The Elementals

Broken Heart, Broken Rib, Same Thing

Hey.

Hey guys.

40.4K READS!!! Hello! That's amazing! I can't thank you all enough for reading and voting and commenting, like it's so cool it's impossible to express how happy I am in words. You'd have to be witnessing my incredibly bad dance moves to Blank Space to really get it.

So I know I've kept you waiting and I'm sorry and it's a short chapter but I figured I should update and do something at least because you all are so totally fantastic and I love you.

Oh yeah, this is dedicated to Marinebiology_Girl because she votes and comments and has been traumatized by the horrors of autocorrect.

And thus, I will shut up.

~***~***~

I stand there numbly until I realize I’m being pushed along to a helicopter. My brain is screaming at me to fight back but my limbs refuse to move, frozen from shock.

I watch Coal disappear into the cockpit with Shylock and the clone as I am shoved roughly in back. My hands are clenched but I can’t feel the nails digging into my palms at the moment.

I thought he loved me. I stare straight ahead, not really processing anything. I thought he freaking loved me.

I guess I was wrong.

The helicopter takes off and less than twenty minutes later we’re landing again, this time on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean. Guns at my back, I’m led below deck and through maze-like hallways into a cramped white cell.

As Shylock approaches with Coal trailing behind, I turn my back so I’m scowling at the opposite wall.

    “Just like old times, eh?” Shylock drawls, chuckling darkly to himself. “Except for one thing…or should I say person?”

I clench my teeth.

    “You have made me very rich, my dear,” he continues. “Very, very rich.”

    “Well I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not have my face be firewood.” I reply harshly, imagining Coal wincing at the words. “But I guess since you’re so rich now you can get plastic surgery.”

I’m satisfied at the silence, and even more so at the angry footsteps that stalk away.

It’s another moment before a voice I know all too well says, “Flippers.”

I ignore him, blinking back the tears.

    “Flippers-”

    “Do not call me that ever again.” I growl.

    “Just listen –”

My back goes rigid. “Listen? You want me to listen? You want me to listen, like you listened when I called your name?”

    “Flippers –”

    “I said, never call me that again.” My voice is stony and cold, devoid of the heartbreaking emotion that’s twisting my stomach. “I would suggest that you leave, before you burn the ship down. By accident, of course.” I snarl, digging as deep as I possibly can to hurt him.

There’s no answer. I can tell I’ve hit home. It doesn’t feel good, but the churning ache in my heart is lessened for a moment.

    “Tide,” his voice is soft, broken, pleading with me. I don’t let him continue.