Chapter 35

                                    

                                          
WARNING: This chapter contains subjects that may be triggering for some individuals. Such subjects include but are not limited to: substance use and talk of addiction 
                          
ALEC
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
                          
I know not to trust others. I'm not naive, I am aware of the consequences that come with misplaced alliances. For trust leads to betrayal and betrayal only causes pain. And I've had enough pain to last a millennium.
                          
 My father always taught me that the only person I could rely on, is myself. But now . . . I don't know if I can. This drug has overwhelmed my sense of control, of reality. The only thing that is keeping my sanity from slipping through the cracks is the thought of her not wanting me. How could she want me when my body no longer belongs to my mind?
                          
Elle's head rests comfortably in my lap. She lets out a muffled sniffle and I run my hand over her forehead, brushing the caramel colored, wavy strands out of her face. Her hair is soft like cream, even when matted with both our tears.
                          
"I'm sorry," I try to keep my voice even. "I'm so sorry, Elle." All I can offer is comfort, but it's hard to do so when I am just as much of a wreck. Not to mention the agony of yearning for my next dose. A dose of a drug that is ruining me, yet keeping me together at the same time.
                          
She rolls over so that she is looking up at me. Her feet sliding through the dirt floor of our cell as she turns. I hold my breath as her hand slides up and cups my cheek, flowering her body's warmth into my skin. 
                          
"What they did to you is not your fault, Alec. Please, don't let yourself believe that you are somehow to blame for this." She wipes at her eyes. "That's too much pressure for one person, so don't think for even a second that you have a reason to apologize."
                          
My chest tightens and the words break as I speak. "I promised you on the roof, that I'd never leave you. And I'm breaking that promise."
                          
"You're not leaving. You're being taken. There's a difference." 
                          
She shifts, taking a seat on my legs so that she is perched on my thighs, our eyes level with each other. I squint mine shut, hiding the shameful yellow as embarrassing heat spreads over my cheeks. 
                          
"Don't look at me like that," I mumble, leaning forward and resting my forehead into her neck. Her fingers entwine in my hair, messaging my head gently.
                          
"I'm not meaning to. It's just hard to see you like—" she takes a deep breath. "I'm having trouble taking it all in when you still haven't explained what is happening."
                          
I pull back, tilting my head back to rest it against the stone wall. My muscles aching with the movements, my nerves burning. "Gore is the main supplier of Mute. He is creating addicts. Nobles who will rely on him for their next dose. But the overloading of the drug into our systems shuts down our abilities."
                          
Her eyes grow wide and she leaps to her feet, staring me down. "You're a Serf now?"
                          
I flinch at the utter despair in her voice and shake my head. "Before they threw me in this cell, they took me to this other room and tested it out, to make sure that I really have been changed. That my lightning is gone." I look up into her eyes. 
                          
Her face is barely illuminated by the dim lights in the hall, but I can make out the rage embedded there as she takes in the bruises on my body and the bloody bandage around my arm where my tattoos used to be. 
                          
"And I have changed. My lightning is no longer there. They called me a Variant. The thing made from taking a Noble's power and replacing it with Mute."
                          
She remains utterly still and I take that as my cue to continue. It's best if I just say it. It's like ripping off a bandaid. I need to get it over with.