Jewel

She had managed to drive herself to a rundown motel just off the highway. It was quiet and isolated, the heat from the desert was playing tricks with her mind, causing memories and reality to meld, she did not trust herself to drive any further.

Booking herself a room she specifically requested one at the end of the building, being sure the room next to her was vacant. She would hate to involve a stranger in what was to come and she knew he would eventually come.

After driving as long as she has a bath and clean clothes is all she cares for, all she can focus on, she is craving the sensation of the water, craving its virtue and its ability to purify. Exhausted and aching she is starting to disconnect, starting to dance between this reality and the next without choice, she is truly losing control.
Entering the room she dumps her bag unceremoniously, hunts for a power source and puts her phone on charge. Taking a clean change of clothes from her bag she moves to explore the bathroom, it is simple but usable.

The ring of scum around the edge of the bath does not pacify her desires, the discoloration from years of use does not affect her need, her need to submerge, and it’s overwhelming, all consuming. She knows it will bring her at least a moment of relief, a moment of peace and indifference, he taught her that.
Turning the tired metal taps one by one the water begins to slowly run, at first with a splutter then a steady, sure stream. Sitting on the edge of the bath she takes a moment to run her hand under the free flowing liquid, acknowledging and silently thanking it for the connection they are about to make, then as gracefully as her shaking hands will allow, she disrobes and slides in.

The water is stirring above her ankles as she sits hugging her knees to her chest, enjoying the sensation of the hot water slowing building up and embracing her body. The rhythmic sound of the water running, drowns out all others, she cannot wait to submerge and silence it all. Relaxing her scarred, sore, frail body she slides down, bending her knees, allowing her head and shoulders to be swallowed by the water. It’s a little too hot, the sensation forcing her to focus on heat, the flush she can feel growing on her skin, just the way she wanted it.

It’s quieter here under the water, calmer, she can trust herself, trust the water, it has become a confidant and protector. It has its own energy, its own will, allows her to relinquish discipline and relax. She feels protected, safe and secure. Her long dark hair is moving of its own will, creating swirls, dancing around her head and momentarily blocking her vision.

The relief does not last long. The pain returns and becomes a distraction she cannot ignore once again, it is changing, ever augmenting and constantly moving throughout her body. It’s starting to take her breath away and demanding attention.

She slowly sits up from her reprieve, hands griping each side of the bath, hair cascading down her back, the sudden change in temperature causes her to shiver. She refuses to be found like this, naked, alone in a freezing bath. How many hours, days would it take for her to be finally discovered, a shell of flesh, as she, who she truly is, finally freed from this consciousness?

Slowly standing not to risk her pounding head from also spinning, her vision is blurring, limbs refuse to obey her commands. She dresses in clean under ware and a T-shirt, no time for the rest, her modesty abandoned many months before.

Her legs are beginning to protest and she slides down the cold, grim cover tiles to the floor, taking some measured breaths contemplating her next move, she needs to get to her phone. Crawling toward the doorway, the transition from frigid tile to sticky carpet under her hands and knees advise her she is close. Her breathing is labored, a small involuntary cry falls from her mouth from the pain, and she cannot wait any longer. She must finally do what she has been trying to avoid, she must finally reach out to him and put her vulnerability on display once again.

Reaching for the phone she falls slightly, her shoulder against the side of the bed, butt on the floor. Her threshold for pain is greater than most but this, what she is feeling, she knows it is trying to claim her life.

With a sigh she dials the number, it’s a number she has never called but knows by heart. Her vision is spotty and a chill runs over her flesh, beads of sweat form around her temple as she slowly lays completely on the floor. She is trying to relax, trying to calm her heart, trying not to expose her fear and distress in her voice. Each ring and momentary silence is only adding to her already unbalanced state.

“Pierce” an agitated, southern accent hollers over heavy music and a roaring engine. Another layer of sweat breaks out on her skin, runs down her back, stings her eyes, fire burns in her bones. It’s been months since she has heard that voice, almost three to be exact.

When she left it was not planned, it was a split second decision, a flash, an instinct, a gift from the universe and she willingly took it. If she had allowed herself a moment of reflection, to focus, to truly contemplate the effect of her actions she would have never done it. All the possible outcomes would have attacked her mind, render her immobile, overwhelmed her and the moment would have passed her by.

“I’m dying” two soft spoken words is all it takes to have his complete attention, the music suddenly gone, only the purr of the engine remains.
“How long?” He demands, his voice on edge, laced with concern.

“A few hours” she responds “I know your close by” she tells him in almost a whisper.

“Ok Baby” he is smiling, excited, energized. She can hear it in his voice. She is giving herself willingly, reaching out to him, she needs him once again.

“Show me” he requests, some urgency in his voice. In a last great effort she stares up at the yellowing popcorn ceiling, she imagines his stern face, his toned body, his unique scent, three deep breaths and then, moves inside him.

Turning her head to the peeling patterned wallpaper, the worn thread bare red carpet she lays on, she lets him see through her eyes. Then allows him snapshots of her memories, the door with her room number, the borrowed car she drove parked outside, the motel, the highway, the sign she saw 8 miles away. She places all these pieces in his mind and then lets him go.

Sometime passes, she can hear him trying to catch his breath. She knows she gave him more than she ever had before, it will take him some moments to put the pieces together, to recover from the aggressive intrusion. “I got you” he finally states trying not to startle a sleeping wild animal, trying to hide the pleasure in his voice before the sound of screeching tires can be heard.

She has done all she can and hangs up the phone. It’s calm for a moment, she could perhaps let go now, he is, on his way. But her desire to live is to strong, her need to survive, she does not believe it is her choice, if she is meant to suffer then she will, she believes everything happens for a reason. She will suffer at the hands of monsters if that’s what she is to do.

That place, that place of nightmares she escaped from, escaped from his hands, she was the first and only to do it. She is respected and required but will most likely punished. The return of the disobedient child.

When she suddenly disappeared she made a grave miscalculation, miscalculated her need for Dr. Rice and his potions, his methods. While he always pushed too hard, took too much, she would gain a little in return, it was their special little dance. He helped her keep composure, taught her control, the teacher’s pet. She had become complacent, grown to rely too much on others, now she was more powerful and also more combustible.

Her brain is misfiring, sending the wrong messages to her body. Organs failing, receiving the wrong information, turning against her. Too much noise, too much confusion, nowhere to fall. She is dancing between this dimension and the next, fighting the urge to let go. How easy it would be to leave this physical world and be embraced by the light.

A familiar rumble brings her back and then the sound of the door cautiously opening. Boots on the carpet, and then a familiar body cautiously emerging from around the bed.

“Hey Baby” he says in a comforting, playful, familiar tone, his imposing frame looming over her. He crouches down next to her, taking in her shivering frame and glistening skin. He knows how strong she is being, knows how much she is suffering. She smells his scent, dust, cigarettes, sweat, leather and oil. Its familiar and she hates how welcoming it is, how much she missed it.

His cool metal hand is a welcome relief as he brushes the hair from her face and inspects her more closely, he is looking for anything new, any sign she has suffered at the hands of another while out of his sight. He runs his hand gently down her neck, shoulder, her arm and to her hand, takes pride in the goosebumps he has created. He takes the phone she still clenches, places it in his pocket, she blinks taking in the sight of his heavy boots then turns to look into his face, he can’t help but smile, gold tooth caught by the light.

Lifting her from the floor, she fits seamlessly into his bulky arms, they have done this before. She has a perfect view of his skull tattoo before he places her on the bed, sure to rest her head lightly on the pillow, as she molds into the comforter. A sigh of relief escapes her, her arms falling from his neck, running down his shoulders before resting beside her.
Another large man stands in the open doorway, filling up the space, a weapon in his hands. A warm dusk breeze rolls off the desert and enters the room, she fills her lungs with it and awakens her senses a little.

A small sting draws her attention, she looks at him with a question in her eyes. An IV has been placed in her arm.

“Your dehydrated” he answers absently stroking her arm, a simple, familiar act of compassion. He checks her vitals as best he can, pulse, temperature and reflexes.

He is so grateful he didn’t lose her although right now he won’t admit it. Right now he is furious, hurt. She held his attention unlike any other under his control. He was always watching her and her quiet ways. Always looking for signs of distress. She had behaved, not caused a fuss, never asked for anything. She did not want a fight. But she was strong, sure and resilient those things catch his attention and he sees them in her still.

Soon he is on the phone explaining the situation to another, his flesh hand still stroking her arm, circling the pulse point of her wrist. His face and shoulders are turned from her, he does not want to risk losing his composure, showing his relief. She is in his hands again.

He is talking though the speaker now, while running the phone down her fragile frame. She can hear Dr. Rice’s voice, giving orders, demanding more accurate information. He wants her home immediately for proper treatment and care. The jet will be sent, only the best for her.

The Jewel will be returning to the crown.