Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

She gulped. “I, eh...” Her shoulders swooped back with courage, but she couldn’t fight her natural instincts to avoid me. As she inched backward, her feet left Fables altogether, stepping into daisies and crushing their petals just like she’d crushed me. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Is it now?” I cocked my head, my eyesight flickering. My nostrils flared as I halted in the middle of the kitchen, swaying with damn vertigo. Glancing at the mess-free countertop, I stilled. Huh. “You cleaned up.”

She nodded. “I did.”

“Why?” I scowled, hating that my face had once again given her clues about how I felt. I hadn’t even been aware she’d seen my annoyance as I’d dragged her out to the garden this afternoon. And if she had...why had she bothered to clean? It wasn’t like she cared enough to stay. It made no sense that she’d abandon me but wait long enough to return my home in a tidy condition.

Who the hell is this infuriating girl?

“Because I knew how it upset you to see how I’d left things out of order. I’m not usually so messy. I was just so worried about you to care about a few dishes.” She shrugged. “But it’s clean now. You don’t have to stare at a dirty kitchen.”

“Remind me to shield my expressions around you.”

She smiled sadly. “That’s not necessary now, though, is it.”

“Because you’re leaving.”

“I am.

“But before you do, you thought you’d play maid instead of nurse?”

“Something like that.”

I waved my hand at the sparkling cupboards, neat crockery, and polished pots hanging from their rack above the sink. “At least you were considerate enough to leave a parting gift.”

Sighing, anxiety as well as temper tightened her voice. “I told you I needed to leave. I don’t think this—whatever this is between us—is healthy. I’ll send someone. I’ll tell them that you’re hurt and—”

“And do exactly what I told you was forbidden.”

Her forehead furrowed. “Things are different. You’re hurt—”

“Nothing is different.”

“But—”

“You’re not telling anyone.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“So you’ve told me.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes, fully aware of how it affected my concussed skull. “Are you forgetting so soon why I chased you? Why I threw your car keys away? Why I’ve done everything in my, let’s face it, very limited power, to stop you from leaving?”

How had she stupidly forgotten my unbreakable rule? Tell no one.

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten.” Her pretty hazel eyes lit with ire. “You don’t want others to know you’re here. Even now. Even when you’re hurt. Even though you need treatment and I’m not qualified to help you. Even though you might die without care.”

“Correct.” I nodded once, firm and sharp. “I would rather you leave me to die alone than tell anyone else that I exist. That this place exists.”

She flinched. “That’s just idiocy, Kas.”

No, it’s necessity.

Until this morning, when I’d woken and drowned under memories I’d long since suppressed, I’d forgotten about the man and his white beard. I’d forgotten about his threats of exterminating me if he ever found out I survived or his gleeful assurances that there were other sex slaves, trafficked and currently serving in remote corners of the world.

Part of that memory filled me with fear, wondering if he’d return to check I was dead. Any day now, he might stroll through the cave and finish what he started. But most of me churned with revolting guilt.

There are others.

Others like me, like Quell, like Wes.

And I’d chosen to stay here instead of seek them out.

Stop it.

I curled my hands, focusing on Gemma instead of my stomach-turning thoughts. “I suggest you tread carefully.”

Her chin tipped up, the silver zippers on her backpack swinging in the moonlight. “Look, I’m not entering into another argument with you and I’m not running. I’m leaving for both our sakes. I know you don’t want anyone to know you’re here, and just an hour ago, I respected that. I packed and prepared to go with the intention of leaving you to your own devices as I know you’ll be happier that way—”

“Happier?” I snorted. “Oh sure, I’ll be ridiculously happy when I’m alone again.”

“You literally just said—”

“You ruined my loneliness, Gemma Ashford. You’re the one at fault, and you’re the one who destroyed my solitude. It turns out, I’ve had quite enough fucking solitude.” I swallowed hard, pinning her in place with my anger. “I’ve told you as much.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s stop going around in circles then. If you’re finally ready for company, then let me send someone to help you.”

“Christ, you’re not getting it.” My head pounded. “I don’t want company. I don’t want strangers. I want you.”

She gasped.

Awkwardness fell between us. The back of my neck prickled. I ran my hand over my sweaty nape, making me fidget like an idiot. For all my rage when I’d first woken up. For all my trust issues and soul-drowning darkness, I didn’t want her to go. I wouldn’t let her go. I couldn’t be alone again. “Put down the bag and stay.”