Affinity

Chapter 14: A knife, a sword, a scalpel

a/n: hi friends - Darian again. I'm popping in a quick note here to make it clear that there is mention of child abuse and trauma in this chapter. It's also important to note that Hemza is the worst and is on vacation in the sunshine right now, so you're stuck with a grumpy Drn for this weeks post. Anywho - hope ya'll enjoy. This was one of my favourite chapters to work on.  

She was twirling around a ballroom, soft lights twinkling around her. Warm hands gripped around her waist, resting just against the curve of her spine. Frilled skirts twirled around her ankles, brushing across the skin of her calves.

She glanced around, eyes swirling around the elaborately decorated room. Polished marble floors, grand pillars and a giant crystal chandelier glittered back at her. Heels clicked across the floor, soft music dancing in her ears.

She tried to glance up, to catch the eye of the person guiding her around the dance floor. Strong arms wrapped around her, continued twirling her around the room.

She tried to speak, but no words came from her lips. It was as if she was in a silent movie, for every time her mouth opened and closed nothing but her own breath escaped her. It was frustrating, and she found herself growing irritated at her inability to speak.

A dip, before she continued twirling. Swirling around the room, eyes blurry and heart hammering in her chest. She tried to grab her partner's attention, and tried to wave her hands in front of his face. The more she stared up, the blurrier his face got.

The lights shining above shifted from soft and delicate, morphed into something painful to look at. They burned her eyes, made it nearly impossible to see as she continued to twirl around the room. The once delicate fluttering of her skirt around her ankles now made it nearly impossible to keep the rapid pace of the dance at hand. Layers of fabric caught around her legs like seaweed, tangled in the seemingly endless height of her heels.

She spun and spun and spun, twirling around the room like some sort of music box ballerina, arms locked in place around the neck of the mysterious person in front of her. The spinning continued, picking up pace until her vision blurred and she began to feel nauseous.

A soft chuckle, and it felt like gravity had been shut off. She plummeted down, before those same strong hands caught her.

—

Emiko had always hated the hospital. Some part of her had always hated it. The hospital was where the doctors would look a little too closely at her bruises, where they would raise an eyebrow at her mother as she stumbled over her words, claiming she'd fallen and that was why she had bruises all over her body. The hospital was where they wouldn't notice the burns on her back and thighs, no matter how hard she tried to get them to see what was happening to her. She couldn't tell them, at least not with her words. But for years, Emiko had tried to get those damned doctors to see or care about what her mother was doing to her.

For years she'd begged them to see the abuse she was facing - to give a shit enough to treat the cigarette burns lining her skin or to try and figure out why she'd flinched each time the blood pressure monitor squeezed a little tighter on her arm. Instead, though, the doctors had sent her back with her mother. Sent her back to that fucking house, that tiny goddamn room. They'd let it happen again and again, until finally Sakura had saved her.

The smell of antiseptic made her nauseous as she came to. The sour smell of alcohol burnt her nose and reminded her of the terrible days of her childhood. Her mind reeled as the fog lifted from her dream. She looked around the room, tried to press herself up.