Page 72 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

THIRTY-SEVEN

EMMA

He had never promised me anything.

I had to keep that in mind, I had to remind myself of it, time after time and I had to repeat it a lot because I kept forgetting it. He had never promised me anything.

Still, his blatant rejection the night before stung like a motherflapper.

After everything we had been through, after saving each other’s lives even, he could still not allow any kind of physical affection between us.

There was only one conclusion to be drawn: he was not attracted to me.

He saw us as merely good friends, and gods did that hurt.

Running to the Human World, fighting with Radicals, saving our lives by finally translating, hurting seven (!) people in the process, with me bleeding out (not really, I was being dramatic), being healed by Justine—of all people—and then being refused by James… it was a lot.

I had spent the entire night without sleep.

As I laid awake, I repeatedly attempted to reason with myself, striving to accept and come to terms with his rejection before heading into training the next day.

I tried to persuade myself that even if everything between us was a product of my imagination, our strong friendship should suffice. But it didn’t.

And to add insult to injury, the apparent reason for us not being together was in his arms, the moment of my arrival.

I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but the non-verbal communication was clear enough.

With her in his embrace, any lingering doubts vanished.

How could I have ever deluded myself into thinking I could compare to her in his eyes?

She was a skilled Healer, for crying out loud, while I wasn't even a full maga. ..

All the insecurities and pain from the previous night rushed back, obliterating any feeble results of my night-long "reasoning." Witnessing Justine in James’s arms brought tears to my eyes, and I had to actively suppress them from spilling over.

The training session that day was a complete disaster, to say the least. Both of us had harbored high expectations for my performance—given the events of the night before—only to be utterly disappointed.

Despite all the hurt and drama going around, I still couldn't summon enough energy to translate.

"How is it possible I almost took down seven Radicals last night but can't even translate myself a decent cup of coffee right now?" I fumed.

"I get that you're frustrated?" James began, but I cut him off.

“Really? You get it?” I asked harshly.

“Yes, I do, but you can’t give up now, you’re so close.” He tried to comfort me but I was not having it. Not now. Not when I knew only an hour before, he had been… you know, it didn’t even really matter. I was just really pissed off.

“No I’m not! You’ve said so at least ten times before and we never broke through!” I yelled in frustration.

“You know, just because you’re struggling?” He tried again.

“But I’m not ‘just struggling’ am I ?” I interrupted. “I am the worst maga in the history of all magi! There has never ever been anyone as bad at this as me!”

I have to calm down.

“You say I’m powerful but I only have your word for it because since my arrival here, with the exception of last night, I haven’t even been able to do anything remotely close to what people do here, what children do here, what friggin’ toddlers do here on a daily basis!” I continued my ranting.

"You can't possibly imagine how that feels because you're the golden boy, who's actually meant to lead us all.

My Gods, everything you touch just turns to gold!

I'm half convinced you don't even need to touch it.

You could simply look at it, and it would transform into a giant lump of gold.

And then the lump would transform into an elegant swan because you wouldn't even be capable of making something as horrid as a golden lump! "

Not making much sense.

"You're not making any sense," James remarked dryly, which only fueled my frustration, even though I'd been thinking the same thing.

"Oh, well, excuse me," I snarled. "I must’ve missed the episode where they appointed you the sole judge of all things that make sense."

He sighed. "I know how you feel, Emma, just don't give up on this."

I shrugged my shoulders and muttered, "Like I have a choice," under my breath. But he heard me, and it seemed to strike a chord with him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his tone fairly aggressive.

"Well, I don't have a choice, do I?" I retorted, matching his aggression.

"You tore me away from a world where I was the best, where I was made for greatness.

You ripped me from it against my will and better judgment, only to thrust me into a world where I'm at the bottom of the bottom of the bottom of something I don't even understand!

" I practically screamed, my frustration boiling over.

"Against your will? Against your better judgment? Damn, Emma, aren't you being just a tad dramatic today?" His words were like a match to gasoline.

"Dramatic? You want to see dramatic? I'll give you godsdamn dramatic!"

And then it all spilled out. It wasn't fair to him, and most of it was frustration directed at myself, but I couldn't keep a lid on it any longer.

“ This is all your fault! You told me I was special! You told me I couldn’t go back to my normal life and that this would have to be my new home. Well, guess what, mister 'I'm always right about everything,' you were wrong! Dead wrong! And it cost me everything !”

I continued yelling as James grew very still, his demeanor quiet, perhaps even shocked by my outburst. He kept staring at me, absorbing every word of my explosive accusations. In that moment, he was the source of all my pain, and I had no qualms about making him aware of it.

"You didn't risk everything you worked for your entire life! You didn't stand to lose everyone you ever cared about. I did! I did !"

Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, but I didn't care. It all just had to come out.

I knew my jealousy of Justine was fueling every other emotion I was experiencing.

Deep down, I was mostly hurt and scared.

Scared of falling in love with James, scared of the possibility that he might not love me back.

I was terrified that I had left my wonderful life behind for nothing, scared that I had burned my carefully built bridges over nothing but emptiness and failure. Fear consumed me from head to toe.

Closing my eyes, I tried to catch my breath, feeling as though a heavy weight was pressing down on my chest. I was acutely aware of every breath leaving my body. It felt like I was suffocating. I was having a full-on panic attack.

“I…I…” I stumbled over my words, gasping for air.

My heart raced as if it were trying to escape my chest, pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. The room felt like it was closing in on me, and my breaths came in short, erratic gasps. It was as if there wasn't enough air in the entire world to fill my lungs.

My palms were clammy, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

The world around me blurred as my vision tunneled, and I struggled to focus on anything.

Thoughts raced through my mind, a chaotic whirlwind of fear and confusion.

It was as if a thousand thoughts were shouting at me all at once, and I couldn't make sense of any of them.

The ground beneath me seemed to shift, making me feel unsteady and off-balance. A sense of impending doom washed over me, and I couldn't shake the feeling something terrible was about to happen.

My chest tightened, and I clutched at it, hoping to ease the pressure. But it only intensified, a vice-like grip, threatening to suffocate me. I found myself gasping for air, but each breath felt inadequate, as if I were breathing through a tiny straw.

I was breathing too fast.

The panic swelled, reaching its peak, and I couldn't escape the overwhelming sense of dread. It was a tempest within me, tearing through every fiber of my being.

But right before the lack of oxygen suffocated me, out of nowhere, slowly, like a passing storm, the panic began to subside.

My breaths, though still shaky, became less labored.

The tightness in my chest gradually released its grip, and the world started to come back into focus.

It was only then I realized James was holding me in his arms, calming me down.

“You’re having a panic attack, Emma. Calm down. You’re fine.”

It took me another few minutes to regain complete control. The warmth of James’s body left a lingering chill when he released me, and I almost cried at the loss of contact.

I lifted my eyes to meet his, but I couldn't discern any warmth in them. His stare was as cold as his voice had been when uttering those words I had clung to in order to crawl out from under the panic.

As I observed him standing there stoically, devoid of all emotion and care, the realization hit me like a punch to the gut—I had pushed him too far.

I wanted to apologize for my outburst, but he didn't let me. He looked away, dryly instructing me to clean up my mess before turning around and leaving the training room.

All my anger, all my frustration, had been directed at him. Though I knew I was in the wrong, his reaction was more painful than any fear or anger I was feeling—he didn't even care.