Chapter 117

Chapter 117

Thrian's POV

In the car, we headed to have a picnic. After all, it was not a bad idea for us to both unwind and relax after everything that had happened between us. However, she seemed to have gotten tired all of a sudden—tired to the extent that she couldn't even stay awake by herself any longer.

"Still recovering from the shock," I told myself, slowly feeling pain inside me. "I see I'm the one who caused it to happen. I wasn't there to protect her." I think to myself, I just can't help but chide myself relentlessly after everything happened: how I let her go through shock that might have been pain, how I let my people die, and how I had—it wasn't enough to read between the lines. Then he should pay for it, I told myself finally, my teeth gnashing as I turned the steering wheel swiftly, deciding to take a shorter route.

All this I think Davis should pay for. However, even as I desire it so much, I know that that is simply not possible. As much as I want to make Davis pay the full price for his crimes, I just couldn't because of his connections and also because of the fact that his life had various significant connections to the werewolf world in general. I hated that. For one thing, that was someone I could really want to mess with. No, it wasn't that I couldn't, because I would get away with it if I really wanted to. But the point was that I needed to ensure I dealt with him tactfully, if not a war would break out. Diplomacy was key, and how I wished I had someone to help me navigate.

Someone groaned, a little moaning sound that had me turning to look swiftly at the girl in the chair. She only shifted a little before settling herself once again and continuing to rest.

"You'll break your neck," I whispered in concern, frowning at how she seemed to be so intent on having a full night's rest here in the car.

"Hey, stop that," I told her once again, feeling scared now that I said it all by myself. Maybe I shouldn't have spoken like that because now it seems much more real to me, but she doesn't budge. She doesn't move an inch. With a frown on my face, I stopped the car entirely. I wasn't about to let her have an accident for no reason at all.

I managed to make my way to the back of the car quickly and then lay her flat on the car seats at the back. Her eyes didn't even open, not for one second. And for a while there, I actually wondered whether there was something wrong with her for this to be taking place right now the way it was.

"No, nothing's wrong," I said to myself, remembering that I had pretty much had a nice chat with a doctor after what happened the last time, and I had ensured that little girl was hale and hearty. She just needs rest, and I'm going to give it to her, I thought. Entering the car again, I deliberated the issue slowly as I continued the rest of the drive. For this time, there is something else I have to think of.

I was still in the middle of deliberating whether or not I wanted to continue with the picnic with her current state of sadness when suddenly her eyes broke open. I knew because I was watching—I hadn't taken my eyes off her for even a second. I was watching her just as intently as I had when watching the road, and I just couldn't help myself.

"What's going on? Where are we going?" she asked me. The trust in her voice, the lack of fear—it soothed me, made me feel like maybe I was deserving of her after thinking of all I had done to get her back, that I had done everything in my power. I took a deep breath, deciding that maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself anymore.

"Don't worry, you're safe," I told her. "You're safe from all danger."

But she slaps her palm on her face, wearing a smirk. "And you are reassuring me that I'm safe?" she said, clicking her tongue with distaste.

Hearing her sassy words, I was dumbstruck. Was it the wicked girl from just a while ago? Why was she suddenly speaking as if she had the energy of a thousand lives just because she had woken up from sleep? I was still thinking what more to tell her when she opened the car door and stepped out.

"Well, let's have the picnic we're talking about."

I blinked rapidly for Emily for a couple of seconds, trying to reconcile the two girls together before stepping out to join her. "Are you well?" I started, my voice trailing off. She raised her eyebrow to look at me, and I froze. I'm not sure how to put it this time around.

"Are you okay?" I asked her, slowly. She smiled at me, a sweet smile that hurt my reaction in itself, but a smile wouldn't cut it, not this time around.

"Are you sure?" I started.

"I'm fine," she said. Her voice was juvenile, but there was something else about it—something rushed, like she wanted to head back home as soon as possible, and she was already saying this because she wanted to get away from here right now. It's amazing how much I could read into her true intentions just by hearing her voice and the way her words sounded. Honestly, I didn't think that I had that mercy, and I could never have believed I was that close to her. Well, maybe I wasn't after all; maybe I was just wrong and reading too much into what was not there. Maybe I was making a mountain out of a molehill, but I dared to trust myself this time around as I looked at her warily.

"Alright then," I said. "Let's get started."

We started eating slowly and talking at the same time. Her fingers, they trembled once or twice, though she hid them under the picnic mat every time they did so. If she thought that I didn't notice, then she must really be underestimating me. If she really thought that I wouldn't figure that out, then she, without a doubt, didn't believe that I loved her and that I was obsessed with her. Her every subtle movement I left because it was not just interesting, it was mesmerizing, and I just couldn't keep my eyes off her for even a second.

Something was definitely wrong, I could tell now. She responded to me nicely; her voice was light and relaxed a couple of times, and she even managed a couple of laughs, but there was the underlying fear.

"You are still traumatized," I whispered under my breath, feeling hurt inside me just from the thought of it and from the prospect of it being true. It was definitely true; I knew already, and it served to give me a lot of doubts and worries.

"No, I'm not," she started to respond, with my voice deep as I looked straight into her eyes, daring her to lie to me again, trying to make her confess if it was possible. I expected silence from her—silence, a confession—but instead, she explained, and the explanation caught me off guard.

"I'm worried, I'm scared, I'm confused," she said. Three different words that described a mentally unstable person. I wish I could take it all. I wish I could put down her burden and make her happy and away from them. But I knew that I didn't have the power. I could only lend a supporting hand and work her through it. What I knew were with her guys.

"What's the fear?" I started. She stared at me for a couple of seconds. I could see the way her legs trembled, even though she probably felt nothing. It was a reflex action. She was nervous. She was trying to think, trying to make the decision to trust me or not. I wasn't sure how to reassure her that whatever it was, I was only going to try to help and not to hurt.

"Please, just tell me. I will do my best to help," I told her. She took in a deep breath, and I waited in anticipation. Somehow I judged that she had already agreed to tell me; whether or not that judgment was correct, I would find out in the next couple of seconds.

"You see," she started slowly, nervously. "I had a dream."