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CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CURIOSITY AND THE CAT
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KNEES DRAWN UP TO HER CHIN, HER EYES STARED CAREFULLY AT REMUS. His eyebrows were furrowed, scar-topped nose scrunched, as his eyes searched around the room for answers that it didn't know. A quieter moment than before, calmer in a more stable setting, with her erratic energy sated as she carefully explained to him the notion of Alistair Ainsley.
"I don't really know what to do," she confessed, in the end, because at the end of the day, Alistair had Helen in his grasp and she was a student. He was older, had power, had influence – and she was just some girl who got trapped in his game, for reasons even she didn't know. But he needed Helen, and he was willing to kill to get whatever he wanted, and she was powerless to stop him.
Hopeless, it felt at most times, sitting around knowing that Alistair Ainsley held a grip over her own soul. He tortured her for months – even though he hadn't been a physical presence since January. He plagued her mind, haunting her every moment, even the dreams she had asleep. Alistair and his bruising grip, Alistair and his power, Alistair and Helen living together while she was far, far away. What if one day she got a letter that Helen was dead? That he didn't need her anymore, didn't want her either, and now she was left alone.
"I don't either," he admitted in return, hesitating as his eyes met hers again. "Morgan, I am so sorry..."
Her eyes flickered down. Sympathy. She always hated it. When Helen guiltily hugged her tightly on the anniversary of her parents' deaths, when she admitted the first time to Adeline and Dominic that she didn't have any parents, when she believed she could save herself and Helen and Greer just looked at her with you're so naïve.
Naïve, yes. She had been such a silly little girl, playing prince; the night in shining amor, truly believing that she could save her aunt from the terrible man who captured her. Even Remus looked at her with this terrible sympathy, had done so before and did again now.
She never needed sympathy; she needed action.
"Don't tell me sorry. I don't need it. It's not going to change anything," she shook her head. The words were unkind, but her tone was plain. No bite, but no kindness either, simple facts of matter because sympathy had never saved her before.
"Still," Remus grasped her hand. Her eyes flickered to it as her heart skipped a beat. "Morgan, no one should ever be in your position."
Morgan shook her head. "I'm not the only one, not by a mile. There's me, and there's Greer – I can see the fear she has for him, and I know she knows he'll kill Aunt Helen when he's done with her. Me too, probably, if I'm home. And if I do anything, he'll kill her now."
