Chapter 70: 70. Stress Bonding

Thea doesn't notice Avery's attempt at escape. Tears well at the corners of her eyes and she sucks a glob of snot back up her nose. "I didn't want to go with them. I-I got washed up in it. Nothing else was working... and this is the only o-option I had left."

Avery could scream right now. Yell at the top of her lungs and try to draw someone within earshot, but something feels off. An air of despair oozes off the priest. Honest, pure despair that'd tempt the ear of any adventurer. Especially an adventurer that isn't able to make a break for it in the first place.

Flat against the floor, she glances at the priest out of the corner of her eyes. "Pretend I care: the only option for what?"

Tears streak down Thea's face and drip off her chin, where they disappear into the dark fabric of her cassock. She balls her hands up in her lap. "To keep it together. I just needed enough money to get my motorcycle fixed, then It'd've been fine. Nothing would've had to change..."

"What are you talking about? If you're going to tell me, tell me. Don't throw vague tidbits out and expect me to follow along. I could just scream, you know: someone has to be close enough to hear me by now."

Thea scrambles closer on hands and knees. "No, no! Please! W-wait! Sorry." She pauses, churning through the order of her words. "I need money. To keep my apartment, to fix my motorcycle, and to feed myself. Or I-I'll be on the street by next week. With winter coming..."

"The street? Don't you have a church or monastery to live in or something?"

"No, that's not an option anymore. They defrocked me and kicked me out."

"What in the world did you do? What about a shelter? They've got to have—"

"No. I'm not staying in a shelter." Thea says, her tone sharp.

"Jeez, only asking."

"S-sorry." Thea drops her eyes to the carpet and sniffs. "Everyone there was so mean. So many requirements: curfews, paperwork, job searching. I got kicked out three different times: it's— it's just too easy to mess up. And it felt like I didn't have any control over myself. They have so many expectations."

Expectations?

That word resonates in Avery's mind; a distant lighthouse that shines in tandem with her own towering mess of a life. She rolls her head to the side and stares past Thea's knees — past the legs of Valerie's desk and into the flaps of a velvet couch's skirt. "Why is the cat that helped me with you?"

Atop the desk, the cat perks up and circles, tail flicking. "Raow!"

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"I've got no idea. She likes me, I think." Thea darts her eyes over Avery's injuries: the gleaming red of Avery's swollen shoulder; the tatters of one leg of her pajama pants woven into a mess of dried blood. "Did Iva— uh, I mean— did the guy chasing you really do all of this?"

Avery shifts her spine against the carpet, letting out a grunt. "He might as well have. Chased me all over and was teleporting and stuff, so I had to jump into the tank and couldn't slow down in time."

Thea's eyes change. Burbling tears freeze in place at the edge of her eyelid. "Y-you got hurt jumping in? He didn't beat you up or something?"

Avery's hand twitches, but she fights the urge to run her fingers along the scabbed-over patch of blood and fabric. "Yeah. Some coral sliced up my leg, then I hit the bottom of the tank with my shoulder. Dislocated it, I think."

"Thank good— uhm. Sorry. I don't mean that. I'm just—"

"Are you trying to say he wasn't going to murder me?"

Thea spews words faster than Avery can follow. "W-well, I wasn't sure. I didn't think he would. He cares too much about what his parents think to do something like that. I didn't think he'd even try to hurt anyone outside of a wrestling ring, but I had to be sure so I asked and—" Thea claps both hands over her mouth. "No, no, no! Please, forget the wrestling thing! That was too much."

It may have been hard for Avery to forget, but all the words— the revelation that her fear was likely for naught: they crash into her thoughts like a tidal wave. Everything churns under water until only one thing floats up and breaks the surface.

Avery chews on the fat of her lip. That's it? He actually just wanted to talk?

Before either of them can say another word, the door snaps open in a cacophony of cracking wood fibers. Thea's eyelids fly open and she collapses against the desk. Out of view of whatever monster just blew the entrance inward.

By instinct, Avery brings her injured arm up to shield her face, but only makes it a couple inches before red, hot pain blinds her to the rest of the world. "Ahg!"

It takes a few seconds, but the pain subsides. A silhouette comes into focus. On its head sits a helmet of overlapping chrome scales. In place of a face, there's a porcelain facsimile. Only the lower half, though: cheeks, red-stained lips, and the tip of a nose. All equally static and cold.

Scrypher.

She turns her head and somewhere under all that chrome, her eyes meet Avery's. "Oh. It really was you." She says, tone shrill and metallic.

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