Dark Matter - The Mors Mortis Trilogy Book 2

Chapter Twenty Two - Damaged

The next week passed in a blur for Leah. Every morning she trained at the gym with Tai and every afternoon she sat by Jared, trying to coax him into helping the S.I.S.

So far, the coaxing hadn't gone well. Jared knew exactly what to say to make her temper flair, and he'd used that to his advantage, but even when he was compliant his presence set her off balance, derailing her questions with flashes of Deja vu and confused emotions. She had no idea how to act around him, and more often than not, she left his room fighting away ghostly whispers and murky forms.

At first, it was anger and frustration that drove her ghosts forward, but as Jared recovered and his bruises disappeared, a strangled kind of sadness became more dominant. She couldn't understand where it'd come from and it increasingly disturbed her until Friday afternoon when she entered his room without him noticing.

He'd been looking down at his leg, his fingers tracing the skin where he'd been shot, and there'd been a heartbreak so raw and horrible distorting his face that Leah came to a sharp stop.

Her shoe had skidded against the floorboards then and he'd looked up quickly, that bored expression she was so familiar with slipping into place. But the sudden contrast only made it worse, and she hovered uncertainly, her heart beating frantic and wild.

"Is this your new interrogation technique?" Jared snapped suddenly. "Gape at me until I talk?"

Leah blinked.

"No," she said, but her voice was vague, her mind still weighed down.

"Well why are you here, then?"

His body was taunt, his annoyance growing more volatile by the second and she quickly regained her composure, moving towards him and sitting down next to his bed, the way she usually did.

"I didn't say I wasn't here to interrogate you," she said. "Just that gaping at you wasn't how I planned to go about it."

Jared glared for a moment longer, daring her to mention the moment of weakness she'd just seen, and then laid back. The movement made his handcuffs kink against the bedrails and she eyed them.

"Do they ever take those off you?" she asked curiously.

Jared shot her an aggravated look. "No. Not unless I use the bathroom."

Leah stared at him, her stomach twisting with guilt.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Don't pretend like you care," he said.

The look Jared shot her as he spoke almost made her recoil, but there was something in his voice that hinted more towards hurt than anger.

"Of course, I care," Leah said, fidgeting uncomfortably. "You know I do."

Jared stared at her for moment and she felt sure he was looking right through her, down to things deeper than even she could find, but then he looked away, his eyes drifting down to the fading bullet wound again.

"Then you're the only one," he murmured.

The words were hard, disinterested, but that heartbreak ghosted across his expression once more and his brow furrowed in confusion.

It was so much easier, Leah realised suddenly, for her to understand why the rebels had tried to hurt Jared, than it would be for himself to. That even though he'd known what his father was capable of, he couldn't have possibly believed Brenton would ever turn on him. At least, not in the coldblooded, ruthless way he had.

Who could ever think someone they'd dedicated their whole life too would be capable of that?

The thought made her sickeningly guilty. Because this had all happened for her. He'd lost everything trying to help her, and she'd become so used to viciously suppressing any concern for him that she hadn't considered what he must be going through. At least, not consciously.