it true. But whenever I felt like a complete idiot, which was practically all the time, I took it out on him. He was my teacher, my emotional punching bag, and the most challenging guy I’d ever met—his undeniable physical appeal notwithstanding.

He rolled his eyes, ignoring my outburst. But I had it with training for the day and like a petulant child, I tried to leave, while glaring at the man who made me feel inferior on a daily basis.

I knew all he wanted to do was help me, I knew so on a rational level.

But emotionally, I hated him for making me feel so inadequate.

“Emma, don’t be childish, get back here and do the fucking work! You can’t give up every time it gets hard, your emotions are closer to the surface than they have ever been. If you give up now, you could lose control!”

Did he just call me childish?

“So what?” I said through my teeth, trying to contain my anger. “It’s not like it would change anything, would it?”

“Yes, it would Emma, if you lose control, you might summon too much emotion, too much energy and kill yourself or others in the process! Remember the incident which started it all…”

My patience was already wearing thin, and now he had the audacity to bring up the bathroom incident? Again?

“Oh just shut up already!” I interrupted him. I picked up my belongings and left Oasis without another word.

“Fine!” I heard him saying, clearly losing his patience. “Figure it out yourself then.”

I hesitated, slightly hoping he didn’t mean he wouldn’t train me anymore, but I was too stubborn to turn around.

I stomped all the way back to the Universitas, to my dorm, like an elephant in need of an attitude adjustment.

Crashing on my bed, I wished for a million drinks so I nexed Enya and asked her out to The Cube. To my relief, my sole bitchy and sarcastic friend was able to muster enough enthusiasm to meet me there later on.

The Cube was a bar with a magical twist. As magi translated their own drinks and food at will, the bar offered only a few complicated cocktails on the menu, focusing instead on renting out space in the form of cubicles.

Upon arrival, one would find themselves seated in a neutral cubicle equipped only with a table and a few chairs.

The booth remained cloaked until one would personalize it to their liking.

Once “decorated”, the entire cubicle would rotate, uncloak, and seamlessly integrate into a lively, cacophonous circle.

In the center of this arrangement stood a DJ, orchestrating a diverse range of music that varied depending on the night of the week. Mondays, for instance, ushered in a mellow strain of EDM.

Arriving at the Cube in the early evening, my lingering irritation with James led me to ask Enya—the only one I’d told in confidence about my "malpractice," (as James and I called my lack of translation, with a wink to my past as a lawyer)—to translate me a whisky. I simply wasn’t feeling one of their signature cocktails.

Our cubicle, already transformed by her, now resembled a chic cocktail lounge, complete with a low table, purple lighting, and elongated loungers.

"To those who wish us well!" Enya toasted.

"The rest of them can go to hell!" I replied in our playful, idiotic rhyme. We exchanged smirks as I savored the warmth of the single malt coursing through me.

Casting a glance at the neighboring cubicles, I nearly spat out my Scotch. Even though I could only see the back of his head, there was no mistaking who it belonged to—James. Naturally. I really couldn’t catch a break from him, could I?

He remained oblivious to my presence, engrossed in conversation a few booths away with his friends.

On the other hand, Jackson noticed me and beckoned with an enthusiastic wave and a broad smile.

I sighed; it appeared that escaping James would be a futile endeavor.

I signaled to Jackson that I would join them later.

Once again, I turned my gaze toward James.

He hadn't acknowledged me, his back still turned, not bothering to offer a greeting or even a glance.

Yet, there I was, sort of captivated by the sight of him.

His broad shoulders were outlined in the fabric of his shirt, the muscles beneath subtly shifting with each movement.

The memory of our physical training sessions flooded my mind, where his body, strong and sure, had pressed against mine, pinning me down with a heat that ignited my senses.

As I watched him now, I couldn't help but recall the intensity of those moments.

The warmth emanating from his presence seemed to suddenly envelop the entire bar, drawing me in and stirring a longing I hadn't realized was still there.