afflicted

35: Callie, present day

Golden sunlight soaked through the blanket over her body, beams of light falling in her eyes and making them flutter open. She looked at robin's egg blue wall, hung with portraits of people Callie didn't recognize. It only took a few seconds until the panic set in, and she scrambled back against the headboard, clutching the blanket to her chest as if that would have protected her from anything.

She heard a creak and turned to see the man who'd been outside of her cell leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, and looking at her with weary eyes. He regarded her like she was a rabid animal let out of her cage- like he needed to approach slowly. Callie realized she was clenching her jaw and forced the muscles there to relax.

Perhaps she'd died. She had died and had been transferred somewhere to be faced with all she'd done, to pay for the damage she'd caused. Because in front of her was a man she had killed, very much still alive. He looked uncomfortable, to which Callie couldn't agree more.

"You're alive," she said, throat raw and scratchy like she'd been shouting.

The man looked pained, his features contorting into something that could only be described as agony. He stared at the floor, unmoving and unspeaking. Callie almost repeated herself, thinking that he must not have heard her, when he finally spoke.

"I am," was all he said.

"I killed you," Callie said, deciding to get straight to the point.

"I understand that was what you were told, yes," he murmured, looking to the door as if he were waiting on someone. "Callie, there's so much I feel like I need to say-"

As if on karmic timing, the door creaked open and a short, stout woman peeked through, eyes bloodshot as though she'd been crying for quite some time. She was much older than Rhysand, even. The sight made something inside Callie snap in half and she couldn't even remember why. The blonde from her dreams peeked over the woman's shoulder with that same glitzy, million-dollar smile.

"Hey, asshole," the blonde beamed, waving recklessly and nearly smacking the shorter woman in front of her on the back of the head. The shorter woman turned to glare, and the blonde let out a hissed "my bad."

"Blink if you're being held captive and I'll kick his ass," Vera shout-whispered despite Rhysand clearly being within earshot, even without fae hearing. Vera tip-toed, attempting to see if Callie responded.

She looked to Rhysand for any form of help or clue, and he looked at her like something inside of him had broken, too. He pulled an emotionless mask over his features, turning to look at the door. His black hair was messy like he'd been anxiously pulling at the roots.

"I am so sorry to ask this of you," he began, speaking to the shorter woman first before his eyes flitted up to the blonde. "Vera, could I have another moment? I swear I'll come get you the moment we're finished here."

The blonde's smile dropped, and she rolled her eyes, scoffing and walking back down the hallway grumbling something about pompous bats and small wingspans. The shorter woman forced herself to turn and leave, movements mechanical like she was having to remind her muscles how to work. She clicked the door shut behind her. 

Callie stared at the door blankly for a few moments more when Rhysand spoke again.

"Do you know who I am, Calina?" He asked, not quite meeting her gaze.

"Rhysand," she whispered, and he nodded.

"Is there anything else you remember?"

Callie shook her head, yet again clawing at her own mind in frustration of all that should be there but wasn't. She knew what she needed, though. She'd felt overwhelmed by guilt and loss from the moment she'd awoken, and it had all come crashing back down onto her shoulders. And here was a physical reminder of all she'd lost.