Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Delicious smells waft up. There’s fresh meat, a thick soup, and a large wedge of cornbread. I gasp at the sight, because no one eats this well in the After. No one. I reach for the food, then hesitate. If Melina’s eating like this, she’s someone important.
“Go on,” she says, a hint of a smile on her face. “I can get more.”
How? I want to ask, but I don’t. I grab the cornbread and stuff it into my mouth as quickly as possible. It’s still warm, and it tastes better than anything I’ve eaten in years. I devour the bread and move on to the soup while Melina says nothing at my terrible manners. Oh god, the soup is incredible. There’s bits of salty meat mixed with a thick broth laden with vegetables. How the fuck is anyone getting food this good here in the fort? I eat it all with record speed and lift the bowl to lick it before moving on to the meat. This, I savor with slow, delicate bites, closing my eyes each time.
This meal was almost worth the beating and the dragon bullshit. Almost.
“Better now?” Melina asks.
I shrug, picking at the last few crumbs left on the plate. I ate so much my belly feels like it’ll burst, but I have zero regrets. I haven’t eaten that good in forever. Even the meals we get in the barracks—while plentiful—are uninspired and basic. It just reinforces that this Melina is someone important. “Who are you?”
“A medic, like I said.” She seems uncomfortable with the question and quickly changes topics, gesturing at me. “Do you want to talk about anything?”
“Anything like what?” I ask suspiciously.
“You tell me.”
Does she want me to bring up the dragon? The beating and almost-rape? What happened to Brady? My scars? I don’t want to talk about any of it. “Nope.”
She tilts her head, her hands clasped on her knee. “I’m going to ask anyhow. What happened to your face?”
I take another sip of water. “What do you think happened?”
Her expression changes to one of sympathy. “Do…are you hurt anywhere else? There was a lot of blood on you but I didn’t see more obvious injuries. That doesn’t mean anything, though. Do you need…help?” At my confused look, she continues. “I have a few morning-after pills in my inventory.”
Oh. I flush, setting the glass down on the tray and hugging my chest with my stump. “Brady got…stopped before it went too far. The dragon stepped in.”
Melina nods slowly and I pick at a thread on the blanket, waiting for her to quiz me about the dragon. Waiting for her to grill me for answers I don’t have.
She doesn’t, though. Her voice remains gentle. “It doesn’t matter if it was stopped. Being attacked is still terrifying and it can take a long time to feel normal again. Are you okay? Do you need to talk?”
I’m surprised at her sympathy. I look up and see understanding in her eyes, and old sadness. Of course she understands. Every woman in the After does. The only reason I’ve been “safe” for so long is because my scars fucked up my face so much that most guys turn away. Melina’s pretty, though. She wouldn’t be so lucky. I swallow hard at that thought, because if I close my eyes, I can feel Brady’s body pressing against mine, his hand pinning my wrist, and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness makes me want to vomit back up my dinner. “I’m okay,” I manage. “I have to be.”
I’ll process my terror some other time. I’ll cry about it when I’m alone. I’ll put it aside mentally, in the locked-up box in my head where all the difficult things go. It’s a pretty full box already, but there’s always room for more fucked up memories.
“Okay then.” Melina gets to her feet, pulling off a stained apron and smoothing her hands down her dress. For the first time, I notice her clothing. She’s wearing a lovely pale gown of creamy yellow that contrasts with her darker skin and flows softly to the ground. There’s a delicate black belt that hangs at her waist and looks as if it doesn’t entirely match her elegant gown. It’s completely impractical for a medic to wear, or anyone for that matter. Her gown looks like a party dress from back in the Before, a bridesmaid’s dress for an ornate wedding, a princess dress for a fairytale that’ll never happen. “If you ever want to talk to me, your secrets are safe. Just come look for me in my clinic.” She hesitates. “Lord Azar wants to talk to you the moment you wake up, but I told him you were going to sleep for several more hours. Do you need some time to yourself?”
She’s willing to lie to the creepy, demanding ruler of Fort Dallas for me? I appreciate her stones. “I think I’m okay.” I reach up and brush the bandages with my stump, producing a dull throb on my bruised and broken skin. “There’s no need to lie on my behalf.”