The Shattered Genesis (Eternity) (96 page)

             
Instead of pain, though, I felt only that warmth. I closed my eyes as my body and mind bathed in it. His arms were wrapped around me from behind and his forehead was pressed to my back.
I shuddered as his lips moved over my shoulders, up my neck and to my ear.
             

             
“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, and I heard a crack in his voice. “Brynna, I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I’m sorry.”

             
“How many berries did you eat?” I asked him firmly.

             
“What
?”

             
“How many berries did you eat?”
             

             
“That’s a random question, baby.” His voice still betrayed great pain and guilt.

             
“Answer it.”

             
“Three. Why?”

             
I turned to him and threw my arms around his neck. For the first time, I saw him cry. I could not imagine h
is guilt. I could not imagine his sadness. I had suffered pain at his hands. He loved me tremendously,
passionately
, and yet, while under the influence of that terrible fruit, he had harmed me. I knew that it had not been him.

             
“Promise me that it will nev
er happen again.” I whispered.

             
“Never, baby. I promise. Brynna, I promise you.”

             
He kissed the bruises that were forming on my face. He kissed my shoulder where his teeth-marks were still only just visible. When he finally kissed my lips, I had tears in
my eyes.

             
“I love you,” I told him in between his kisses, “I love you, James.”

             
“I know, baby. I love you, too.”

             
We were lying down on the floor of the bathroom. We were shedding our clothes already.

             
I do not care if you think that I was wrong for taking
him back so easily. I knew his strong heart beat for me. I knew his love for me was pure. I knew that he was truly sorry. More than any of that, I knew that he would never harm me so cruelly again.

             
I needed James. For that, I am not sorry.

XXX

             
In rega
rds to the murders, the story became clear. Both women were high on the Peace Fruit when the man, who was sober, had encountered them. They had fought him like the animals that they were but he had won. Because he was clear-headed, he was able to utilize h
is new strength far more efficiently than they could in their state. He had killed them when they began to scream.

             
Penny told me her story in a tiny voice so unfitting of her normally boisterous personality. James and I sat beside her as Violet and Elijah
paced outside in the hallway. Her honesty on the subject was astounding but because she was so young, she did not know that she could have lied. James and I had agreed that we would only console her. We would not offer any halfhearted lectures on the immo
rality of killing another human being. We stressed to her that what she had done was an act of self-defense. We promised her that we would never allow such a terrible thing to happen to her again.

             
Luckily, her mind had been clouded by her instincts during
the act. The aftermath had been what had scared her. Tears leaked from her big, blue eyes as she told us about coming around to her senses and finding blood covering her body.

             
“I didn’t know what happened. But I think I really hurt him.”

             
I had not lied.
I had just reiterated to her that she had been defending herself.

             
For several days, she was sullen, withdrawn from the simple work she did in the kitchen and from the people she normally joked around with and spoke to happily about anything and everythin
g. Everyone understood, God or Gods bless them.

             
If I am remaining perfectly honest, I will tell you that I feared for James. I feared that his friends on security detail would ostracize him for what he had done. So many had witnessed the after-effects of
his abuse and as a result, the entire house knew the gory details. My fears were unnecessary, however; several men and women had suffered similar moments of frantic violence the day after their high. In fact, only a select few, myself included, had not.

             
N
ow, one would assume that after two women were slain and several people attacked their loved ones following their night of drugged frivolity, that the Peace Fruit would never be seen again in our house or consumed by the populace.

             
No. Not only did people
continue to consume the berries one right after the other, they also began to drink whole bottles of the cheap liquor that had been scavenged from the ship on top of it. The parties were disgusting cesspools of sex, erotic violence, and screaming thanks to
Don.

             
“Do you remember
The Great Gatsby
?” I asked James one night as I sat up in our bed, reading another one of Fitzgerald’s great works.

             
“Indeed, I do. Who doesn’t remember
The Great Gatsby
?
”

             
“Many, I am sure,” I replied, “Do you remember how the part
ies thrown at Gatsby’s mansion were described? They were considered wild, which was so telling of the time period.”

             
“Well, that was the Roaring Twenties, at least according to my grandfather. That’s exactly how he described it.” James replied as he sketch
ed my picture absentmindedly. I could not help but smile slightly as I watched him looking down over his glasses at the paper with his brows furrowed in concentration. I had not been aware until just a day or so earlier that he possessed such an affinity f
or
drawing. While he had been in the woods, he had sketched several nature scenes that would make any art professor fall over themselves in awe.

             
“For some reason, whenever I read that book, which was often, I always wanted to be there.”

             
“At one of Gatsby
’s parties?”

             
“Indeed. I always wanted to experience the total abandon of living in that time when morals were shunned and people boozed themselves into demented delirium every night.”

             
He looked up at me, grinning widely. I turned my head on the side, rai
sed my eyebrows and frowned jokingly.

             
“Plow ahead with your acerbic comment, my love. I can see that it is one you cannot suppress.”

             
He did not need me to tell him twice.

             
“You, Brynna Olivier, actually wanted to have fun?”

             
I kicked his leg lightly and
he laughed to himself.

             
“That was not even clever and yes, I did. The point of the story, Mr. Maxwell, is that I know now that I would rather die than engage in such folly. I know now that it is very dangerous for human beings to be given the freedom to em
brace their dark side.”

             
“Maybe so. But I think Gatsby’s parties, though extravagant, did not involve people using drugs and smacking the shit out of each other or worse. His were just for fun, for celebration.”

             
“Well, they were also for show, which you a
nd I both know is partly the motivation behind these parties thrown by Don. But those moronic children downstairs would have us believe that what they are doing is also for celebration.”

             
“But we know that’s not the case.” James assured me, “They’re doing
that because for the first time in their lives, there is no one to tell them they can’t. In fact, they even have Don who is encouraging them. And I’m sure Adam is as well.” His expression darkened upon mentioning his name. After we had resolved our issues,
he asked me where Adam had taken me and what was said. I had declined to answer.

             
“Will you ever tell me what happened?” James asked me quietly after putting his pencil down.

             
“No.” I answered through a yawn and a stretch.

             
“You’re sure he didn’t hurt you
?”
             
“Would I be this calm if he had?”

             
“I suppose not.” James eyed me curiously, “I think you feel like you won something over him.”

             
“What?” My face contorted into a look of confusion, “Won what, dare I ask?”

             
“I don’t know because you won’t tell me.”

             
“
Should I be expecting belligerence now, James?” I turned my head on the side and raised my eyebrow again.

             
“Not belligerence. Just curiosity.”

             
“You know what they say about curiosity, don’t you? It kills felines.”

             
“Oh, well, luckily, I’m not a feline. In
fact, if I’m anything, I’m a canine.”

             
“Yes,” I widened my eyes and nodded slowly, “you are.”

             
Our slight disagreement over my secrecy dissolved. We both laughed until he jumped up and came forward quickly to kiss me hard.

             
“I love you.” He told me softly
.

             
“I love you.” I answered back sincerely before pressing my lips to his again. “Show me the picture.”

             
“No. It's terrible. It doesn't do you justice.”
             
“Stop. Let me see it.”

             
“Only if you fully understand that I am very tired and that makes drawing diff
icult...”

             
“Stop acting like a shy, insecure little girl and show me the damn picture, James Maxwell.” I ordered him only half seriously.

             
“Oh my God! You're going to give me an eating disorder or a drinking problem if you keep
talking to me like that, wom
an!” He exclaimed in mock rage as he sat up and grabbed the pad of paper from the end of our bed. “I didn't sign it, so it isn't worth anything.”

             
I chuckled to myself as I opened the pad to the page that he had drawn on. My mouth fell open slightly as I o
bserved the drawing; every contour of my body and every detail of my face was spot-on. In the picture, my hand was rested lightly against the side of my face where I always placed it while I read. In the picture, I was so very beautiful, almost sensual in
a way. My slender legs were curled up and crossed over at the ankle, and the book rested against my knees. My face was fixed into an expression of both curiosity and peace, as though the future events in the story I was reading were being guessed in my min
d, but I was not tormenting myself over not knowing exactly what was to come.

             
“I'm not normally this sensitive about it. But what do you think?” James asked me softly. In my peripheral vision, I could see him studying me closely.

             
“I think you made me loo
k very pretty.” I couldn't fight the smile that emerged when I turned my head to look at him.

             
He reached out and gently moved my long hair away from my face.

             
“You
are
pretty. You're beautiful, Brynna.”

             
My smile grew and I kissed him. I closed my eyes as our lips moved together tenderly.

             
“Do you want to hear something rather odd?”

             
“Sure.”

             
“I don't think I would have been able to survive all of this if I didn't have
you. If we hadn't met, I might have been able to pull through. But we did meet and we got closer. If I hadn't found you in the woods...”

             
His lips were on mine again for a quick, warm kiss.

             
“You would have pulled through. If there's one thing I know for s
ure, it's that you would have survived, Brynna. But either way, you did find me. I'm here. We're together.”