Page 64 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

THIRTY-ONE

EMMA

I had no concept of time as we sat like that, indulging in drinks, smoking cigars, and gazing at the stars. At one juncture, I caught a glimpse of James’s Nexus, and I could have sworn it lit up at two in the morning.

As I found myself wrapped in James’s arms, Scotch in hand, a cigar between my fingers, and gazing up at the stars, the absurdity of the moment washed over me, prompting a giggle.

“What’s funny?” he inquired, a smile gracing his lips.

Yes, James had been smiling. And he had laughed! Twice! Which had nearly shocked me to death. Though I felt like he was even more surprised by it than I.

“Not funny, just… absurd.”

“What’s absurd?”

“You. This. Us. Bonding over cigars, steak and Scotch. Next you’ll tell me you like to play poker too.”

A grin crossed his face. “I happen to play a mean hand of Texas Hold ’em.”

I chuckled softly. “Well, mister Walker, it seems we might just become friends after all.”

His demeanor shifted slightly, his expression growing serious. "You don’t consider us friends?"

I bit my lip, attempting to cover my blunder with a hint of hesitation.

“To be honest, I thought we were. But ever since you began training me, I can’t help but feel like you grew very distant.”

James pulled me in closer, almost instinctively. He remained silent for so long that I began to wonder if he would respond at all.

“I did what I had to, to be the most efficient teacher I could be. And keeping you close proved to be… difficult,” he finally admitted, his words strained.

I hesitated, wanting to go deeper than that.

“Jackson told me…” my voice trailed off.

James’s body tensed. “Jackson told you what?”

“He elaborated a little on your past,” I minimalized. “When you told me you struggled with your ‘rage-haze’, Jackson sort of filled me in on what that meant.”

“Did he now?” James’s voice turned ice-cold in an instant and I shivered. I wanted to coward my way out but I knew this would be the only time I might get some answers.

“He told me, when you were a kid, you accidentally…killed people?” It wasn’t really a question.

James kept his eyes in front of him. “That wasn’t his to share.”

“So, it’s true?” I pressed.

“Yes.”

A single word. No stammering, no hesitation, just the firm truth.

I swallowed, mustering the courage to ask on. “And then the Council turned you into someone who kills people…not so accidentally?”

“Yes.”

I paused.

“Is that why it’s so difficult to train me. Because you’re scared I’ll do the same? Kill people by accident?” I asked, almost whispering.

James hesitated for a second before he nodded.

“I won’t,” I promised.

James didn’t respond. Wanting to keep the peace between us, I cuddled into him a little more.

It took him a second, but he pulled me in closer as well.

There were still so many questions I wanted to ask. His real name, for example. Or how he went from contract killer to Leader. But, for now, I simply wanted to ensure that our truce could still endure, even when I dared to ask these very personal questions.

“So,” I pressed on, “Friends then?”

He hesitated, swallowing before replying, “Friends it is.”

I smiled victoriously.

“Does that mean I get to ask some other personal questions?” I prodded.

“No,” he responded firmly.

I frowned. “Okay, does it mean you’ll stop ordering me around?”

“No.”

“Will you laugh from time to time?”

“I hope not.”

“No offense, but it sounds like you’ll kind of suck as a friend,” I teased.

He chuckled. “Deal with it.”

I shook my head and sighed. “Just like all men, you’re a work in progress. Don’t worry, we’ll make a human out of you yet.”

He smiled. “Just like we’ll make a maga out of you.”

His reply stung a little, but I appreciated the sentiment.

A shiver rolled through me again, as we finished our cigars.

“You’re shivering. Let’s get you back inside,” James ordered, as he rose to his feet.

I rolled my eyes at his commanding tone. “What did I just tell you about ordering me around?”

He halted.

“Don’t expect me to suddenly change, Emma,” he said softly but in a determined tone.

I frowned. “I’m not expecting you to. I want you to be who you are, grumpy stuff and everything, but I don’t think you have ever adapted your tone to your conversational partner and I expect you to do so with me. And I don’t feel like that is a lot to ask.”

James halted. His eyes roamed my face, searching for…something. Then he nodded slowly and said the three words I had been dying to hear from him: “Fine, I’ll try.”

My jaw dropped slightly. I had not expected him to concede so easily. The fact he was willing to try, for me, made me feel all “fluttery”. The Scotch, cigars, alcohol, and stargazing might have had something to with that as well.

James picked up the blankets and the glasses, and we made our way back inside.

Entering his loft, I got very nervous. Being around James always made me antsy, but being around James who was charming, and smiling, and keeping me warm in his arms was…

“I think I’ll be okay in my own room,” I blurted out.

James’s eyes narrowed. Clearly the wrong thing to say.

“The bubble is still in place. If a life-threatening situation were to come up, your body will try to translate instinctively and you will probably die. I’m not taking any chances.” His delivery was dry and detached, as if we were discussing the weather changes of late.

Which annoyed me to no end.

“I won’t translate. I don’t even know how to, as you are well aware of. And nothing is going to happen, the bubble is there to keep me safe, the Radicals can’t translate either so I think I’ll be pretty safe in my own bed.”

“It is not up for discussion,” James grumbled, his charming demeanor instantly gone.

This man and his mood swings.

I sighed deeply, opting wisely to choose my battles and realizing this one wasn’t worth fighting.

“Fine. Then where will I sleep?” I asked, trying to keep my annoyed tone to the absolute minimum. And failing.

“Follow me,” he said, leading the way into his bedroom. "This is my bedroom. That's where you'll sleep, comfortably and alone." He pointed to his bed.

"And this..." He indicated a second bed on the other side of the room, "...is where I'll sleep."

"You want us to sleep in the same room?" My heart raced, and I felt a knot forming in my stomach.

"I want to keep a close eye on you. It wouldn't serve its purpose if we slept in separate rooms."

"You mean you want to keep an eye on my untraceable translation," I tried to sound composed, but my voice quivered. "Make sure no one gets their hands on it and thwarts the Great Exposure."

He raised his eyebrows, puzzled by my sudden accusation. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, counsellor," he replied dryly, then made his way to the bed and lay on his back, effectively ignoring me.

I remained rooted to the spot, my nerves getting the best of me.

"What now?" he asked, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone.

"I don’t want to sleep in the same room," I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, tough luck, because that's how it's going to be," he asserted, ignoring my wishes entirely.

Ouch . His tone cut deep, especially since we had…

He sighed, clearly rethinking his tone. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe from the Radicals, and you’ll be safe from me.”

I raised a brow in surprise. “I know I’m safe here. It’s not because I don’t trust you.”

“Then what is it?” he suppressed a yawn.

I bit the inside of my cheek, grappling with how much truth I could reveal.

"I don't want you to hear me," I confessed. My voice cracked, betraying the vulnerability I had been trying so hard to conceal.

"You don't want me to hear you snore?" His incredulous tone matched the disbelief on his face.

I nearly chuckled. "No, you idiot. I don't snore."

He threw his hands up in frustration. "Then what?"

"Scream."

The confession felt like tearing open a wound I had been desperately trying to keep closed.

James's eyes widened, his gaze piercing into me. Then he sat up, moving quicker than lightning.

"It... I mean..." I coughed, attempting to conceal my discomfort.

"Tell me," he urged softly, a hint of concern evident in his expression. The way he looked at me instantly took me back to our first night together. It felt like déjà vu from when he found me in my room after the bathroom incident, staring at me with that same intense gaze.

My heart started pounding.

"What they did to me... the night of the reception..." My voice trailed off, the memories still haunting me.

I took a deep breath. "I dream about it."

Then, unexpectedly, a torrent of words spilled from my lips, pouring out the depths of my nightly torment to this man.

"I haven't cried since it happened, and I think my subconscious is forcing me to confront it or something. So at night, I relive the memories."

James sat there quietly on the bed, studying me, his eyes fixed on mine.

"I don’t shed tears during these terrors, but sometimes I wake myself with my own screams. And I don't... I don't want you to witness that." I swallowed hard, hoping he would understand.

His fists clenched, his eyes betraying no emotion, while his body went into full rigor. But he didn’t utter a single word.

"I don't want you to hear me," I repeated, anticipating some form of response. I wasn't naive enough to expect words of comfort, but the lack of any reaction stung.

He rose silently and made his way to his drawer, retrieving a pair of EarPods. They were sleek, barely noticeable, but undoubtedly of excellent quality.

Returning to his bed, he reclined once more, sliding the EarPods into place. With a tap on the right side, he activated them, muttering, "Noise cancelling. Now sleep." Closing his eyes, he lay there above the covers, arms crossed and features relaxed.

I hesitated for a few seconds before I tiptoed over to his huge bed. As I slid in the covers, fully clothed, sleep came over me so fast, I no longer realized where I was.

It always started off the same way. Back against that tree, unable to move.

Bound. Again.

Tears were prickling in my eyes and my throat hurt, as if I’d been screaming for hours on end.

I couldn’t see anything, all I saw and sensed was blackness.

There was panic and fear. I had to alert someone of my whereabouts. I tried to scream but no noise came out.

Then a small strip of light came on, as if a candle had been lit in a sea of darkness. Squinting, I could discern some figures in the distance.

Were those my abductors?

No… they were… my parents! My parents were the ones tapping my blood!! Why?

“Mommy?” I asked softly.

“You’re no daughter of mine,” my mom answered in such an icy tone, my entire body shivered.

“Mommy please,” I pleaded, but no one responded.

“Daddy!” I cried out, but no one responded.

“You’re an abomination,” I heard, a voice I recognized but couldn’t place.

“Cut her throat, we have what we came for.”

No. No. No. NO!

I woke up trembling, shivering with cold sweat. It took me a few moments to orientate where I was. As I turned to the side and noticed James fast asleep on the bed across the room, reality poured in.

Relieved I hadn’t woken him up, I softly slid out of the bed, making my way to the bathroom.

While washing my face with cold water, the emotions of the night and the dreams it had brought forth, were starting to register.

As I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, I found myself thinking about the first time I hadn’t been able to recognize the person staring back. When I had just finished washing off all the blood. James had been in the next room back then too. Who was I?

My hand started trembling and my breathing started to falter.

Tears were brimming in my eyes and I quickly left the bathroom, running softly to the living room, feeling a huge cry come on.

Before my time in Cyclos I almost never cried, thought it was weak.

But since my arrival, I had been feeling the need.

Since my abduction, that need had intensified.

And the night of the first real truce between James and myself, that need became unbearable.

As I sat down on the couch, the first sob came on quickly.

The second sob was louder than I’d expected and I clutched my mouth to keep me from making too much noise. The remnants of the dream came crashing into me and I barely held it together.

Still attempting to hold back the tears, as I sat there on James’s couch, I looked at the kitchen in front of me, trying to focus on the wonderful evening I had had, eating that amazing steak.

The more I tried to contain it, the more control I seemed to lose over it. And so I hid my face in my hands, crying for the first time since accepting my fate as a maga.

I cried and cried, lost in my emotions. I cried for the trauma the Radicals had caused me, I cried for the fears they’d induced, I cried for the panic in my dreams and I cried for the powerlessness I felt.

Then, I cried for all the loneliness, for all the failing, and for feeling like a fish out of the water, at every turn.

Then I cried for missing my parents, my life and my former future. I cried for the girl I used to be and for the girl I had to be.

I cried, until I couldn’t cry anymore.