"Absolutely Not."

Chapter 35: Hamartia

The small swell of my abdomen seemed like it had hardly grown at all compared to his hand spanning across it. With a gentle thumb sweeping across the side of where our child thrived, already making my hips ache, he gingerly worshiped one of the few stretch marks I'd already accumulated.

"How're you feelin' today?" He mumbled, his eyes fixed downward, brow furrowed in concern.

I gave a small chuckle before I answered, "I'm fine. I promise. Just the normal nausea and heartburn today."

A soft grunt translated his slight disappointment, and he spoke what he'd told me many times before that, "I'd rather you not be affected at all."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't think that's even possible." I reached up to ruffle his hair. "They say heartburn is a sign that a baby will be born with a bunch of hair. Maybe he'll be blond like you."

One of his brows raised. "He?"

"Still guessing. Just feels weird to say 'it'."

That earned a small curl of his lips in the direction that looked best on him, and I couldn't help but mirror the grin.

In the kitchen of our new home, tucked away in a quieter part of Lancaster, we created this piece of solace together every day. It was close enough to walk to where we needed for necessities and far away from coating our hands with scarlet, the perfect, permanent refuge.

And Manchester was kept in mind, too, for the guilt would have eaten me alive had I suggested somewhere else too far from his family.

We didn't need much, just a modest place for our expanding family, something we didn't think would ever be possible.

His forehead rested upon mine when I looked back up at him, and I relished in the solitude he gifted my restless anxiety. A reformed pair we became, and together we pieced ourselves, piece by jagged piece.

"Any names yet?" He asked, the usual scent of tobacco long replaced by mint ever since we'd discovered the little surprise now that didn't seem so little anymore.

I was slightly hesitant to share the miniscule names I'd compiled, mostly male as I was listening more to my intuition, so I replied with a more vague answer. "A few, but I'm not sure if you'd... approve of them."

He leaned back so he could get a good look at my softened expression, his hand cupping my cheek ever so gently that stilled the apprehension that had begun to rise. Out of habit, I rested my hand atop the back of his.

"I'm sure they're fine. Tell me."

"Well," a pause broke apart my response, "I was thinking... maybe Thomas? Or Jacob?"

I waited for the 'no' or an 'absolutely not', but it never came. Instead, his approval came through as an affectionate smile, one that I didn't think I'd ever seen him wear before.

"Both," he decided for the both of us.

"Both?" I breathed out my question.

"Both. Whichever order way you want, but let's use both."

A ringing in my ears followed by a sharp pain at the back of my head made me wince, and the hand that I had cupping his went to where the sudden pang had suddenly occurred.

Headaches had become a new normal, taking me out of commission for hours at a time, and this felt like one of those moments.

"You need to go back," he spoke, voice brimming with melancholy, wavering with hesitation.

I tilted my head to the side in confusion, but the scene unraveling before me stole my ability to speak.

From underneath his shirt, a thin line sprouted up, a fissure creeping to his neck as it broke through his clear skin. Small chunks of skin peeled away to reveal charred flesh hidden by the undamaged layer.

"Simon..." I whispered, horrified.

His hands gripped on me tighter.

He was just as willing to let me go as I was to realize that this was not reality.

Without thinking, I quickly put my hand against his throat to stop any more from being stripped away as if an invisible hand was betraying him.

"There's no stopping it."

"No, please," I choked out, but every effort I made seemed to be fruitless with ash pouring through the cracks of my fingers.

"-Kelsey-"

"-No, Simon-"

His hands grabbed hold of both of mine before reaching for my damp cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the steady streams.

The breathless apologies sputtered out of me as I witnessed the fragmented flesh smolder and break apart. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorr-"

——

A groan accompanied my waking state, and I was at least grateful that the room I occupied didn't worsen my aching head by being dimly lit.

I tried to wipe the moisture that had slipped down my cheeks, but the inability to move my arms pushed my heart right into my ass.

The sound of metal clinking reverberated throughout the empty room, save for myself and the chair I sat in, and dread dried out my already thirsty throat.

My eyes fluttered open enough to see that I had not only been strapped to a wooden chair, but, to my relief, a flat stomach. The nausea remained, though, to my disappointment.

Concussion.

Getting out of restraints had always been a specialty of mine, however, not when they were digging into my wrists, biting into my skin. If I broke out of these, I would be left with no skin and two broken thumbs.

Fuck.

The dream still lingered in the back of my mind with the subsequent thought: Maybe I should have considered going through therapy.

Perhaps I truly had been over my head and should have listened to what other people had advised. Price warned me, Simon denied me going right off rip, and I hadn't thought of asking for Gaz's advice.

And now look at me...

Handcuffed to a chair because confidence pushed me off the edge, headfirst into a sea called Hamartia.

A hiss snuck past my teeth to join the annoying hum of the light above me when I tried sliding my thumb through the restraints once more.

Whoever had linked my wrists together most likely knew how to keep someone like me contained.

Even my ankles were bound to the damn legs as I attempted to see how much I could move. The answer: not much at all.

That same pain from before blossomed once more, punching me right in the skull just like what had hit me had done. It felt as thought someone drilled a huge hole into my bone to make more room, whatever that procedure was called, and botched it.

I felt botched.

Like an experiment gone wrong or right, whichever way one wants to look at it.

I'd gone through emotional hell and back, and what did I have to show for it? A mountainous weight of grief and guilt I had yet given myself time to unpack from its storage.

If there was a God, he had a sick and twisted sense of entertainment that I couldn't help but commend him for as I sat in my wooden chair with a bruised brain and raw wrists.

The clicking of the door before me caught my attention, pulling me out of my foggy thoughts to wonder who the hell had captured me.

My poor neck strained to lift my heavy head to watch as the person approached with a file or some sort of document held at their side.

"Ah, our birthday girl is finally awake."

I knew that voice.

I had had the displeasure of coming to know that irritating voice.

My lips formed a scowl before they molded her name.

"Mara?"

Her smirk ignited a rage that terrified even me.

"Surprise."