Shattered Promises 02 - Fractured Souls by Jessica Sorensen (motivational books for students TXT) 📕

been to one; the idea of the sand, the ocean, and the heat seem like it would be a wonderful, relaxing experience. I picture myself there, lying in the sand. Someone is with me, but I can’t tell who yet. A sturdy male figure with skin as smooth as porcelain. I hold myself there as Nicholas’s hands digress all over my body.

He gets more intense the further he goes, but my bound legs and arms are making it hard for me to do anything except lie there.

As he tries to draw our bodies closer, my legs get in the way.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize with as much sincerity as I can.

His lips are puffy as he leans back with his eyes unfocused, like he’s stoned. It’s almost like I have some sort of power over him and I wonder what it is. Regardless, I’m using it to my advantage.

“It’s fine,” he says and leans back in to kiss me. After a lot of time passes—time where I zone out and my body just moves on its own—Nicholas finally gets frustrated and undoes the cuffs from my ankles and wrists.

“Try anything at all,” he threatens, lowering himself down onto me. “And you’ll pay severely.”

I keep my expression blank as he begins kissing me again. I allow him to relax as much as possible, and then, when he’s about to shove his hands down the front of my jeans, I finally open the box inside me, letting emotions flood out. I lean back and then slam my head forward, ramming our skulls together hard. There’s a sickening crack and then Nicholas screams out in pain. I give him no time to recover, kicking him between the legs. His face screws up in pain and he slumps to the side of the bed. I leap to my feet and immediately the blood rushes from my head. The room violently spins in indistinct hues and shapes as I stumble toward the bed and make a run for the door. Halfway there, though, I turn back and stare at the nightstand, at the Ira.

“You know you want it,” Nicholas grunts, clutching his goods. “If you leave without it, you’ll regret it.”

I’m weak and hungry and I feel like shit, but I do want it. Badly. The only thing standing between it and me is Nicholas. I glance around the room for a weapon and spot the rain stick on the wall. I snatch it down and position it in front of me.

Nicholas climbs off the bed, hobbling a little as he winds around to the foot of the bed. He grins at me, raising his eyebrows and spanning his arms out to the side.

“Go ahead,” he says with an arrogant grin. “Take your best shot.”

Trembling, I shuffle forward and swing the stick at his head. He ducks down and the force of the movement sends me sideways. My feet scuff against the floor, but I ungracefully manage to recompose my balance. I walk a half-circle around him, positioning the stick out in front of me.

He laughs at me as he turns to the side with me, making sure that his eyes stay targeted on mine. “Come on, Gemma. You’re a Keeper. You can do better.”

I shake my head, redirecting myself to the other side. “No, I’m not… I have no mark.”

He leans back against the footboard and causally props his elbows against it, unafraid of me to the point that it’s almost insulting. “What makes you so sure?”

“No mark.”

“Maybe it hasn’t appeared yet.”

I want to ask him what he knows because it looks like he knows something, but it’ll only get me distracted. Taking a step backward, I charge at him. He laughs, skittering to the side like he’s dancing, however I twirl around right at the last second and extend the stick out so it comes straight out in front of him. The heavy material slams against his gut and the stuff inside the stick makes it sound like it’s raining.

He lets out a sharp cough as he crumples over and I seize the opportunity to bring the stick over my head and ram it down on top of his. The sound is sickening and it makes me feel barbaric, but I’ve entered survival mode and all that matters is getting the hell out of here alive with the Ira.

I hit him again and again until he’s lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. He’s not dead, his chest is still feebly rising and falling, but I’ve beaten him pretty badly. I drop the rain stick to the floor and back away. I have blood on my hands and even some on my face. I’m a terrible, wretched person. I really am.

I grab the Ira off the nightstand, feeling a thorny vine twist inside my stomach. By the time I step out of the house and away from the praesidium, I don’t feel like Gemma anymore. I feel dead inside and I let the numbing feeling stay because sometimes, when it all comes down to it, being emotionally detached is better than feeling what really lies inside the darkest spots of our hearts, the one’s that we want to deny exist. Yet sometimes they’re impossible to ignore.

I walk to the center of the crystal-trimmed yard in front of Nicholas’s illusion house. There’s a fence carved of rubies and a large tree that grows miniscule pink diamonds. It’s beautiful, yet as Nicholas’s said, the beauty is just a delusion.

Taking the ruby-filled ball out of my pocket. I hold onto the Ira and shut my eyes. I’m not sure where to go since so much time has gone by, so I do the only thing I can think of.

I shut my eyes and think of the one thing that brings emotion out of me.

I think of Alex.

Chapter 22

When I land in the living room of Adessa’s, I start to feel alive again, my bones and muscles not hurting so much and my head