Page 55 of Mindeater

His hand snakes around my throat, crushing me into the bars. I feel his breath against my ear. “If you want to rot in this cage, soiled in your own piss, and continue to be stubborn, I can’t stop you.” His gloved fingers glide over my fluttering pulse. “But know it will get worse. And worse. And eventually, I’ll get tired of dealing with it. Then I’ll kill you.”

“Might as well get it over with, because all I need is a single second.” I turn to glance at him. “I’ll rip you apart, Ryx.”

He stabs the needle into my arm.

21

Ryx

Telex can’t scar.

As far as I know, it’s impossible. I can’t stop fucking seeing them. Every time I blink, there they are, painted on the inside of my eyelids, haunting me with doubt.

What ifs.

It’s the last thing I should be focusing on. But how did Saren get so many? That deep, too. A worse question whispers in my ear. One that threatens my resolve even more than his presence.

Who hurt him?

A sick part of me wants to know if I can do the same thing. Mark him. Ruin him so badly that he never forgets what he did to me, what they did to me. I hate that I can’t remember it all as clearly as he can. I hate that I can’t trust my fucking gut around him. Because those instincts have failed me time and time again, they’re banished from existing anymore and locked away in a similar cell to fade away.

I loved Saren once.

When he was all I had.

I know that much to be true. But like all leeches, he got inside my head, planted rotted flowers, and made me believe they weren’t dying. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that this thing inside me ate those memories. It certainly makes it easier to hurt him. I’m not confident I could do it if I remembered everything. Even after all this time, I want to hesitate. I want to believe what he tells me.

It’s a war inside, bloody and brutal.

But as I’ve always said: there is no empathy in war.

And even though once upon a time I might have been able to put myself in his shoes, I can’t afford to now. Too much is at stake.

I’m so fucking close and running out of time.

Leaving the tent, his necklace in my pocket, I prepare to face the one man I’ve been avoiding.

***

“Ryx!”

I sigh and stop a yard away from the tent. Kaya bounds over, her ugly doll wedged under her arm, and some sauce from lunch smeared on her chin. “Did you give it to—” She stops and gasps when she sees the dried blood on my coat.

“It’s nothing,” I say, soothing her and ruffling her hair. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You have cuts!” The doll falls to her feet, forgotten, as her little fingers dig into the split fabric to feel my wounds.

I sense it the minute she starts. Our race bond already stitching me back together. “Stop that,” I hiss, grabbing her hands and holding them away from my skin. “If your grandpa finds out,” I warn.

She pouts. “But I’m good at it.”

Dropping to one knee, I kiss her fingers. “I know, love. But I’m…remember what we talked about?”

Hanging her head, she mumbles, “You’re sick. I know.”

“I don’t want you to catch it.”

“Will you at least let Mama?”